Romancing The Rogue (The Rogue Chronicles Book 1) Page 2

  He lingered behind the Marchioness of Danbun, who was currently having an affair with the Spanish ambassador, but she said little of interest. He continued around the room, catching interesting comments here and there. Gathering intelligence sounded far more exciting than it was.

  As the music for a cotillion ended, couples cleared the dance floor and others took their place. He rarely danced. Few of the ladies were truly skilled at it, and conversation during most dances was nearly impossible, unless one indulged in a rare but scandalous waltz.

  With surprise, he realized he was lonely this evening. Ironic, given the fact that he stood in the company of over a hundred others. Loneliness was an emotion he rarely allowed himself. Doing so meant thinking of Dumond, and despite the fact that he’d been gone nearly a year, Richard still missed him deeply. Social events had been far more amusing with his friend at his side.

  A French diplomat paused in his conversation with a lady to glance at Richard as though sensing he should be careful with his words. Richard didn’t immediately move away, enjoying the man’s discomfort.

  His mood wasn’t conducive to gathering intelligence this evening. In truth, he was tired—a weary-to-the-bone kind of tiredness that told him to take a few days away from this business. He had to guard against cynicism, lest it drag him into despair.

  But he couldn’t take time away yet.

  The Duke of Wayfair was one of three lords on his short list of suspects for Le Sournois, and he was supposed to be among the guests this evening. Richard didn’t often come across the duke, who tended to only partake in select events. Any opportunity to watch and hopefully listen to what he said couldn’t be wasted.

  Keeping an eye on the growing crowd for his quarry, he continued moving along the room at a snail’s pace, observing, filing away the random comments he heard to be examined more closely later.

  “Did you see with whom she danced?”

  “Why would she choose to wear such a color?”

  “Rumor says he lost a fortune on a ship from the Caribbean.”

  On and on the gossip went, some interesting but much of it petty and cruel.

  “From my research, I understand there’s money to be made in the spy business.” That comment had him pausing.

  He wanted to turn to face the woman who’d said it, tempted to correct her assumption. The paltry amount he received for his services barely covered his expenses. Spying was a dirty business and frowned upon, though a requirement in times of war.

  “How much?” The intensity of the other lady’s tone had him listening closer.

  “Well, the exact amount wasn’t mentioned, but it’s supposed to be quite lucrative.”

  “Then I shall make inquiries.”

  Richard couldn’t help but turn as subtly as possible, pretending to search the crowd so he could identify the two speaking, though he didn’t know who had said what. Did they not realize what a deadly game they played by speaking of spying?

  One was a young lady he didn’t recognize. The other who’d sounded so interested at the idea of spying was Miss Caroline Gold. He’d noticed her on more than one occasion simply because she was beautiful. Though he had no intention of marrying, ladies still occasionally caught his interest. Her blonde hair and green eyes combined with her cool demeanor had drawn his attention the previous year.

  Those unusual eyes met his, the intelligent awareness in their depths surprising him. How had he not noticed that before?

  The woman was truly stunning, making it difficult not to stare. Rather than preening as so many debutantes did, she shifted as though uncomfortable under his regard. As if she knew her appearance was nature’s doing rather than her own, and she couldn’t take credit for the result.

  When she raised a brow askance, he realized how rude he was being.

  Halting his fanciful thoughts, he turned away, hoping the two would continue speaking on the topic of spying, but their conversation turned to other matters.

  As he skimmed over the crowd once more, a ripple of satisfaction filled him at the sight of the Duke of Wayfair approaching. But when Richard realized he walked directly toward him, his heart rate surged. Only once he was near did Richard realize the duke’s focus was on Miss Gold rather than himself.

  While Richard wouldn’t mind a confrontation with the man, he did not yet have proof. Confronting him would only alert him to Richard’s suspicions.

  As the duke greeted Miss Gold then escorted her to the dance floor, Richard watched them closely.

  He didn’t care for the duke, regardless of whether he was Le Sournois, but Miss Gold seemed to, based on her bright smile. Richard couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret that the intriguing lady was involved with Wayfair. Yet as he considered it further, her comments about spying made perfect sense if she worked with the duke. It never failed to amaze him that people spoke so freely about their supposed secrets in public. He’d encountered that with surprising frequency over the years.

  Perhaps he’d inadvertently found another link in the chain that connected the network of French spies living in London. The pair bore watching and the night was young.

  Richard trailed behind them, realizing the evening had just gotten much more interesting.

  Chapter Two

  Hope swelled in Caroline as she took the duke’s elbow, despite a firm reprimand to herself. Her wayward emotions refused to listen. Surely, tonight would be the night her prayers would be answered and the duke would propose.

  Wayfair singled her out at nearly every social engagement he attended, not that he made an appearance at many. She knew that was a clear signal he was interested in her. However, she also knew acting needy wouldn’t aid her. It might even have the opposite effect and chase him away.

