MINERVA awoke slightly sore but not as much as she’d expected. Because Ashe had taken his time to prepare her for receiving him. He’d been a considerate lover, perfect for a woman experiencing her first time with a man. What she’d thought would be her only time. But now she knew the foolishness of that belief. Why give up pleasure when she enjoyed experiencing it?
However, she wanted to be wise about it. And she certainly didn’t want to continue to worry about his realizing who she was. It was one thing to wear the mask in the Nightingale parlor. But when they were alone in a bedchamber, she needed to find the courage to toss it aside. Once he knew who she was, they could meet at his residence as he’d suggested. She’d never planned for the Nightingale Club to become part of her life. She had merely wanted it to serve as an introduction to pleasure.
It had certainly done that. With a smile, she rang for her maid.
She needed to determine how she was going to handle matters from here on out and to devise the best way to tell him who she was. Obviously, he’d enjoyed being with her. She’d not been a disappointment, which made her feel all warm and giddy, lost in the memories of him. If she were honest, she might have fallen just a little bit in love with him.
Just as he’d advised her that first night. Be a little bit in love with the person.
She wondered if it was possible that last night he’d fallen a little bit in love with Lady V. The giddiness dissipated, the disappointment settled in. She wanted him to fall a little bit in love with Minerva Dodger.
She was leading two lives, and if they should ever come crashing together, nothing would save her. Not her father’s money, her family’s position, her half brother’s standing in Society. Her greatest fear was that she would simply drag them all into the gutter with her.
ASHE was no stranger to balls, but he’d never attended one searching for a wife. He came to flirt, to give attention, to gain attention, to have a jolly good time. A dance here, a game of cards or billiards there, a visit with a few gents, conversation about inconsequential things with many ladies—young, aged, and in between.
As one of the hellions, he was catered to. People were fascinated by their past, their travels, their adventures. As soon as they were announced and descended the stairs into the Lovingdon ballroom, he and Edward were unlikely to have any time alone. So while others were introduced, they stood slightly off to the side, looking out over London’s finest.
Although Miss Dodger had told him that she wasn’t going to be at many balls this Season, Ashe was fairly certain that she would be at this one. Her close friendship with the Duchess of Lovingdon would ensure it.
“If you never want to worry about your finances again, you should marry the Dodger girl,” Edward said quietly enough that no one else would hear.
The comment irritated. Perhaps because Ashe could still feel the press of her against his mouth, could still feel her quivering in his arms. “Do you even know her name?”
“What does it matter? I know the amount of her dowry. It’s substantial. Well worth overlooking her imperfections.”
“And what would those be exactly?”
Edward gave him a sharp look, no doubt because his question had come out closely resembling a snarl.
“A father who would kill you slowly and painfully without compunction at the mere whisper of her unhappiness. Plus she’s not particularly demure, has a tendency to speak her mind, and discusses subjects that should remain a man’s domain.”
Something that felt very much like jealousy pierced his chest. “When did you speak with her?”
“Oh here and there, over the years. At Julia’s little party the other night. Had the audacity to question the veracity of my tale.”
“Can hardly blame her. You embellished it.”
“The story overall was true. The details may have skirted the edge of what actually happened. Still, it was rather rude of her to imply I was a liar.”
“She is forthright.”
“She is that. Did you know she wrote a book? A Lady’s Guide to Ferreting Out Fortune Hunters. Has made it deuced impossible for a man to court a woman without putting in a great deal of effort, from what I understand. I’ve heard a good many gents complain about it. You should probably read it. On the other hand, if I were you, I’d steer clear of her. She’d deduce your motives in a blink. Far too sharp to make a good wife. Besides, she’s not the prettiest fish in the pond. Although I suppose in the dark, what would it matter?”
It was only because his hand was beginning to ache that Ashe realized sometime during this conversation, he’d balled his hand into a fist. He very much wanted to smash it against Edward’s nose. “There are times, Edward, when you’re an arse.”
“Now you sound like my sister-in-law. Speaking of which, there she is. Dear God, I suppose I’ll have to dance with her, just to be polite and not give the impression that I wish she would drop off the face of the earth.”
“She’s pleasant enough. I don’t understand why you don’t like her.”
“She took my brother from me.” As though uncomfortable with his words, Edward shifted his stance, averted his gaze. “We should get down there. I’m in need of some good scotch.”
When there was a break in the line, Ashe and Edward were announced and began their descent into what Ashe fervently hoped would not be hell.
