Mad About the Duke (29 page)

She made her way up the stairs and entered the ballroom, only to find the room not grandly lit with a wealth of candles but cast in shadows. As she went in deeper, it was like entering some Oriental bordello—all gaudy splendor—with purples and gilded furnishings, wide settees awash in pillows. And the people!

Carefully she wove her way into the odd crush.

Having been to a myriad of
ton
nish events, she was completely unprepared for the mix of guests before her. Here she'd thought her red velvet gown quite daring, but it was nothing compared to the gowns worn by the ladies at this party. Silks and brocades all cut down to the lowest levels, so that there were any number of women who looked in danger of falling out of their bodices.

Not that any of them seemed to be worried about such a thing. They whirled and reeled about the room, laughing loudly and clinging from one man to the next. And the men?

As boldly dressed as the ladies—some with breeches so tight that there was no disguising what was held in check beneath. And a few, from what she'd glimpsed, had added padding to make themselves appear larger.

At least she hoped it was padding.

Elinor shuddered and glanced back toward the door, but having moved far enough into the room, it was hard to determine from what direction she'd come.

Elinor knew she needed to keep a cool head this evening, having made her plan in the carriage. She would locate the Duke of Longford. Appeal to his gentleman's sense of honor and beg his help.

Then she'd get home as quickly as she could.

But honor seemed in short supply from what she could see as she made her way through the darkness. Trying to discern where the host might be, she began to study the people she passed, hoping to catch sight of Longford. He shouldn't be hard to miss, for he was quite tall and imposing, but with everyone masked and outlandishly dressed, it was impossible to discern who was who.

Passing by a small alcove, she spied a couple entwined and kissing passionately. The man had his hand down the front of the lady's gown, and then it was that Elinor saw the true state of things—another woman kneeling before him, so that while he kissed one lady, another was kissing his…

She whirled around, her hand to her mouth. Oh, good heavens. Whatever had she stumbled into? And then she took a very good look around her now that she'd come into the very heart of the party.

People were paired off all around her, and the few people who weren't, both male and female, prowled about like creatures of the night—hunting prey.

The poor duke! His private party had turned into some sort of bacchanal—hardly the friendly get-together he'd described.

Then again, what had he said?

A select gathering of like-minded individuals.

And she'd had visions of intellectual readings and perhaps an art display. Oh, this was a display of a sort.

Elinor quickly slipped past a drunken fellow and moved right into the path of another.

“Come now, my pretty,” a man said, taking her into his arms and holding her with familiar ease.

“Let me go,” she said, struggling against his grasp.

“Oh, is that how you like it?” he said, tightening his grip.

Elinor would have panicked if it hadn't been for the lessons she'd learned from Lucy. Practical, all-too-improper Lucy.

“We'll see about that,” Elinor muttered, then raised her foot and brought the heel of her slipper down atop the man's foot as hard as she could.

And as Lucy had promised, the fellow let go of her.

Thankfully she didn't have to follow it up with the knee maneuver her friend had recommended for a more “pot valiant bastard.”

“Leave off,” the man said, waving his hands at her and limping away. “I'm not in the mood for one of Longford's rough sluts.”

One of Longford's rough sluts?
The duke kept such women? No, that couldn't be.

Then she realized just how true that might be.

For behind her, Elinor heard the duke's distinct voice as he said to one of his guests, “Having a good time?”

“Most excellent, Your Grace. Another excellent collection of beauties you've rounded up for our entertainment. And new ones, just as you claimed. You always have the perfect blossoms at hand. Fine roses and a few thorns to make things interesting.”

“Yes, yes,” Longford said with a modest chuckle, “I do love
variety
in the garden.”

Both men laughed.

“I had heard,” the man said, leaning closer to the duke, “that you'd plucked one of the Standon widows and she'd be here tonight.”

Longford nodded. “I have indeed been cultivating her most eagerly. She was married to Edward Sterling, so I have to imagine he taught her some very nasty tricks.”

Elinor's cheeks flamed. This was no man to save her, no knight in shining armor to ride to her rescue and vanquish all her problems.

“Indeed,” the other man said, rubbing his hands together.

“I don't know why I didn't think of her sooner,” Longford conceded. “Now on to pluck my new little rose, if you don't mind.”

“Not at all, Your Grace. Happy plucking,” his friend wished him.

Elinor whirled around so her back was to him. Plucked, indeed! Oh, the horrible man.

She'd set her heart on marrying a duke, and suddenly she saw all the wrongs in that. Of thinking that the title made the man invincible, endowed him with the grace and gentlemanly honor that would make him better than the average fellow.

But that wasn't the case.

It was heart and soul and intellect that made a man
great. It was a passion for following one's curiosity. Resourcefulness. And a desire to help others.

Those were the qualities that made a man great, made him noble of heart.

She'd learned that from St. Maur.

Oh, why had she let Lord Lewis's words poison her heart? Was she as shallow as Longford to have forsaken the man she'd fallen in love with for nothing more than his lack of title?

“James,” she whispered. “What was I thinking?”

“That you would rather come home with me?”

 

James might be dull, but that didn't mean he didn't know the goings-on amongst the
ton,
and Longford's private gatherings were fodder for a lot of gossip.

The sort of banter that filled in the time at Gentleman Jim's or at Tattersall's, where the lack of female presence gave way to all sorts of lascivious boasts.

And Longford's house on Little Queen Street had long been a point of discussion—by those who had been invited to its ribald parties and speculation on the part of those who had not.

So there was no other choice for James but to fetch Elinor out of there.

Yet he quickly discovered that gaining entrance to Longford's infamous parties, as she had taunted him the other day, was a challenge of another sort.

