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But her kisses had been sublime. The taste and feel of her. The way she’d moaned and responded to every flagrant thing he’d done. But it wasn’t just that. He was stimulated by her conversation. Her boldness and pithy observations. Even the occasional slip of her tongue.
Good God, her deliciously tart tongue.
One thing was patently clear: Dominic needed to spend more time with her. It had been so long since he’d felt such a passion for anyone or anything other than his business affairs and managing his vast estate. And it was becoming more than evident that Miss Artemis Jones might be more addictive than his brother-in-law’s very good spirits. It was as though she was the opiate his soul desperately needed to assuage his pain.
And his ever-present guilt.
Horatia’s return to the dining room interrupted his brooding.
“Are the boys all settled?” asked Edward as he waved a footman over to pour her a sherry.
“Yes, at last,” she said before turning her attention to Dominic. “And you’ll be pleased to know, dear brother, that Celeste is still quite happily installed in the library with Miss Sharp and a fresh pot of tea. We had a brief chat about what it means to be a duke’s daughter and the importance of maintaining one’s reputation, and she was most receptive to everything I said.” Horatia grimaced. “At least I think so. Adolescent girls are so hard to decipher.”
“I know what you mean.” Dominic sighed. “But I’m glad Celeste listened to you. Perhaps we’ve seen the worst of this strange moody stage she’s been going through.”
Indeed, earlier this evening, he’d been nothing but pleased when Celeste had readily agreed to accompany him to her aunt and uncle’s house without making a huge fuss. By fuss, he meant a bout of histrionic crying and accusations that he was being grossly cruel and unfair to make her sit through a boring family dinner when all they ever talked about was politics and business and horses and estate management. And how could she possibly go out when none of her gowns would do, yet he’d refused to provide her with a new wardrobe for the Season?
No, she’d smiled sweetly and had murmured, “Yes, Papa,” when he’d told her what he expected. It had been almosttooeasy.
Dominic hoped that she wasn’t up to something. However, he’d talk to Miss Sharp tomorrow to reassure himself that everything was indeed all right.
Horatia sipped her sherry, then settled a measured look upon him. “So, I hear you made quite a splash at the Castledowns’ ball last night.”
Dominic cocked a brow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do. My friends were simply abuzz with gossip about the Duke of Dartmoor during all my morning calls. About the huge stir you created with your dramatic entrance last night—how the entire room stopped and stared. And then how you singled out a mysterious redheaded woman in a bright-red gown and asked her to waltz. You’re the talk of the town. It’s in all the papers.”
“Sorry, old chap, but I’m afraid I also heard a few fellows talking about you at my club this afternoon,” added Edward.
Dominic grimaced. “It would be naive of me to hope that my name, or some bastardized version of it, hadn’t appeared in the newspapers this morning.” He’d avoided looking at any of the social pages because he knew he’d be irritated by whatever manufactured version of “the truth” appeared. As far as he was concerned, it would all be unmitigated rubbish.
“Everything I came across tended to focus on the fact you’ve come out of hiding to hunt for a new duchess,” said Horatia. “Which is true. None of the pieces I saw mentioned the word ‘dastardly’ or were disparaging in any way, if that’s what you’re worried about. Although…” She cast him a knowing smile. “I’d like to know the identity of this ravishing redhead. No one of my acquaintance seems to know.”
Dominic sipped his cognac. “She’s no one of consequence,” he said after a moment. “Just someone who caught my eye.” Even though he trusted Horatia not to spread gossip, he suddenly felt rather protective of Miss Jones.
How decidedly odd.
But his sister wasn’t going to let him off that easily. She gave a small snort. “I thought you wanted my opinion on anyone who sparked your interest. How am I to help if I’m kept in the dark?” Her expression turned sly. “I could always ask your hostess, Lady Castledown. I’m sureshewould know this mysterious woman’s name.”
Dominic sighed in resignation. Horatia wouldn’t leave him alone if he didn’t share a few bread crumbs. “She’s a bluestocking. The daughter of a vicar, but her aunt is a dowager baroness. Lady Wag-something.”
Horatia’s eyes glinted with interest. “So she’s not entirely bereft of connections. And you seemed to have gleaned quite a bit about her during your waltz.”
“You’re making far too much out of this, Horatia. Yes, I shared one dance with the woman. That’s all.”
“But by all accounts, you didn’t dance with anyone else,” she countered.
“I was tired,” he returned. “I’ve had a lot on my mind of late. And I wasn’t in the mood to be rejected by umpteen blushing chits or their gaping mamas or outraged fathers.”
“From what I’ve heard, this woman wasn’t a mere chit.Andshe didn’t reject you.” Horatia sent him a speaking look. “I wonder why.”
“Because she has better taste than most? She’s not the shy, retiring type? Because she doesn’t listen to idle gossip or believe everything she reads in the newspapers? I don’t know.”
“I’m sure you do but you won’t say,” said Horatia. “And I think your unwillingness to talk about this woman speaks volumes. I think sheissomeone of consequence. To you at least.”
Curse Horatia and her nosy questions and deuced perceptiveness. To stop himself from snapping at his sister—she didn’t deserve that—Dominic drained his cognac and pushed his glass toward Edward. “If you wouldn’t mind indulging me, old chap…”
“Of course.” Edward’s expression was a study in neutrality as he unstopped the crystal decanter and dispensed a double nip.