SHE’D been torn between hoping he’d be here and wishing he wouldn’t, but when he was announced, a delightful shiver of gladness coursed through her, and she quickly chastised herself for her reaction. It was ridiculous to think he’d give her any attention this evening. He didn’t know she was the woman he’d held in his arms the night before. Not that it would have mattered if he had known. They’d both been there for an unfettered encounter, nothing more. Certainly not anything that would extend their time together beyond the Nightingale, nothing that would cause them to seek each other out in public. Even though her eyes seemed not to have gotten the message and refused to stop staring at him.
Ladies swarmed to his side, dangling their dance cards in his face. His smile was broad, and he looked to be enjoying himself, touching a chin here, a cheek there, flattering the ladies with his attention. She tried not to be jealous. Tried not to be hurt or take offense. But she was having very little luck at accomplishing her goal. He was only hers at the Nightingale. Beyond that, he belonged to all of London.
She’d been enjoying herself as well until his arrival distracted her. Standing with her half brother and two other gents she considered family, she’d been discussing the merits of investing in a cattle venture in Texas.
“I like the idea of it,” Lord Langdon said, “but I’m not too keen on investing blindly. I think someone should go over there and have a look at it.”
Drake Darling grinned. “Would you even have a clue regarding what you’re looking at?”
“I didn’t say I should go.” Langdon gave her a pointed look.
She laughed. “Me? You want me to go?”
“Makes sense,” Lovingdon said. “You’re the best at analyzing things, and you’ve already put together a summary outlining the advantages to doing this. Besides, I’ve heard that there aren’t many women there.”
She knew he spoke with the best of intentions, but still, the words stung. “So I might find a husband among desperate men? Is that what you’re insinuating?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, it certainly sounded like it.”
“I don’t know why you’re offended,” Darling said. “Based on the Americans I’ve encountered, the men like their women headstrong and determined.”
“You’re not helping matters. If being unattached is a requirement to testing the waters, then Langdon can bloody well go.”
“Go where?” a familiar voice asked, and her chest tightened at Ashebury’s unexpected arrival at her side. Her face warmed at the harshness of her language. When she was with these gents, she didn’t always act the lady. They could bring out the worst in her. She didn’t know why she didn’t want Ashebury to witness her behavior, why she felt this ridiculous need to make a good impression. Perhaps because it struck her that she yearned for his attentions away from the Nightingale. She wanted him to find Miss Minerva Dodger as intriguing as he found Lady V.
Ashebury was gorgeous tonight, absolutely gorgeous in his black swallow-tailed coat and waistcoat. His shirt pristine white. His neckcloth knotted to perfection, and she couldn’t help but recall how intimate it had felt when she had taken care of it for him. He was freshly shaven, but she preferred the shadow of stubble along his jaw. It made him appear more dangerous, more alluring, more disrespectable. Until that moment, she didn’t realize that she rather liked the unpolished edge of a man.
“Forgive my intrusion,” he said. “I was rude to eavesdrop, but traveling is one of my passions. Even if I’m doing it vicariously through someone else. Where are you considering journeying?”
Everyone seemed to be waiting for her to speak, but how could she with him so near, breathing the same air as she, the heat from his body reaching for her? And that mouth, smiling ever so slightly, that beautifully formed, perfect mouth that had touched her in the most intimate of places until she screamed. Heat crawled up her face, threatened to consume every inch of her. She had to remind herself that he didn’t know she was Lady V. He didn’t know that she was the one he had suckled, and nipped, and stroked. Oh, dear God, it was a ghastly mistake to be here. But she couldn’t retreat and maintain any dignity.
Lovingdon cleared his throat. “We were considering the possibility of investing in cattle in Texas. Minerva has put together some numbers that indicate we could make a substantial return.”
Oh, yes, by all means inform him how skilled I am with facts and figures because men find that ability so appealing in a woman.
“But we’re thinking someone should go over to assess the situation more completely,” Langdon said. “We were arguing the merits—”
“We weren’t arguing,” Minerva cut in, because again men found argumentative women so appealing. She was beginning to have a clue regarding why she was a spinster. This lot was not helping her cause. Not that she was looking for a husband any longer, but she had an insane need to impress Ashebury. “We were discussing.”
Ashebury’s lips curled up, and she thought of them against her skin, lingering, exploring, gliding over her flesh. Thought of him demonstrating so very well what a man could accomplish when on his knees. Not a position of surrender but one designed to conquer. Thought of the weight of him above her as he took complete possession. She’d never been one to swoon, but at that moment, she was finding it increasingly difficult to draw in air. Her maid must have cinched her corset too tight.
“Discussing then,” Langdon conceded. “Whether Minerva or I should go.”
“You,” Ashebury said sharply and succinctly. “Miss Dodger is far too delicate—”
“I’m not too delicate.” Another reason she was a spinster reared its ugly head. She didn’t like being viewed as incapable or prone to swooning. She thought it ridiculous that ladies held gatherings to practice fainting. A woman should be capable of standing on her own two feet. She tended to point that out at the most inopportune moments, such as this one.
