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“I can tell.”
“I didn’t expect you so soon or else I would have tried to ensure Anton was not here but when he heard you were at the door...” She waved a hand vaguely.
He nodded. “He didn’t want his sister to be alone with a notorious rake.”
Her smile tightened. “Something like that.”
“So what did you need to ask of me?” Oliver asked quickly when he realized his gaze had fallen upon her lips far too often in the last few moments.
Eleanor huffed out a breath. “I want to use your connections.”
“Connections?” He lifted both brows. “I hardly think I have better connections than you.”
“I do not mean within theton.” Her throat bobbed. “My sisters and I—we tried to find out if anyone had seen this woman, but it seems not. I’ve concluded that perhaps the woman is from a social circle not of our own. I’ve already asked our friend Charlotte—she owns the bakery in Cranbourn Alley—to keep an ear out for word of a newcomer. However, there are women with whom Charlotte would not associate, and I think it would be remiss of us to ignore them.”
“Women she would not associate with…” Oliver echoed with a frown.
“Ladies of a, um, certain reputation?”
“Ah.” Oliver glanced at the open door.
Wherever the duke was, he couldn’t be close, and he had a reputation for being more than vague these days. If Anton heard him speaking of such matters with his sister however, he wouldn’t put it past the man to call him out. “I do not really make a habit of spending time with such women.”
“But you know where they are, do you not? After all, you are a—”
“Rake?”
“A man, I was going to say.”
“Believe it or not, Ellie, not all of us spend our days in the arms of a...woman of a certain reputation.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it, a look of defeat sagging her posture.
“I know where and whom to ask though,” he said. “And I will do my best to help.”
Her bright smile had Oliver shaking his head to himself. The last thing he wanted to be doing was spending time at whorehouses but, for her, he suspected he’d do anything.
Chapter Twelve
“Ihaven’t seen that dress in a while,” Aunt Sarah commented as she and Eleanor moved into the ballroom at Almack’s.
The simple decor favored by the patronesses had once been a statement but for the nouveau riche and even the younger members of theton, the simple assembly room, lined with red ropes to signify the dancefloor paled in comparison to the balls they had seen throughout the Season.
Eleanor suspected the patronesses feared the frivolousness of some of the newer members of Society; however, as much as she was no fan of balls and their busy, cramped dance floors, she preferred the highly decorated events of the big houses. The corners of the room appeared lacking without ferns or trailing displays of flowers, and she knew the supper room would be no better, offering no alcohol and bread and plain cake. Attendance had dropped recently, and she speculated it would be worse next year.
Still, it would be one less ball to attend.
Eleanor ignored her aunt’s comment and tried to stop herself from searching the sea of faces. The gown she wore was one of her more dramatic, with golden trim around her waistline, bust and hem. The diaphanous cream overlay drifted about her as she moved and tiny silky leaves were sewn into the bodice. The last time she’d worn it had been prior to Chastity’s marriage and around the time of the start of the rumors. Wearing such an elegant gown had drawn far too much attention and she’d vowed not to wear it again.
It seemed her vow was for nought because here she was, wearing the prettiest dress she owned, and looking for Oliver.
At least she could admit it to herself. That was good, was it not? There was no sense in trying to deceive oneself. She’d spent far too long doing that, believing that she had been accepted into society. She refused to continue to do so now.
A flutter resided low in her belly when she spotted him, tall and elegant, his posture a model of confidence. Oliver caught her eye and his lips curved. The flutter turned into a wild tempest, whipping through her and leaving her feeling as though she had been blown to pieces. How she managed to remain composed as he approached was beyond her.
“Eleanor, Mrs. Knighton.” He greeted them both with a dip of his head.
“You are looking mightily handsome tonight, Oliver,” Aunt Sarah said. “And call me Aunt Sarah. You are practically family, after all.”
