8. Chapter 8
“How was the dance?” Emma asked her sister as she watched the Duke stride away, heading out the grand doors of the ballroom.
Her sister threaded her arm through Emma’s.
“While we were dancing, it became apparent the duke is very upset about something,” her sister murmured.
“At first, I thought it was something I said. Then after the dance was finished, we spoke with Lady Lansdowne and her partner, a man named Mr. Harrington. He made the duke quite angry. Do you see him over there? The very handsome man in chartreuse.”
Emma had indeed noticed the duke’s face looking like a thundercloud when he escorted Lucy off the dance floor.
“How can that man dress so flamboyantly and get away with it, I wonder?” Mr. Harrington had copious amounts of lace flowing from his cuffs and at his throat.
He even had a ridiculous gold monocle, which he kept raising to his eye and waving around for effect as he spoke with the ladies surrounding him.
“He is the owner of a theatre troupe and is quite famous. Although the duke definitely did not like him, of that I am sure,” Lucy replied.
Perhaps she should find the duke and see if he is all right?
Emma bit her lower lip, wondering if the duke would even care to talk to her.
Besides, she couldn’t leave Lucy unchaperoned; she would have to wait for an opportunity to talk to him later.
Her opportunity came about twenty minutes later when Lady Caroline and Lady Langdon approached.
“Ladies, I want to introduce you to some of my friends. Let’s take a walk around the ballroom,” Lady Caroline said.
“If you’ll excuse me. I’m in need of the retiring room. Take Lucy around, and I will catch up with you shortly,” Emma fibbed.
She exited the ballroom, thinking to find the duke in the drawing room where the gentlemen were playing cards. She dared not go inside, but perhaps she could get a peek in. Or she could find his brother, Lord Langdon, and have him check on the duke. But first, she had to find the drawing room.
She headed down a hallway and at the end found herself facing a choice, left or right.
The loud, raucous laughter of several gentlemen echoed from behind her.
Not wanting to be caught out wandering the hallways alone, she darted around the corner to the right.
The voices grew louder. Drat, they were coming her way.
She tried the first door she came to and slipped into the room.
Closing the door softly behind her, she turned and found the object of her search.
The duke sat on a sofa, his profile lit by the fire blazing in the fireplace.
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and his fingers laced tightly.
Even from across the room, the tension rolled off him in waves.
So deep in his thoughts, he didn’t notice her, his expression forlorn.
On the low table in front of him was a tumbler of amber liquid.
“I thought you weren’t drinking anymore.”
Devil be, what was she doing here? He’d heard the door open and close but hoped the intruder would have the grace to exit when they saw the room was occupied. No such luck, here she was, intruding into his solitude…again.
“I am not drinking it. I am just contemplating drinking it.” He stared into the glass of brandy.
“Then why are you here alone, contemplating drinking a glass of liquor?”
Miss Whittingham moved closer to him. As he lifted his head to look at her, her deep brown eyes widened with concern.
Damn. He ran a hand over his face, trying to wipe away his thoughts of the past. This was why he went off to seethe by himself.
He didn’t need beautiful ladies regarding him with worried expressions; he got enough of that at home.
She came to stand between him and the table.
Reaching out a hand, she brushed her fingers through the hair at his brow.
Her gentle touch undid him. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, and his hands came up to rest on her waist. The sense of déjà vu was acute.
Her hand brushing through his hair, her standing above him, the shadows playing across her face.
Then she broke the spell by stepping out of his reach. She settled herself on the chair to his left. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Andrew leaned back and sighed. Surprisingly, he found he did want to talk about it. “My wife died last January from a terrible fever. She had left us at Stoneleigh Manor, my country seat in Kent, to return to the city, and it was here that she got sick.”
“I am so sorry. Do you miss her terribly?”
He should. He knew he should miss his wife.
That would be the proper response. “She was coming back to London to be with her lover, Beau Harrington. He was the one who wrote me when she became sick. By the time I arrived at Gilchrest House, she was already gone.” Andrew risked a look at Miss Whittingham to gauge her reaction.
She looked appalled, her mouth forming a small O.
“We did not have a happy marriage. It was a marriage arranged by our parents. Lydia was manipulative, demanding, and, more often than not, unhappy. When she died, I spent many months blaming myself. You see, we had fought. I let her go back to London by herself because I was just so tired of the yelling and the tears. I wanted to be rid of her and enjoy the holiday with the boys.” He closed his eyes again, the old feeling of guilt rearing its ugly head.
