Chapter 6

 

 

 

When Christian first entered the ballroom, his mother’s words about finding a suitable bride replayed in his mind. He had agreed with her assessment—duty, and whatnot.

His gaze landed on small clusters of young ladies chatting. A few others sat alone in chairs along the far wall, looking uncomfortable, as if they would rather be any place but here. He understood the sentiment. Protective mamas and chaperones kept a close watch on those young ladies dancing.

Christian loathed this aspect of society.

Despite having every intention of milling about with marriageable young ladies, now in the ballroom, his interest started to wane. No, he needed to do this. It was time to act as a duke and see to his duty, whatever in the deviled hell that meant.

Sighing, he clasped his hands behind his back as his gaze landed on a statuesque young lady partially obscured by an oversized potted fern. His eyes narrowed as every nerve ending in his body came alive, crackling with sensual energy and awareness.

An actual reaction, he did not expect it at this gathering.

Christian moved closer, his concentrated gaze never wavering. The young lady was athletic in build, well-proportioned indeed. But her beautiful shade of brown hair. Where had he seen it before?

At the moment he pondered where he might have met or observed the veritable Amazon, she turned slightly, and it struck him as if a blow across the face.

Eleanora Galway.

Here.

Christian’s interest increased a thousand-fold as his heated stare took in her lush figure. My God, how had she managed to hide those curves under her laborer disguise?

She turned and faced him; her eyes widened, but she quickly schooled her features into bland apathy. Her skin had the look of fine porcelain, but he would bet his moderate fortune it would be soft to the touch. Her lips were plump and lush, and the urge to kiss her senseless washed over him.

Next to her, a young lady whispered furiously, and Eleanora bent slightly at the waist to listen to the much shorter woman.

Ah, of course.

Lady Lillian Castle.

Her screeching voice reminded him of an agitated parrot squawking non-stop for crackers. However, he could use her to gain an introduction. All of the sudden, this dull affair had piqued his interest.

And curiosity.

What part was Eleanora playing now? And why?

Christian moved through the throng with a clear purpose in mind. She stepped out from behind the fern, and he got a full view of her. The copper and gold gown hugged each curve.

And she had the most glorious breasts.

She must have bound them to keep such abundance hidden under the large coat she had worn the night they’d met. His reaction was so raw and visceral he was tempted to fall to his knees in front of her.

Worship her. Surrender completely.

Easy now. A little control would not go amiss.

Purposefully, he exhaled, willing his rapid heartbeat to slow and his rampant erection to lessen. Thank God for his formal evening coat, as it hid the evidence.

Christian stood before them and bowed. “My lady. How good to see you again?”

Though be damned if he could remember where he had seen her.

Giggling, she held out her gloved hand, and he politely bent over it before releasing it.

“Your Grace! What a delight to see you here! Does this mean you are at last seeking a bride?”

Squawk-squawk indeed.

Lady Lillian Castle’s squealing voice cut clean through his spine, and he inwardly cringed. It certainly assisted in killing his arousal. Instead, he focused on Eleanora, who shook her head slightly as if to warn him.

“And who is this? Would you introduce us, Lady Lillian?”

“Certainly! This is my dear friend, Miss Constance Baxendale, niece of Sir Reginald Ramsay. Are you acquainted with him? Perhaps not as he is only a knight. Miss Baxendale, this is the Duke of Allenby.”

“Sir Reginald and I may have socialized once or twice,” he murmured.

Eleanora held out her gold gloved hand. “A distinct honor, Your Grace.”

He took it, and, even through their gloves, heat passed between them. Did Eleanora feel it too? Her expression did not change.

He, however, felt as if a raging fire traveled through each part of him. My God, those lips were made for sin, and her throaty voice stirred his cock. He was instantly aroused again—to the point of torment.

“The honor is all mine, I assure you. Christian Bamford, at your service.” He laid a brief kiss on her knuckles before reluctantly releasing her hand.

The small orchestra struck up a waltz.

“Are you otherwise engaged for this dance?” he asked her.

“No, I am not,” she replied frostily.

Yes, she is good.

Eleanora was every inch the glacial heiress right down to the posh accent. Her husky voice had his heart thumping against his ribcage. He held out his arm, and Eleanora lightly placed her hand upon it, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor.

“What are you doing,” she ground out softly through gritted teeth.

“I could ask you the same thing, Miss Galway.”