  Her gaze caught on the Earl of Aberland as they walked past him toward the dance floor. The lord was handsome with dark hair and brown eyes the color of melted chocolate, but the cynical twist to his lips made him unapproachable, as did his reputation as a rogue with no fortune. The intensity with which he studied her did nothing to ease her nerves, and she was grateful when he moved out of her range of vision.

  She smiled at the duke, her pulse skittering with a terrible desperation she couldn’t keep at bay. She shifted her focus to breathing more deeply to push away a sudden light-headedness. Fainting wouldn’t help her case either.

  At the age of three and twenty, she was no young debutante. She’d been previously betrothed. That practically made her a woman of the world.

  Funny but she didn’t feel like one.

  She was all too aware of how little money was left to see them through the week, let alone the Season. Her father’s cough had improved marginally, so a visit from the doctor wasn’t as urgent as they’d first thought, but his condition could change again. A proposal from the duke would solve many problems.

  “I hope you’re having a splendid evening,” Wayfair said, tugging her from her reeling thoughts.

  “I am.” Caroline did her best to smile as though she hadn’t a care in the world, determined to focus on the moment. “And you?”

  “Thus far, it’s faring well.” His pale blue eyes glittered in the candlelight as he smiled. His brown hair was shorn close to his head with a nose too narrow to be considered Roman. Though taller than her, he didn’t appear nearly as tall or broad of shoulder as Aberland. The earl was far more handsome as well.

  She gave herself a mental shake. Wayfair’s appearance was of little importance. Not when his wealth was known far and wide. Though Caroline had difficulty imagining carrying on a lengthy conversation with the duke, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t suit. She knew he was the right man for her.

  He was never rude, never flirtatious, always polite. He knew the Prince Regent, along with many other influential members of the nobility. Becoming the Duchess of Wayfair would not only allow her family to pay their overdue accounts, but would ensure her sisters made excellent matches. What more could she ask for in a husband?

&nb
sp; The unsettling part was that none of this was in her control. She had yet to think of anything she might say or do to cause the duke to propose. All she could do was be patient. She’d never realized how difficult wanting something just beyond her reach was, especially something so important.

  “How is your sister?”

  “She is well. Thank you. She sends her regards but has decided to remain in the country for a time.”

  She curtsied as the duke bowed, then the music swelled, and the movements of the cotillion held her attention rather than her worries. Conversation was limited beyond the basics.

  But while she normally enjoyed dancing, soon not even the dance steps kept her thoughts from racing ahead.

  The duke didn’t act any differently than he had at other balls. Did that mean tonight wasn’t the night after all?

  Should she somehow make it clear she was interested in a proposal? How? She’d always been friendly and danced with him each time he asked. Surely, he already knew of her feelings.

  “Fine weather we’ve been having for May,” he said as they passed each other.

  “Indeed, it has been,” she replied when they met in the middle of the floor again. Whoever had invented this dance hadn’t been concerned with people attempting to converse. Not when mere seconds passed before one moved past one’s partner.

  If only she could think of an exciting topic of conversation. Something that might truly catch the duke’s interest.

  But her mind remained stubbornly blank.

  The sight of her mother smiling at the edge of the dance floor as she watched them only increased her nerves. Caroline wanted to warn her not to raise her hopes as she feared the duke would not be offering tonight.

  If he were going to propose, wouldn’t he show more interest? Perhaps even be a trifle anxious? His attention seemed to be on the crowd as much as on her. Was he already searching out his next dance partner?

  Before she had an answer, the music ended. He bowed as she curtsied then he escorted her to where he’d found her.

  “Thank you,” she said, berating herself for not having anything clever to add, but the pressure she felt made it difficult to breathe let alone think.

  “Thank you, Miss Gold. I enjoy dancing with you.”

  Her heart raced when his gaze held hers a moment longer than normal.

  Was this it?

  Was this the moment?

  Her stomach dipped with anticipation.

  “Wayfair. Haven’t seen you in an age.”

  The interruption had the duke glancing away. Caroline wanted to stomp her foot in protest, anything to draw his attention back to her.

  “It’s been some time, Stanford.” After a final bow in Caroline’s direction and bidding her good evening, the duke continued his conversation with the other man several steps away.

  Annabelle drew near. “Did anything exciting occur?” she asked under her breath.

  “No. Just a dance.” Disappointment numbed her.

  Her sister put her arm through Caroline’s. “You must say that with the proper respect and excitement. No one simply dances with a duke, because so few do.”

  Caroline had to smile. Trust Annabelle to brighten her mood. “I danced with the duke.” This time she whispered it with greater animation, causing Annabelle to laugh.

  “That is more like it,” she declared. “Do you have any idea how many ladies in this room would give their left arm to dance with him?”

  “Only their left?”

  Annabelle smiled. “Some might like to write as much as I do. I wouldn’t want them to give up their right one for a man, if you see what I mean.”

  Caroline could only chuckle. “Trust you to deem writing more important than love. I think that is only because you haven’t yet met a man who swept you off your feet.”

  Annabelle shook her head. “While I’m not opposed to marrying, I can’t imagine preferring to spend time with a husband when I could be writing one of my stories.”