“Shove off,” the footman at the door told him. “If you ain't got an invitation, you ain't going in.” Then the beefy fellow folded his arms over his chest and looked down at James as if hoping he'd make trouble.

Thus thwarted, James considered his options as he stalked away. “What the bloody hell would Jack
do?” he muttered. Then he saw a wagon near the mews, where a few fellows were hefting boxes into the darkness of the kitchen stairs.

Wine crates,
he realized.
For a party.

James crossed the way and circled around, avoiding the notice of the footman, who was turning away another party of hopeful crashers.

“Those look heavy,” James said, nodding as one of the fellows struggled to heft a crate.

“Demmed so,” the man said, “and his nibs is in a rare state because we're late.”

“Mind if I help?” James offered, reaching for one of the cases.

“Yes,” the largest of the three said, batting James's hands away from the box. “Himself is rather picky about who handles his wine.” The three of them turned their backs to him and James set his jaw.

Then he remembered Jack's trick and pulled out his purse, giving it a heft so the sovereigns inside jangled enticingly.

This stopped the fellows and they turned around.

James pulled out three gold coins, probably more than they made in a quarter. “Just to let me ease your burden.”

The trio shared a glance that seemed to say,
Why not?

“One more ass to lighten the load, as me da always says,” the first fellow laughed as he pocketed his bribe. “But don't think about dropping one of those—”

“Or making off with one—,” the other added.

“His nibs is a dangerous sort,” the last fellow said.

James nodded. Unfortunately he already knew that.

Hoisting up his case of wine, he took a steady
ing breath. Demmit, these things were heavy, but he needed to get inside and this burden was his ticket.

He followed the men down the steps into the kitchen. Inside, the servants were in a wild flurry, putting final finishes on a late supper, while wine bottles were being opened and run upstairs.

In the chaos, it was easy to deposit his case and slip into step with a line of servants carrying trays up a narrow set of stairs. The passageway led to a dark, narrow hall—not that the lack of light daunted any of them, as they followed a byway built into the side of the house to give the servants an unobtrusive way in and out.

After the last of them had entered a door at the end of the hall, James counted to five and then followed suit, stepping into a large, shadowy room.

He was immediately lost in the murky crush, and he realized his task of removing Elinor might be a bit more difficult than just getting inside.

How the devil was he going to find her now? It wasn't like he could pick up a taper and start inspecting every couple he found, looking for the right lady.

But then out of the corner of his eye he spied a flash of red—a lady in a man's arms, and she didn't appear to be there by choice. Then the little minx picked up her foot and brought her heel right down atop the man's foot.

Elinor.
At least he hoped it was her.

Making his way through the crowd, he said a quick prayer that she would come quietly with him, wouldn't be so furious with him that she'd kick up her heels.

That is, until he realized that she was standing right by Longford.

James uttered a curse and moved furtively toward
her. First things first: get her out of here, and then make her see sense.

Longford said something to one of his guests and both men laughed loudly, then they both moved on. James breathed a sigh of relief and then pressed forward.

As he got behind her, he could hear her muttering, “James, what was I thinking?”

“That you would rather come home with me?” he whispered in her ear.

She whirled around, and while he half expected her fist to follow, instead she flung herself into his arms. “You came for me!”

“What makes you think that?” he teased as he pulled her into the safety of his arms. “Perhaps I frequent these revels. Often, I might add.”

She snorted in a most unladylike manner—telling him exactly what he needed to know. “No, never! But I was a fool. I thought you—”

“Yes, I know what you thought.” James held her close, eyeing their escape route. “Minerva told me.”

Longford had circled the room and was now making his way back toward them. His gaze continued to scan the crowd, and James had a good idea who he was looking for. And it wouldn't do to be caught stealing the man's personal guest out from beneath his nose.

“I can't believe I let Lewis fool me. Or Longford, for that matter,” she was saying.

“Yes, yes,” he told her hastily. “Save the self-recrimination for later. We are still not out of the suds yet.”

Longford was coming even closer, so James did exactly what was necessary to keep Elinor out of his line of sight.

He whirled her around and pressed her up against the wall, covering her body with his.

“Ooh,” she gasped as he pinned her in place, his lips coming crashing down on hers.

Maybe it was the sensual surroundings, the bacchanalian revels around them, the nature of her gown, but Elinor reacted with a passionate response. Her hips rode up against him, her hands caught hold of his head and pulled him closer. One of her legs rose up, winding around him so that she came even closer to him.

Her breasts pressed into his chest, full and lush, their rounded tops coming perilously close to bursting out of her gown.

He gave into her lascivious lead and tugged at her hips, raking his fingers into her hair, but this game of theirs, this ruse to hide from Longford, quickly became more than a game.

For this fire between them, this fuse that they'd lit at Colston, ignited anew.

His body hardened—thick with longing, throbbing with the need to fill her, to make love to her, to find the release that entangled them both.

Hadn't he been imagining this all day?

His hand curled beneath one of her breasts, his thumb toying over the nipple until it was taut and ripe. He wanted to taste it, he wanted her naked.

For a moment, they paused, gazing at each other.

“They have rooms upstairs,” she said, a wicked smile on her kiss-swollen lips.

“I have a better idea,” he said, taking her hand and slipping into the crowd.

But with his attention focused on finding the door, he didn't see the man who stepped drunkenly into his path.

“I say there,” the fellow said in a slurred voice.

Then, much to James's horror, the man's gaze locked on James's features and recognition widened the fellow's eyes. “Bless my soul, didn't think to see
you
here.”

“And you didn't,” James told him, ducking past the fellow and slipping through the door, hauling Elinor quickly behind him.

Down the stairs they fled like a pair of thieves and through the kitchen they hurried.