“I’m not a good dancer. You will expose my charade,” she whispered furiously.

Gathering her as close as propriety allowed, he immediately whirled her about the dance floor, a slight gasp of surprise leaving her luscious lips.

“I am an exceptional dancer, all part of my blue blood upbringing and training.” He gave her a teasing wink.

Christian abruptly swirled her along the perimeter of the room, and a smile curled about her lips, her eyes bright.

“We are being watched,” Eleanora whispered furiously, as she cast glances at the crowd.

“Of course, we are. After all, I’m a duke.” He gave her another teasing wink. “Everything I do causes speculation. I haven’t danced with a young lady at a social event such as this for quite some time. It would excite comment. It will no doubt make the society pages.”

“Drat it, the last thing we want is to draw attention,” she admonished, her fingers digging into his shoulder.

“Too late.” Christian dared to pull her close, enough that the hem of her gown landed between his legs with each turn about the marbled floor.

By God, she felt right in his arms. Eleanora was almost looking him in the eye; he liked that. Her waist was trim, her shoulders broad. He liked that too.

A warrior goddess. 

In his mind’s eye, he pictured her clad in armor and wielding a sword, leading an attack into a horde of barbarians. The thought aroused him further.

“You look exquisite tonight,” Christian ventured, his voice low and hoarse. “You’re shimmering like an ingot of gold. The gown is becoming, a compliment to your coloring, and dare I say, your luxuriant figure?”

Yes, he was flirting and teasing, and having more fun than he had had in an age. “Or perhaps you’re similar to a butterscotch sponge cake with chocolate ganache. I wonder if your succulent lips taste as sweet?”

Eleanora laughed, and he was pleased that she was taking his light-hearted banter in the way that he intended. Her full-throated chortle caught the attention of all around them. Christian joined in as he pivoted her in the reverse direction. As far as he was concerned, he could dance with her all night.

Everywhere Eleanora touched him, her hand on his shoulder, her other hand resting lightly in his, ached with awareness. The laughter ended with a smile, one so dazzling it covered him with a flourishing warmth that swiftly flared to a roaring flame.

How tempting it would be to nuzzle her soft neck, inhale more of her glorious scent. Eleanora was not awash in lavender as was the fashion these last years, but hers was more of a spicy mixture. It appealed to him.

What Christian wanted to know is: did she apply it directly to her soft skin or her garments? The thought of her elegant fingers trailing across her naked skin made him moan softly. Thankfully, the loud music masked his indecorous reaction.

Gently, he squeezed her hand, his thumb caressing her knuckles. Eleanora’s eyes widened. Her hand, the one resting on his shoulder, moved slightly in a circular motion, caressing him in return. Every part of him was aware and alive as never before. Briefly, he pulled her closer until her breasts mashed against his chest. The contact seared, and his eyes narrowed with desire.

To Eleanora’s credit, she did not pull away. Instead, she trailed the tips of her fingers along the valley of his spine. He growled in response.

The spell broke as the music came to a crescendo. The dance ended far too soon. Christian came to an abrupt stop, and their gazes locked. The room was quiet, or perhaps all faded away, leaving no one but he and Eleanora. Her chest was rising and falling from their exertion. Several beats passed before their hands slowly moved away from shoulders and waists.

Eleanora curtsied, her head down, and she murmured, “Tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock. One forty-nine Cleveland Street. I have questions.”

“So do I, Miss Galway. Many of them.”

She whirled about and glided away from him before he even had the chance to escort her back to Miss Castle. Perhaps it was for the best as they had attracted far too much notice. But he couldn’t help himself; he had to hold her in his arms.

It had been absolutely glorious.

Seeking out the balcony doors, he strode outside, taking great gulps of humid early autumn air. Ever since he had become aware of women in a sexual way, he never had such a stark reaction as the one he just experienced with Eleanora Galway.

Not ever.

Completely foreign.

This flirtation was not wise.

Christian had employed Eleanora to discover the truth about the body part delivered to his club. Is that why she was here, had she a suspect already? What had Miss Castle whispered in her ear? No doubt filled her in on his disreputable reputation, one he had been coasting on for months.

He would obtain answers tomorrow. In the meantime, it would be best if he kept his attraction under wraps. How he would be able to achieve it was another matter. It shouldn’t be difficult. Christian learned at an early age to hide behind his diffident ducal mask.

It was time to do so once again.