Scoundrel of My Heart (Once Upon a Dukedom #1) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,48

ones who caught no one’s attention when moving about Society, or those who stood at the edge of it peering in. But here the ladies were not outshone by seventeen- and eighteen-year-old girls who had recently curtsied before the Queen. Nor were the men outranked by dukes, marquesses, and earls.

They were equals. In search of a bit of fun. They were filling his coffers with the drinks they purchased, the food upon which they dined, the coins they passed over to his dealers. And the membership they paid for the privilege of doing all that.

But at the moment, unlike previous nights, he wasn’t striving to estimate this evening’s tally. He was concentrating on her, dressed in copper, crowned in copper, as she gracefully skirted around people, acknowledging with a slight nod those she knew. Second and third sons. Fourth and fifth. A couple of widows. A widower. Lonely people who sought companionship. Not always sex. He’d learned that quickly enough. The rooms he’d designated on the top floor for intimate encounters were seldom used. To his surprise, even when the opportunity presented itself, his members weren’t quite as free as those he’d seen at the cock and hen club he’d visited. Reputations were still guarded. But he saw a lot more smiles here, heard a good deal more laughter, than he had experienced at fancy balls held by the elite. Perhaps eventually his club would become something else other than what he’d originally envisioned, but that was all for dissecting later.

For now, he descended the stairs and met her before she could disappear into one of the rooms beyond. “Lady Kathryn.”

“Mr. Stanwick.”

Last night she’d made a point of emphasizing the form of address that should have made him less than what he’d once been, and he’d detested her use of it, but it created a chasm between him and the man who had sired him, and for that he was grateful. “We require members register in the front room and have their membership verified.”

“It’s an inefficient system. I haven’t the patience for it. You should give your members a card or a medallion that they can show to your lumbering giant and move on.”

“So they can hand it to a friend who hasn’t paid for the privilege to enter?”

She shrugged. “Hire someone to sketch their likeness onto the card.”

He stared at her in astonishment, at the easy solution she’d suggested. “That’s not a half-bad idea.” It would get people in quicker. They would have more time to drink, to spend. “Not half-bad at all. What else would you change?”

“Well, I don’t know. I haven’t seen everything yet.”

He fought not to smile. He wasn’t going to give her a smile, give her reason to believe he was glad she’d returned. “Would you like to?”

“It seems only fair.”

“You’re still miffed at me.”

“Not as much.” It appeared she was striving not to smile as well, and it did strange things to his gut, causing it to tighten and expand at the same time.

“Allow me the honor, then, of escorting you through.”

He didn’t offer his arm, didn’t give any indication at all that she meant more to him than any other member. Instead, after signaling with a wave of his arm the direction in which they should go—down the hallway just past the stairs—he placed his hands behind his back and clutched them in order to stop himself from touching her lightly on her upper arm or shoulder or back.

But he’d imagined this, showing her what he’d accomplished since he’d slept in missions until his investments earned enough that he could purchase this building and move into a room on the top floor. Collecting on the wagers had allowed him to furnish it. He’d often worked from dawn until midnight, assisting the carpenters, or moving furniture about, or interviewing and hiring staff, or having invitations printed. He wondered if she would notice that the shade of each room was a reflection of her in some manner. The coppery tint of her hair, the green of her eyes, the blue. The burnished brown of the freckles that were no longer there.

He led her into the parlor with its pale blue walls. A few dark blue sofas rested at the edge of the room, but here people mostly stood, mingled, visited, made new acquaintances, rekindled old. They purchased their libations at a mahogany counter and nibbled on tiny cucumber sandwiches.

A woman talking with a tall, dark-haired man looked toward them and lifted her glass of red