  “Thank heaven we wear gloves, else those ink stains would give you away.”

  “If only we could eat with them on,” Annabelle said with a sigh. “Then no one would know my secret.”

  Caroline turned to her in alarm. “Do you believe someone knows?”

  “Heavens, no. If their gaze lingers on my ink-stained fingers, I merely say I had a mishap with my ink well.”

  Caroline breathed a sigh of relief. The idea of anyone realizing Annabelle was the author of the popular mystery series in the paper was worrying. Many already believed her a bluestocking. Revealing her writing skills would reduce her marriage prospects even more.

  “Perhaps the duke will ask you to dance again,” Annabelle suggested.

  “Oh, dear. Not if he’s leaving the ball.” Caroline watched as the duke approached the terrace door, speaking with a few people as he went.

  Panic filled her and, without a second thought, Caroline hurried after him. The idea of him leaving without even the hint of a proposal pushed her through the crowd. She needed tonight to be the night.

  Her former betrothed’s remarks about her reserved behavior rang in her mind. He’d suggested she should express more emotion, so others wouldn’t assume her to be cold and distant.

  Perhaps the duke thought her uninterested because of her natural reserve. She blamed her shyness on her unusual eyes. People often stared, making her uncomfortable. How was she supposed to strike up a conversation with someone when they studied her as if she were an oddity suited for Vauxhall Gardens?

  This was her chance. If she followed the duke into the garden, he might act. Having this whole situation behind her would relieve her family’s mind as well as her own. That justified her forward behavior, didn’t it?

  She reached the door and rushed outside, glancing about to see if anyone was there to witness her recklessness.

  The terrace was empty except for the retreating figure of the duke. Her heart pounded. Should she should be relieved or concerned at the idea of being alone with him?

  Ignoring the niggle of doubt suggesting caution, she called out, “Your grace?”

  He turned, surprise raising his brows. “Miss Gold. Is something amiss?”

  “I-I—” Oh, dear heavens. What was she to say now that she had his attention? Did you mean to propose to me before that man interrupted us? No. That would never do. “I didn’t have the chance to ask if you plan to attend the Carlton ball later this week.”

  Torches lined the edge of the terrace but did little to penetrate the dark, moonless night. The intimacy of the situation caught Caroline off guard. Doubt shifted from a whisper to a shout in her mind.

  The duke drew nearer. His proximity made her even more nervous, and her pulse fluttered in her throat. He seemed different out here. More...masculine. Silly of her to only now remember he was a man rather than merely a means to an end.

  “I haven’t yet decided.” His gaze swept over her, lingering on her breasts.

  Perhaps that was because she was practically panting with distress. No doubt he saw her chest heaving and thought something wrong.

  He stepped closer still, and it was all she could do not to step back in reaction.

  She berated herself. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? An intimate moment that would allow him to propose.

  “Will you be there?” His gaze lifted to hold hers, filling her with relief that he no longer stared at her body.

  “I believe so. Lady Carlton is always so kind that it seems a shame to miss it.” Was it her imagination, or was he easing nearer still? “My mother enjoys visiting with her as well.”

  She bit her tongue at the inane comment. Apparently, her intelligence had been smothered by her nerves.

  He nodded as he lifted his hand to touch her bare arm where her capped sleeve ended. “I hope you’re not too chilled out here.” His hand lingered on her skin, and the voice in her head shouted again, even louder.

  Instead of telling him he was making her uncomfortable, she gritted
her teeth and smiled—something she seemed to be doing often of late. “Not at all.”

  He ran his hand along her arm, and she couldn’t help but shiver in reaction but not from desire.

  When he smiled in response, her unease only increased.

  “Will you?” she asked, hoping he didn’t notice the squeak at the end of her question.

  “I will make a point to attend if you’ll be there.”

  Odd how that didn’t make her feel warm on the inside. What was wrong with her this evening?

  “Miss Gold, or perhaps I might call you Caroline?”

  “Of course.”

  “Caroline, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, I am deeply attracted to you.” He glanced about the terrace. “I must say, I’m touched that you followed me out here. By yourself.”

  His comment only made her feel more alone. More vulnerable.

  “Yes, well, I should return inside. No doubt my mother is looking for me.” Would the mention of her mother cause him to step back? Did she want him to? Her senses were confused, unable to clarify how she should act, what she might say, what she should do.

  “No doubt.” His easy agreement should’ve reassured her, but it didn’t.

  He glanced toward the door leading to the ballroom, making her wonder what caused his distraction. Was he looking for someone?

  “Caroline.”

  Her attention returned to him to see him lean forward. Shock swept through her as she realized he intended to kiss her. This should be exactly what she wanted. He’d admitted his attraction, and now he was showing her.

  Yet she couldn’t bring herself to meet him halfway. Instead, she stilled, watching his narrow lips come closer and closer, all too aware of the dread in the pit of her stomach.

  Suddenly, he moved back. “I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this another time. Damn Aberland.” His hastily muttered words were barely audible before he was gone.