Ashebury arched a brow. “My apologies, but you seemed upset by the notion of going. I must have misconstrued what I heard.”
“Not upset. Irritated. I don’t want to go, but it’s not because I don’t think I could handle myself.” Maybe she should put the shovel away now, as she’d dug a rather large hole. “Perhaps we ought to change topic as I’m sure Ashebury has no interest in our business ventures.” And ladies of quality didn’t discuss business ventures.
“I prefer Ashe,” he said, his gaze never leaving her. “And while I am fascinated by the topic, I’m more interested in a dance with Miss Dodger. I was wondering if there might be a space for me on your dance card.”
Several spaces remained unclaimed. That hadn’t been the case during her first few Seasons, when men had been lining up for a chance at her dowry. But as they’d learned she had no tolerance for fortune hunters, the dances claimed had become fewer. “I’m certain I can fit you in, but after the attention you were receiving from the other ladies, I’m surprised you have an open dance.”
“You noticed that, did you?”
“It was a little difficult to miss. So which dances are you available?”
“All of them.”
She was very much aware of her half brother snapping to attention, his gaze darting between her and Ashe. She could hardly blame him. His answer wasn’t at all what she’d expected. For a moment, she was giddy, but then her practical nature kicked in, and along with it her suspicions regarding his interest. As far as she knew, he wasn’t in debt. “I’m free the next dance.”
“Then I shall just wait here, shall I? With your brother serving as chaperone?”
“Actually, I think all these gents were about to go search for their dance partners.” She gave them each a stern look. “Weren’t you?”
After bidding her and the duke farewell, they wandered away, leaving her alone with Ashe, or as alone as one could be in a crowded ballroom. The Duke and Duchess of Lovingdon were one of the most popular and beloved couples in Great Britain. No one declined their invitations.
“Why not commit to any other dances?” she asked Ashe.
“I enjoyed our dance at the Twin Dragons the other night. I wanted to ensure I had another opportunity to circle about the room with you in my arms. I’ll fill in a few dance cards once we’re done. Otherwise, tongues might wag.”
“They’ll probably wag anyway.”
“Probably.”
“Why have I your attention of a sudden?”
“You’re quite blunt.”
“It’s one of my many faults.”
“I don’t recall describing it as a fault.”
“Other men have.”
“I think we established previously that some men are arses.”
She couldn’t help but grin. “Yes, I believe we did.”
It was easy to enjoy his presence when she wasn’t burdened with the desire for a marriage proposal. She could be herself although perhaps it was more that he didn’t seem to sit in judgment, so she felt freer. Or perhaps it was just that they’d already shared an intimacy that had revealed their true selves. Not that he was aware of that, but she was. It affected the way she looked at him, the comfort she felt with him. He’d kissed her birthmark, kissed her in ways and places that she’d never considered that a man might.
“I’m given to understand that you’ve written a book on identifying fortune hunters,” he said.
“It was more of a collaboration between myself and the Duchess of Lovingdon based on her husband hunt.”
“What of your hunt?”
“I’m not on the hunt.”
“But you were.”
She considered . . . “I don’t think so. Not really. Not for a husband, anyway. Some ladies want a husband over love. I want love over a husband. I’m not convinced it’s something you can hunt for. I think it just happens. If you’re lucky.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
She might have told him the question was too personal, but he’d shared his story of love. Not that he knew he’d shared with her. But where was the harm in answering? “No. Quite possibly I analyze too much. Right now, I’m not quite sure why I have your attention.”
“You don’t trust men.” He said it as a statement rather than a question.
“I don’t trust their motives.”
The music drifted into a silence that seemed incredibly loud as she waited for him to provide some explanation other than he’d enjoyed a dance with her. Why had he come after her in the first place that night? Why was he standing here now?
“Then I shall have to work doubly hard to ensure you trust mine,” he finally said, as the strains of a waltz started up, and he offered her his arm.
“What is your motive?”
“I’ve told you. I like you.”
“No, you said you enjoyed dancing with me. Those are vastly different things.”
“You’re quite literal.”
“Unfortunately, I am, yes.”
“Then let’s return to my original answer and grant me the pleasure of a dance.”
She hesitated for all of two blinks before placing her hand on his arm and allowing him to lead her onto the dance area. Why did she have an insatiable need to understand his presence? She was attracted to him, and once again, she would be in the circle of his arms. Why couldn’t she be content with that for now?
He wasn’t one to give a lady attention for overly long. She should enjoy it while she had it.
