The Regency Season: Passionate Promises: The Duke's Daring Debutante / Return of the Prodigal Gilvry

An expression flickered over Minette’s face. If he had to guess at the meaning of that brief flash in her eyes, he would have said it was triumph. It didn’t make sense. Chagrin more likely. Annoyance at being stuck with him as an escort. She knew very well he’d not put up with her nonsense.

She gave Granby the nod of acceptance. He felt as much relief as Granby clearly did that she’d decided not to refuse or make a fuss.

He really ought to tell Gabe about this little escapade, but he wouldn’t, as long as she was reasonable. It would only worry Nicky, who he had heard was in a delicate condition. No, Miss Rideau would have to endure a lecture from him instead.

Freddy unlocked the door and opened it wide. ‘Lieutenant?’ he said softly, making sure the other man heard the authority in his voice. ‘Not a word of this evening to anyone. Do I make myself clear?’

The young man snapped a quick salute in reply. ‘Wouldn’t dream...’ he blurted. ‘Mum’s the word.’ He scuttled out.

Freddy closed the door and turned to face the real villain of the piece.

Taking in her false expression of innocence, something inside him snapped. Fear for what might have happened had she chosen some other club in which to exercise her need for adventure. ‘What the devil did you think you were doing? Did you want to marry the fellow, or simply ruin his career?’

She recoiled, the colour draining from her face, but, pluck to the backbone, she recovered in a second, squaring her shoulders. ‘I wanted to see inside a hell.’

He narrowed his eyes, instinctively sensing dissembling. ‘Why?’

The defiant gaze met his square on and, like the first time they had met, he was struck by her fragile beauty and the shadows in those beautiful doelike eyes. Secrets and pain. Once more, he was aware of a very real desire to shield her from a harsh world, even knowing she’d seen far more of it that any gently bred girl should have to witness during the years she’d wandered revolutionary France.

He gestured for her to take a seat. When she did so, he strode to the decanter of brandy and the two glasses on a side table. As was usual in the presence of a beautiful woman, he was aware of his awkward gait. He carried the glasses back to the table, taking care not to spill the contents yet not showing he was in any way conscious of making an effort. He’d had years to practise what other men took for granted. And while the slight halt in his left leg was so much a part of him it rarely discommoded him, it did demand more care in some of the simplest actions of life.

She looked at the glass he set in front of her with an expression of surprise.

‘You will find it to be the finest cognac,’ he said.

‘Smuggled, no doubt.’

He shrugged and sat down in the seat on the other side of the table. ‘Naturally. How else is one to obtain French brandy?’

Her shoulders relaxed. She sipped and nodded her approval. ‘Excellent.’

‘I am glad you approve.’

Her gaze shot to his face as if she suspected him of sarcasm. He was careful to show nothing of what he was feeling. Anger that she’d risked her reputation on a whim. The wish that she’d chosen some other club in which to play her games. No. He was glad she had come to Heaven. At least here she was safe. He took a mental inventory of those present in the subscription room who might know who she was and spread gossip. None sprang to mind.

‘What do you think Gabe will say?’ he asked. ‘Or your sister?’

His jab clearly hit home. Though she disguised her reaction well, the winding of the strings of her reticule around her fingers gave away her nervousness. She had small hands, neat and quick as they knotted and unknotted the delicate cord. Hands that would feel wonderful on his body, stroking and caressing— He cut the thought off, dragged his gaze from their restless twisting. He hated it that he’d made her nervous, but it was as he had intended.

‘Does Gabe know you own such a wicked place?’ she asked.

Wicked. His body tightened at the image of the sort of wickedness he’d like to engage in with this girl who had become a woman since they’d last met. A beautiful desirable woman he had no right to be near. But, of course, it was the gambling she was talking about, not the other vices rampant beneath his roof. He considered the other import of her words. ‘What makes you think I own it?’

‘Bah. I’m not a fool. The pugilist dressed as a maître d’ went to fetch you and stood back as if you were in charge.’

No, she wasn’t a fool. ‘I own a part share.’ He wondered what she’d think if she knew who owned the other share. Sceptre had thought it a grand joke.

