their identities. How could she? They moved in elevated circles she had only entered in her dreams and hopes. She had mentioned Barton’s coat of arms—a stag with a flower between its teeth—and that was how Nicolas had found the man and assuaged a bit of the rage in his heart.
The stag with the lily in its mouth was the most brutal, for it was that one who taught me that fear and pain lie in a touch.
Closing his eyes against the broken whisper in which he heard the tone of her letters, he lifted the glass of wine and emptied it, wishing they had served something stronger.
It was surprising that Farringdon had been savvy enough to start suspecting Nicolas of not being what he presented to the world. His scheme possessed a crack in its design, and he must find it and fix it posthaste.
While they had smoked earlier in the gardens, Farringdon made several tasteless and ribald jokes in regard to the rumors circulating about the ballroom.
“Is the cunny of a wallflower any different than a lady of varied experience? I imagine Lady Maryann has been grateful for your attention. Perhaps I might take a turn when you are through amusing yourself.”
It had taken acute willpower not to smash the duke’s teeth in.
“You speak of a lady who could be your sister. Show some discretion,” Nicolas had coolly warned.
“You defend her so readily, Rothbury. Do you plan to court her then? How prettily she smiled up at you when dancing. I cannot recall you ever dancing with a bit of quality before. Do you recall it, Weychell?”
The viscount had looked between them anxiously, a frown splitting his brow, his blue eyes worried and silently questioning.
“Court her? Don’t be stupid,” Nicolas had said with a mock shudder, pulling on his cheroot. “With my reputation, dancing with her wasn’t a good thing. I had my reasons.”
“Which are?” the duke had demanded.
“My own,” Nicolas had replied with a deliberately carnal smile.
Though Farringdon had laughed and slapped Nicolas’s shoulders, his gaze had been shrewd and assessing as he watched Nicolas’s expression.
Judging to see if Lady Maryann mattered.
Judging to see if she could become a pawn.
Judging to see if Nicolas’s coveted weakness had been uncovered.
Very reckless of the duke, as if Nicolas would ever allow a woman to become so important she was a weakness. Laughable really. They did not truly know him.
Except…he rubbed the spot above his heart, which damn well ached with hunger.
His cutting tone just now might serve to distract the duke from whatever nonsense he’d been thinking. Nicolas closed his eyes, battling the raw feelings stirring inside. He couldn’t explain it, but this he did not want. He did not want to use Lady Maryann for any purpose. He did not want her ruined even if it might help her plans. He did not want her cut from her society and friends. Bloody hell.
Lady Vivienne, a widowed viscountess for a number of years, briefly touched his arm to garner his attention. She pursed her lips and graced him with a sexually charged smile. “Many of us ladies would never do something so gauche as to attempt to tread in a man’s world and give an opinion on politics. It is just not done and so very unflattering to a lady.”
She leaned in intimately close and suggestively purred, “I do not fully agree with Lord Prendergast; there are some wicked reasons a lady might open her mouth. It’s been an age since I’ve indulged, and I’ve heard you are excessively naughty.”
Nicolas examined the anticipation in her eyes, suppressed his ire, and replied with a modicum of civility.
“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” he murmured, once again surprised at himself, for the widow was an exceptionally beautiful woman many had tried to woo to be their mistress.
She had rejected everyone, including David, and here she was offering Nicolas a night of debauchery. And he was decidedly uninterested. The woman he wanted splayed wide underneath him, legs high around his waist while that lush mouth begged him for relief from the agonizing pleasure he would give her had not looked at him since his cutting remark. The awareness of his singular lascivious and inappropriate thought had him stiffening. Hell.
Earlier, Nicolas discovered he quite enjoyed playing the rake with her, delighting in her quick wit and replies to his banter. He had found himself wanting to know so much more about her than the snippets gleaned whenever he stole into her chambers, and the desire