Earlier, Meg had confessed everything about the duke, the pilfered recipe, and the uncanny coincidence of encountering him in Calais. She knew that, if anyone could understand her desire to forget all about him, it would be her friend.
Before she could answer the question, however, the breeze shifted, swirling around her gown and lifting the hair from her nape. She caught a familiar scent, something pleasing but unrecognizable . . .
Until she looked up to the terrace.
Waiting at the top were two men in tailored black wool. One was classically handsome with wavy blond hair and an easy grin. The other was striking—surprising, even—with dark hair swept back from his forehead in neat layers. There was a hint of a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth and a glint of torchlight on the lenses of his repaired spectacles.
A shock stole a soundless gasp from her parted lips. She nearly stumbled on the step and would have done if Honoria hadn’t linked arms with her.
“You goose. That’ll teach you to wear slippers that weigh ten stone each,” Honoria teased. But then her gaze followed Meg’s. “Do you know those men?”
“Only the one on the right. That’s the Duke of Merleton.”
“Is it, indeed? My goodness. And it appears as though he is waiting for you. Well, that certainly adds a bit of intrigue to our night of flirting. Your pesky duke isn’t playing fair at all.”
“I don’t think he’s aware that there is a game commencing,” Meg said, numbly resuming the climb and grimly wondering how she was ever going to put him from her mind if he kept popping up out of nowhere.
“Nonsense,” Honoria said. “Where men and women are concerned, everything is a game. And it is up to us to ensure that we always win.”
Chapter 7
Piece of cake
When Lady Avalon stepped onto the terrace—her unswerving eyes round in disbelief, her gloved hands still gripping her skirts to hold them aloft even though there were no more steps to climb—Lucien felt an unquantifiable degree of smugness tug at the corner of his mouth.
So, she thought she could outmatch him, did she? Well, she could just think again.
With a bow of greeting, he leaned in to murmur for her ears alone, “Surprised to see me?”
Her mouth opened and closed three times without a single syllable falling from her lips.
Making her utterly speechless from shock sent a distinct thrill through him. He had gained the upper hand.
“What are you doing here?” she finally rasped.
“I should think it obvious.”
He stared down at her, his brow arching in challenge. In response, a slow saturation of pink rose to the crests of her cheeks.
He wondered what she would do in retaliation. Just what were all the devices in this seductress’s arsenal?
Truth be told, he was eager to discover the answer. To learn what she might use to regain a semblance of control and befuddle his wits. Or attempt to, rather. He had never been befuddled a day in his life. Distracted? Now, that was something else altogether.
But whatever he’d experienced while standing with her in the corridor of Caliburn Keep was a momentary condition which would never be repeated.
He knew better now. And it was clear in the way she visibly recovered her composure—her spine straightening as she released her skirts and smoothed them with a roll of her hands—that she was aware their game had changed as well.
She darted a glance to the others in their party, likely calculating her options.
They were not alone, which meant that she couldn’t attempt to distract him with her nearness and casual touches, under the guise of assisting him with his spectacles. No, indeed. There would be witnesses to such bold behavior. Members of society might start to talk. And being noticed was likely the last thing that Lady Avalon wanted. Especially when she was currently disguising herself as a debutante on holiday with her aging aunts.
Ah, yes, he had uncovered quite a bit about her in recent days.
It had been a straightforward matter of paying the concierge at the hotel handsomely to report any news to him at once. The same had been true with the innkeepers from Calais to Paris. A bit of silver transferred from palm to palm, and he had all the information he needed.
Except for whom she was working.
But he was certain that would soon be revealed as well. After all, it could be no coincidence that a woman in possession of a book reputed to hold the promise of imbuing soldiers with prowess on the battlefield should find herself in the company of a colonel, in addition to attending a party at the house of a renowned collector of antiquities.
Foiling her plot was going to be almost too simple.
He watched as her throat worked on a tight swallow. But it wasn’t until he heard the soft rustling of her gown and petticoats as she took a step back that he realized he’d moved closer to her without thinking.
Hmm . . . When had he done that?
She hastily gestured to her companion. “An unexpected pleasure, Your Grace. May I introduce my friend, Miss Honoria Hartley?”
He inclined his head, only briefly glancing at the companion before returning his attention to the woman he’d crossed the sea to track down. There were questions still yet to be answered and a surge of impatience teeming through his blood.
“Enchanté, mademoiselle,” Pell cut in, interrupting Lucien’s musings by taking possession of Miss Hartley’s hand and bowing over her fingertips. “You must pardon my cousin for not doing his part of the introduction. He has the politesse of an organ grinder’s monkey. I am Viscount Holladay. Pell to my friends and Pellinore Beauregard when I’m being scolded. But I vow never to give you reason to scold me.”
Miss Hartley smiled. “We’ll have to see about that, my lord.”
“As for you, my lady,” he said, turning his charm to the woman who’d brought about this entire ordeal, “I have been quite eager to make your acquaintance. And now I can see precisely why your crystalline blue eyes have snared my cousin’s notice. Quite captivating, indeed.”
She issued a curtsy. “Your cousin is most kind, Lord Holladay.”
Pell chuckled. “Kind is not usually a word used to describe Lucien. Blunt, perhaps. Analytical, most definitely. But kindness is a social nicety he would not waste his time in developing when he has so many other dull pursuits. Nevertheless, it is clear that you’ve made an impression on him.”
Those extraordinary eyes swerved back to Lucien. She blushed anew, and her brow furrowed with delicate lines of perplexity as if she were not used to hearing such things.
Highly improbable.
This show of modest confusion was likely part of a carefully crafted ploy to lure unsuspecting men into her traps. To compel them to remark that even the stars winking above through the firmament of the night sky held no greater allure than her irises, fringed by those thick inky lashes.
But he was not fool enough to speak such words aloud. Given that there were four in their current tête-à-tête, a remark of that nature—a mere logical observation—had a seventy-five percent chance of being misconstrued as something other than it was, thereby forcing him to elucidate the matter. The effort would only put him at a disadvantage. And he was not about to give up any measure of the ground he’d gained.