Blake and Harrington maintained memberships at both White’s and Brooks’s. While Matthew favored White’s, Blake felt more comfortable at Brooks’s and had spent most of his days there to avoid both Stanfords. Blake’s mind refused to release the memory of Lucy’s body in his arms. He constantly pictured the lush curve of her lips and often caught himself fantasizing about kissing her, and then his imagination had her fully undressed and lying on his bed. Her sleeping only a few doors away from him each night did not help.
Blake occupied his usual high-back chair near a fireplace which afforded him lines of sight to both entrance and exit.
“Devonton.”
Who had addressed him?
His gaze shifted towards the door. It was none other than the head of the Home Office. “Archbroke.”
Settling into the chair next to his, Archbroke nodded to the paper in Blake’s hands. “Busy?”
“Always.”
“Haven’t seen you come by Gentlemen Jackson’s or attend many social engagements lately.”
Harrington had convinced Blake to accompany him to a few dinner parties, a soiree or two, but all were private affairs hosted by close friends from Oxford. At every event, Harrington had introduced him to a variety of eligible young ladies, but none could hold his attention. Quite rudely, his thoughts often strayed to Lucy and what she was doing holed up in her rooms.
“Is that all your set does?” he asked Archbroke. “Attend races? Play Cards? Thrash each other in the ring?”
While Archbroke had not attended Oxford, he was deeply ingrained with those who had.
The Home Secretary glanced at the other members nearby. “What else could you possibly be interested in doing?”
One eyebrow raised, Blake rattled the paper in his hand. “Get involved in the building of factories? New industries? Better conditions for those who work our lands?”
Archbroke scoffed, “Preposterous! That sounds like work.”
Blake chuckled. “Yes, work.”
Accustomed to working, he missed having a particularly defined purpose or mission. Now he must define his own assignments and tasks. First, he must marry and beget an heir. Immediately he envisioned Lucy.
Archbroke leaned over the arm of the chair and asked. “Shouldn’t you be out courting a lady?”
Had Blake somehow revealed his thoughts? No, he was a master of blank expressions. However, Archbroke was considered a genius. Or had the man acted upon a hunch?
“I have the entire Season to make my choice.” It was a lie. Blake didn’t have time to waste—he needed to return to his country estate with enough time to effectively implement some of the farming techniques he had learned over on the Continent. Crop yields for the past two years had dwindled, and his tenants would greatly benefit from the new methods.
With a smirk, Archbroke taunted him. “If I remember correctly, I don’t believe you succeeded in convincing Lady Lucy to dance with you at the Emsworth ball.”
Apparently, Blake wasn’t the only one with an excellent memory. Why was Archbroke intent on goading him? Of what benefit would it be to him if Blake was to take an interest in Lucy?
“You are correct, but Harrington did grant me the honor of escorting her home.”
Seeing the shock in Archbroke’s eyes, Blake regretted disclosing that last piece of information. He didn’t want to jeopardize Lucy’s reputation in any way. Despite being drawn to the woman like a magnet, she was Harrington’s sister. But could he deny his attraction to her? She was a complete enigma. She showed no apparent interest in him, yet there was an undeniable pull that existed between them.
Archbroke rose and, in an authoritative tone, said, “Devonton, it appears you have spent too many years away.”
Why did the man have the uncanny ability to access a situation and sum it up succinctly? Blake had come to the same conclusion just the other day. He would have to decide soon what do to about Lucy. If by the end of the house party she showed no further interest in him, he would have to consider some other lady. Mayhap Lady Mary, whom Lucy had recommended to him.