DID he like her? He certainly liked her legs, the way passion burned within her, the echo of her cries at the moment of climax. He enjoyed dancing with her, watching the way she carried her own in a conversation or poorly disguised confrontation. He appreciated the way she studied his photographs. If he were going to marry for money, it wouldn’t be a hardship to take her to wife. It came with the added advantage of having the luxury of bedding her—without a blasted mask, without absolute darkness.
But did he like her?
Dammit all, she deserved someone who did. He could make that claim because he did enjoy her company, but he also knew that she wanted to be more than liked. She wanted to be loved.
Every woman is worthy of love and should accept no less from a man she agrees to marry.
The opening words to her blasted book. He had known about it before Edward mentioned it, had in fact gone round to a shop and secured a copy once he made the decision to pursue her. He’d felt somewhat guilty when he’d announced he was available for all the dances. If he hadn’t read The Lady’s Guide—it wasn’t overly long; apparently fortune hunters could be identified in short order—he’d have signed his name to several of the dance cards bumping his nose earlier and given her the scraps. Only according to her, “a lady deserved more than scraps from any gentleman who was in serious pursuit.”
If she weren’t willing to reveal her identity at the Nightingale, it seemed only fair that he not reveal his true purpose here: to fill his coffers. She’d taken advantage of him in the shadows—not that he was complaining. He was taking advantage of her in the light. Although knowing what an incredibly carnal creature she was, he knew she would gain a great deal as his wife: He could satisfy her in bed as no other man could, as no other man possibly wanted. He might not love her, but within his arms, she would never find herself lacking for attention. And she would find herself in his arms a good bit of the time.
This evening she wore a lilac gown trimmed in deep purple that brought out the warmth in her brown, almost black eyes. Her arms were bare, except for the ridiculously long gloves that went past her elbows. Why did Society have such an aversion to the display of skin? Well, not all displays. It was perfectly acceptable to tease a man with a showing of cleavage. His body tightened as he remembered the feel of her nipple in his mouth. Other thoughts began to line up like good little soldiers determined to take him through every minute that she’d been in bed with him, and if that happened, he’d barely be able to stagger off the dance floor.
“What was the reason?” he asked.
Her eyebrows drew together ever so slightly. “Pardon?”
“Your reason for not wanting to go to Texas. What was it?”
Her lips flattened, her nostrils pinched together. “It’s not that I didn’t want to go. But I didn’t want to travel there for the reason that my brother suggested I should.”
She licked those lips that he suddenly had an insane urge to kiss. “Women are scarce,” she continued. “He thought I would have better luck finding a husband. I know he means well—”
“It was insulting, to think you can’t compete.”
Her head jerked back slightly as though she were surprised by his conclusion. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was insulting. A bit hurtful perhaps. Mostly, it just irritates. I’ve had six Seasons and with each one, more well-meaning people are offering me advice on how to obtain love. Some of it is absolutely ridiculous.”
“Such as?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Do you really want to know?”
Strangely, he did. “I might need it, as I’m getting up in years.”
“Men needn’t marry young. That’s a burden foisted only on women as though, at a certain age, we curdle. That I find insulting, but you don’t want to hear my rant on that subject I’m sure. As for what I can do in order to find love: hang a wishbone over the door to my bedchamber. Cook even provided the chicken bone when she offered that bit of tantalizing advice.”
He smiled. “And it didn’t work?”
She scowled at him. “I didn’t hang it up. My lady’s maid is always slipping a hand mirror beneath my pillow. Apparently, it will cause my true love to be reflected in my dreams. But he’s there anyway, so I always remove it when I discover it.”
There was that tightening in his gut again, that sense of jealousy he’d had earlier with Edward. “Who is he?” he heard himself asking, striving not to lock his back teeth together as he did.
She shook her head. “He’s not any one person, but more of an ideal. Kind, generous, charming. Unrealistic. His breath is never foul, his body never odorous. His feet never stink.”
Ashe chuckled. “Very much like the women in my dreams. They never nag, they’re never ill-tempered, and all they want to do is . . . well, let’s just say they’re quite biddable.”
A deep pink blush crept up her face, and he made note of its journey. If he were to ever see her with a mask again, he would now know the hue that might appear beneath it, how quickly it traveled, how it disappeared into her hair.
“I can’t believe I told you all that,” she said. “Spinsters are cautioned against drawing attention to their spinsterhood.”
“You wear yours like a badge.”
“I’m realistic.” She gave him a gamine smile. “Well, except in my dreams.”
It was with a measure of regret that he realized the music was fading, their dance was coming to an end. He enjoyed talking with her. She didn’t bore him. “Take a turn about the garden with me.”
She studied him as though she were searching for something. Was he moving too quickly? Was she going to deduce his motives?
“Yes, all right,” she finally said. “I can see no harm in that.”
If she didn’t see the harm, then she didn’t know men very well at all.