“I should have insisted she stay, tried harder to work it out. She would still be alive, and the boys would not be grieving for their mother.”
Emma’s skirts rustled as she moved to sit next to him. “It was not your fault. Her own selfishness was the cause of her death.”
He opened his eyes to look at her. “My brother said much the same thing to me this past summer. But seeing Harrington tonight brought back all of the old feelings of anger and guilt. I wanted to kill him, there on the dance floor, just wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze.” He shook his head at his own bloodthirsty thoughts.
That wasn’t the kind of man he was; besides, it wouldn’t change anything.
Wouldn’t bring Lydia back from the dead.
“She made a fool of me. The saddest part is I am sure he wasn’t the only lover she had taken over the years. ”
He stared into the fire for several moments. Then he confessed the worst of it. “I feel guilty that I am glad she is gone. She was the mother of my children, for God’s sake, but I don’t feel sad. I feel relieved I don’t have her in my life anymore.”
Emma tugged on his arm until he faced her again. “Betrayal is a hard pill to swallow. You deserve to move on with your life and reach for happiness.”
She brushed the back of her knuckles across his cheek, the move so intimate it stole his breath.
As he gazed into the liquid warmth of her eyes, he found himself believing her quiet statement.
Happiness. How long had it been since he thought about what made him happy?
He cupped one side of her face with his hand.
Kissing those soft ruby lips would make him happy.
He leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled back.
“I believe you owe me a dance, Your Grace. Perhaps we should return to the party.”
He blinked. Yes, return to the party. What was he thinking, taking advantage of her kindness by trying to kiss her?
“Please forgive me. I am not myself tonight.” He smiled in an effort to put her back at ease.
“I think it’s time you stopped ‘Your Grace-ing’ me.
My name is Andrew. Considering how much information of a personal nature you know about me, Your Grace seems a bit formal. ”
“But I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be proper at all!”
He sighed. That was true enough. “Then call me Gilchrest. That’s what my friends call me. Aren’t we friends, Emmaline?” he said, pointedly using her Christian name.
“All right…Gilchrest then.” He liked the way his name sounded rolling off her lips, sort of soft and breathy. One corner of her mouth tilted up. “Emma. Everyone calls me Emma.”
“Emma, yes, that suits you.” He brushed one finger down her cheek. “Let’s get back to the ballroom.” Andrew stood and led her out of the room, leaving behind the full glass of brandy.
Andrew let Emma go into the ballroom first, then he backtracked down the hall to enter from a different doorway.
As he walked in, the rumble of several deep voices talking nearby caught his attention.
Four men stood in a semicircle, facing out to the dance floor.
Each man held a glass of spirits and they kept an eye on the room, no doubt waiting for something scandal-worthy to occur and brighten the rather dull evening.
Lord Persil asked the group, “How many burglaries have there been?”
Andrew walked up to join them. “Good evening, gentlemen.” He gave each a small nod of greeting.
Lord Lansdowne greeted him. “Ah, Your Grace. We were just talking about an article Fenwick read in this morning’s paper. Apparently, London has a cat burglar on the loose. One of the apartments at the Royal Arms Hotel was robbed two nights ago.”
“Though according to the paper, it is not only this robbery.” Lord Fenwick’s eyebrows bobbed up and down excitedly. “There have been several reports of thefts in and around West London over the past year. According to the article, it is always jewelry which is taken.”
“Well, lads, keep your wives’ jewelry locked away properly. The Royal Arms Hotel is right here in Mayfair. That’s too close for my comfort,” Lansdowne said.
Andrew’s breath caught in his throat. This thief must be his mystery woman.
Why else would she have been sneaking into his home in the dead of night?
When she visited him two nights ago, had she just robbed the Royal Arms Hotel?
Her purpose had not seemed to be robbery that night.
He remembered vividly the feel of her hands running along his body, her lips warm and inviting. Was seduction part of her ploy?
The strains of the minuet were beginning. “Excuse me, I must go find my partner for this set.” He walked away, mind buzzing.
He spotted Emma through the crowd and wound his way to her.
He needed to forget about his mysterious thief and focus on getting to know this very real woman better.
A beautiful woman who made him laugh and had the uncanny ability to pull all his secrets from him.
No less a mystery than the thief. There was much more to her than her role as beleaguered but doting sister.
He couldn’t put his finger on what, but it was going to be a pleasure finding out.