No, he was wiser now and would not underestimate her a third time.
“I’m sure that I have done nothing of the sort,” she replied with a skillful display of guilelessness. “In fact, after our previous encounters, I can attest that I have the opposite—”
“My apologies, Your Grace, my lord,” Miss Hartley interjected. “But I see our escort hailing me from inside. If you would excuse us.”
Without further ado, she curled her arm into Lady Avalon’s, then set off toward the broad French doors. However, Lucien was almost certain that he heard Miss Hartley whisper to her friend, “Always leave them wanting more.”
Confused, he frowned as they disappeared inside.
Out of the thirty-nine possibilities he’d formulated on her progression up the staircase, that was not one of the scenarios he had anticipated.
Damn it all! Her abrupt departure kept him from learning anything noteworthy about her plot or methods. And he needed more information to set his own plan in motion. He must retrieve that book.
Beside him, Pell made an indistinct utterance of frustration. “You’re supposed to be affable, remember?”
“I was.”
“No. You looked rather like you were about to toss her over your shoulder and carry her off for interrogation . . . or whatever else you had in mind.”
“Preposterous. She is wearing layers of satin. There was a sixty percent chance that she would have slipped off my shoulder before I traversed the stairs.” Realizing what he’d just admitted, he shifted from one foot to the other, ignoring his cousin’s smirk. “It should not signify that I prefer a more direct approach. And besides, I’m not one for idle party prattle.”
“Well, you’re going to have to be for a time. She isn’t likely to warm to you otherwise, and I doubt you’ll ever see that book again unless you can gain her trust. If she is working for a military man, as you say, then she must have a great deal at stake. Find out what that is by learning more about her.”
“By being affable,” he grumbled, shoving a hand through his hair as he tracked her progress through the receiving line.
“Aye. Make her believe you’re interested in her, which shouldn’t be too difficult for you.”
Lucien whipped a glare at him. “My sole interest is the book.”
“As you’ve said. Many times. All I’m suggesting is that you charm her.”
“There are no finite rules or procedures for exhibiting charm.” He scoffed. “You might as well be asking me to turn myself into an owl.”
Pell cuffed him on the shoulder, a pitying look in his eyes. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to do this without rules or procedures, old chap. Just pretend you’re a man who is looking forward to getting better acquainted with an attractive woman.”
“In other words, behave as you would . . . if you were capable of cognitive reasoning?” Lucien turned toward the open doors and left his bewildered cousin to puzzle that out.
* * *
All throughout dinner, Lucien inwardly practiced a series of charming invitations to tour the grounds with Lady Avalon. Periodically, he flicked a glance down to the opposite end of the table, where she was sitting in between Colonel Whittingham and a young lord whose attention more often than not was diverted by Miss Hartley. This seemed odd to Lucien because he’d hardly noticed her at all.
His gaze always found Lady Avalon. Which was likely due to the way she seemed to position herself precisely where the glow of candlelight best complemented her porcelain skin and those bright, clear eyes. It was impossible not to notice her. And the color and cut of her gown this evening could only have meant to entice. Quite cunning, indeed.
He wondered what she was saying to the colonel. Was he the man she was working for? Or was it Count Andret?
Lucien didn’t know. But he intended to find out.
Ignoring the inane utterances of the woman seated to his left, who hadn’t drawn a single breath since the first course of turtle soup, he finally settled on a method of procedure to get Lady Avalon alone. It was both direct and affable and should set matters into motion with utmost expedience.
Therefore, as soon as the gentlemen finished their port and cheroots and joined the ladies in the parlor, he crossed the room and stopped directly in front of her and the countess.
Standing at a display of canopic jars in the count’s collection—the gilded vessels containing the organs of mummified felines which, strangely enough, were the reason for this entire fete—her gaze lifted in question.
Lucien waited two full seconds for their conversation to pause before he bowed brusquely to Lady Avalon. “Would you allow me the honor of escorting you along the arcade?”
This approach seemed to set her off-balance, for he took note of the color that swept to her cheeks as her gaze darted to their hostess.
Beneath a lofty configuration of graying copper curls, the mien of the willowy Countess Andret spread in a rather vixenish grin as she looked between the two of them. “J’aime l’homme qui va droit au but.”
Understanding that she liked a man who came straight to the point, he inclined his head and proffered his arm to his quarry. He was aware of certain societal niceties. Some had their place, he supposed. Being a duke, however, he was not governed by them. But he knew full well that Lady Avalon’s current disguise demanded that she was.
Left with no alternative, she set her fingertips on his sleeve. Then, for his ears alone, she scolded, “You make it quite impossible to refuse.”
“Which is something you would do well to remember, my lady.”
He felt her gaze on his profile and anticipated a sharp retort. Yet, as he led them onto the terrace, where the gray of twilight was interrupted by the light of four torches, their orange flames sputtering and undulating in the cool breeze, she issued no challenge to his warning. They descended the stairs in silence, breaking through a veil of sweetly charred smoke before stepping down onto the path toward the garden.
With every step, he wondered if she was formulating a plan, devising new methods of distraction to extricate herself from his company and close scrutiny.
Or perhaps her attention was merely diverted by the pair of boys in servant’s livery who dashed by, toting a large Catherine wheel between them with gunpowder-filled cylinders mounted on each of the spokes.
Lucien remembered a time when he’d been such a lad, fashioning his own rockets with various compounds for colors. Those were simpler days. He did not yet know of the horrors he would witness or the treachery that awaited him.
Absently, he watched as the boys trampled toward the pond, their eager footsteps crunching on the gravel. He drew in a deep breath, the dew-scented air cool and clear of smoke. Then he focused on the path ahead.
The crepuscular rays from the waxing crescent moon created delineated angles that fell on the path beside the columns lining the arcade. Every step took them from darkness to light and back again, reminding him that there was still too much he did not know.
“Are you looking forward to the fireworks?” his companion asked, drawing his attention to her upturned face.
The moonlight was also bright enough to create some intriguing shadows on her countenance. There were inverted arches beneath the thick fan of her lashes, an obtuse trapezoid beside the delicate shape of her nose, and two parallel scalene triangles along the philtrum above the crimson bow of her lips.