“Dressed like that? Good God, man. You want the lady to be eager to remove your clothes, but you want her eagerness to be born of desire, not disgust.”
“Bugger you.”
“I’m flattered, but you need to concentrate on Lady Honoria at the moment. Come along.” CB grabbed the sleeve of Ath’s jacket and dragged him down the steps as an elegant carriage emblazoned with the Carrington-Bowles family crest pulled into the alleyway. All of CB’s carriages bore that crest as the sight of it apparently sent CB’s brother into fits of apoplexy. Family relations was not a subject Ath cared to contemplate, whether it be his family or someone else’s. He’d been shoved into the carriage and tossed about as the driver set the horses in motion before he thought to inquire as to their destination.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked once he’d finally settled into the rear-facing seat and handed CB his cigar back.
“To see my tailor. Once he recovers from his attack of the vapors on seeing your current state of dress, we will have him dress you from the skin out. Try to be cooperative.”
“Why do I need new clothes?”
“This evening we will be attending the Duke and Duchess of Aldwych’s ball. Where, if you clean up nicely, I will introduce you to Lady Honoria. And Ath?”
“Yes?”
“When I introduce you, please try to keep your eyes on her face, not herarse.”
Ath kicked CB’s shin. “She smells like your great aunt’s garden, you know. The one at Willow Lodge.” He turned his attention to the view of the passing streets so as not to see CB’s expression. It was a foolish thing to say.
* * *
Ath steppedbehind a column at the edge of the ballroom and adjusted his chafed cock behind the falls of his silk knee breeches. He’d not worn the distinct costume of a young buck attending a ball in more years than he cared to remember. Which meant he’d forgotten precisely how uncomfortable the breeches, stockings, and dancing slippers could be. Not to mention he’d almost fallen down the stairs in the damned slick-soled shoes once the major duomo announced him and the whispers had started as he entered the ballroom. That tended to happen when one’s father had pronounced one a bastard and then promptly died. The whispers, not the slipping on the marble stairs that led into the Duke of Aldwych’s ballroom.
“Are you adjusting yourself or do I need to leave you and your hand alone for some private entertainment?” Leaning against the front of the column, CB peered over his shoulder and gave Ath one of his irritating grins.
Ath shoved his friend’s head and stepped around the column to join him in perusing the crowded ballroom. “I do notentertain myselfin public. Where in the devil have you been? I’ve been sweating like a virgin in a brothel for the last hour.”
CB snorted. “How would you know how a virgin sweats? You haven’t been one since you were ten.”
“Twelve.”
“And do you really want me to list the dates and places you’ve entertained yourself in public since I’ve known you?”
Two matrons in jeweled and feathered turbans chose that moment to walk by and draw their skirts aside as if Ath and CB were lepers.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Ath said as he bowed to the matrons who scurried away like rats in silk ballgowns. “What I want you to do is introduce me to this Lady Honoria Eveleigh so I can retrieve my pages of our journal from her by any means necessary.”
“Any means?” CB’s innocent expression sent an odd little sensation dancing along the back of Ath’s neck. “See the delightful cluster of feminine offerings gathered in front of the punch bowl?LadyHonoria Eveleigh is the lovely golden-haired beauty in the pale blue silk.”
Ath found her immediately. She threw her head back and laughed at something her companions had said. His breath froze in his throat. Her heart-shaped face and porcelain skin, soft rose cheeks, and wine-red lips were nothing short of exquisite. The column of her throat begged to be kissed in tiny increments. Her figure was delicate but with the ample bosom and hips that never failed to stir his blood and his artistic muse.
At the bookshop she’d been swathed in layers of black bombazine and heavily veiled. “She’s…”
“Young, exquisitely beautiful, and rumor has it all but engaged to Lord Octavius Sellsworth, Duke of Bitworth, poor girl.”
“Shite.” Ath returned his gaze to the lady in question. A duke’s daughter. He’d seduced dukes’ wives and duke’s widows, dukes’ sisters, and even a duke’s mother. What was a duke’s daughter doing buying books from London’s most infamous purveyor of filth?
“Cheddars will know her lady’s maid’s name. Ask him. Getting under a maid’s skirts would be the work of a moment for you. Tup the maid and have her steal the journal pages back for you.”
“What makes you think Cheddars would know the name of a maid in the Duke of Avonlea’s household?” Ath continued to study Lady Honoria. She was surrounded by the cream of London society, men and women who appeared to adore her. His mouth had suddenly gone dry. He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from rubbing them up and down his silk clad thighs. Something about the duke’s daughter made him want to stride across the ballroom and shoo all of those insipid young men away from her. He shook his head to clear his mind.
“Cheddars is three days older than God and is related to or knows every butler, valet, and housekeeper of consequence in London. Trust me, your valet will have the maid’s name for you in—”
“I’m not my father. I don’t dally with servants.” Ath’s stomach roiled. He fisted his hands behind his back.
CB lifted two glasses of champagne from a passing footman’s tray and handed one to Ath. “Drink this,” he ordered. “And stop ogling the lady like a lovesick schoolboy.”
“I am not…” Ath turned away from the ballroom and drained the glass in one long draught. “Don’t you have a club for reprobates and other wicked characters to visit?”