Her head tilted. ‘An odd enterprise for a duke.’

He’d inherited his title a little over a year ago, six or seven months after he had invested in the Fools’ Paradise. He still had a nasty feeling in his gut it had been the last straw for his father. The last straw in a long line of them that had caused the apoplexy that had taken his life. He took a long pull at the warming liquid in his glass. ‘Why are you here, Minette? If you think I am fooled by that tale of a wager, you can think again.’

Women never did anything without an ulterior motive. Not the intelligent ones. And he had no illusions about the sharpness of her mind.

A crease formed between her straight brows as if she was trying to make up her mind about something. Probably whether she could trust him with the truth. She couldn’t, of course, but that was something he didn’t intend to point out.

‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Or explain it to Gabe later. Your choice.’

Looking down at her hands, she slowly unravelled the twisted strings.

Not going to trust him. The hollow ache of disappointment in his gut was a surprise. Perhaps it was merely because he was left with no recourse but to force the issue. He tossed back the balance of his brandy and went to pull the bell.

‘Wait,’ she said. ‘I need to locate someone. I thought you might help me.’

Yet another surprise. His breath caught in his throat. She’d come to him for assistance. The cold inside him seemed to melt a little. As if he liked the idea she’d turned to him for aid. Not good. Not good at all. He was the wrong man to be offering his help to a woman with a reputation to protect. He strode back to the table and looked down at her. ‘Who?’

A defiant lift of her chin. ‘You must swear to say nothing of this to Gabe or Nicky.’

‘Not tell them verbally, or in writing, or both?’ Two could play at the game of cheating. She needed to understand that, unlike Granby, he was nobody’s fool.

She glared at him. ‘Not to tell them in any manner, shape or form through your own actions or that of any other person.’

Another bubble of laughter fought for escape. It was so long since he’d wanted to laugh, no wonder it hurt. But this was no laughing matter. ‘You would have made a good lawyer, I think.’

‘Women aren’t allowed to be lawyers. They are not allowed to do anything useful.’

Oh, was that was she thought? ‘Oh, believe me, they have lots of uses.’ He let the wicked ideas in his head show in his eyes, echo in his tone of voice.

Undisturbed by the innuendo, she lifted one shoulder in a very Gallic gesture of disdain. ‘Men.’

Not a blush in sight. His blood heated. Was it her boldness that attracted him, when most debutantes had him running for the hills? ‘So jaded?’

A flash of pain in her eyes, followed by an acceptance he didn’t understand, robbed him of amusement. He should not have resorted to idle teasing. They weren’t on those kinds of terms. ‘I beg your pardon, but that is the sort of male jocularity you exposed yourself to by coming here.’

‘Thank you for your concern, but I am perfectly able to take care of myself.’

‘Are you?’ He pulled her to her feet, tilting her chin with one hand to look down into a stormy gaze that reminded him of trees in autumn lashed by the wind, pulling her hard against his body with the other. Her sweet curves were an aphrodisiac in his blood. His body hardened as he took her mouth in a punishing kiss. Show me, sweetheart, he willed. Resist me. His heart thundered and blood roared in his ears.

For a satisfying moment he felt her tense, but even as he prepared to force himself to let her go, she melted sweetly, kissing him back with a passion that would have seared his soul. If he’d had one.

His mind blanked of everything except the sensations scorching through his body, the feel of her softness melding into him, the taste of brandy on her silken tongue sliding against his, the scent of her, jasmine and hot summer nights. Delicious. Tempting.

Luscious and...not for him. He pushed her away before he forgot himself entirely.

Twin spots of colour blazed on her cheekbones. Embarrassment. Shame.

Self-loathing burned like acid in his throat. ‘See how vulnerable you are?’ he said harshly, all too aware of his raging desire and uneven breathing. ‘No woman has the strength to prevent a determined man from taking what he wants. Dressed as you are, you told every man in the establishment that you are available and willing.’

Her eyes widened as if he’d wounded her feelings. Good. Perhaps she had learned her lesson. He’d certainly learned his. Keep his distance. ‘Give me your word you won’t try anything like this again and I’ll take you home.’