Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(76)

The furnishings of the public rooms had been released from their drop cloths, the rugs beaten and relaid, the gilded frames holding precious paintings rubbed until they glowed.

The duchess had accomplished all this by bullying her staff unmercifully, and bullying her friends into accepting her invitation on short notice. It would not be forgotten, the duchess had implied, if the recipient of this invitation made their excuses or simply didn’t turn up. More than half of London society was dependent on the duke’s support, and so they duly arrived.

The Earl of Chesfield, of the red face and booming voice, arrived with his wife and sister in tow. With him came officers—a colonel, a captain, and a young lieutenant—from the regiment that boarded in his house. Uncle Perry, more refined than the earl in a neat wig and tasteful blue frock coat, greeted Chesfield and his officers and fell into conversation with them.

Celia’s father, who disliked large gatherings but suffered them for the sake of the Whig party, stood uncomfortably next to his wife, his face pink, and welcomed his flock.

Alec had managed to beg off standing in the receiving line with the duke and duchess, giving his opinion that the duke’s friends might be offended if forced to greet a nobody. A gradual introduction might be better, he suggested in his breathy, deferential voice.

The duchess agreed with Alec, looking a bit surprised he understood his lowly position. She did tell him, however, that he needed to attend in suitable attire. This she delivered with a pointed glare at Alec’s well-worn suit.

The duke offered his tailor in London. Alec hadn’t told Celia what the tailor had come up with, but when he emerged from his bedchamber to escort her downstairs, Celia saw that Alec had decided to err on the side of ostentation.

His frock coat was black velvet, but that fact could scarcely be discerned behind the silver embroidery and gold-threaded lace that covered every inch of it. Lace flowed over Alec’s blunt-fingered hands and spilled out from the top of his waistcoat. The coat’s peplum had been starched to bell out around his breeches, which were silver and gold brocade. White stockings clocked from knee to ankle covered his strong legs, and his brocade shoes were topped with buckles four inches square that glittered with diamonds.

Celia, who’d instructed her maid to dress her in modest attire—dark green velvet overskirt over a blue silk underskirt, and a fichu to cover her shoulders and bosom, stared at Alec, open-mouthed.

“Good heavens, Mr. Finn,” she exclaimed. “If you stand under a chandelier, the company will have to shield their eyes.”

“Exactly, lass.” Alec was flushed with anticipation, his eyes glittering as much as his shoe buckles. “They’ll see the hideous costume, not the man inside it. It’s what a gentleman of little means would purchase when he was told there was no limit to what he could spend. He’d go mad for a time. The tailor was a happy man.”

Celia looked him over, wanting to laugh. “I wish I could say you will be the most overdressed gentleman at the gathering, but I fear that will not be so.” She tucked her hand through the crook in his arm, thrilling, as she always did, at the strength under the soft velvet. “Every dandy and fop in London will be here, wanting a look at the man who stole away the Duke of Crenshaw’s daughter.” She leaned close. “I doubt any of those will recognize you, but what about the Earl of Chesfield and his officers from the regiment?”

“This is where you will help me, my wife. You will cut them off whenever they try to get near me, or tell them I just stepped out of the room when they ask to meet me. And when it’s time for me to vanish for good, you will claim I am with those who scuttled off to view paintings or exotic plants or whatever entertainments are to be had in this vast house.”

Celia tightened her hold. “Do you truly have to go alone? This is too dangerous.”

“We’ve been through the plan.” Alec pressed his hand over hers. “Padruig will help, and if Will is in that house, we’ll save time if he doesn’t have to be convinced by strangers that I’m waiting for him. He’ll flay me alive for coming after him, but at least he’ll be free to do it.”

Determination burned through him. Celia wasn’t so foolish to insist on accompanying him—she’d hardly be helpful in her skirts and wide panniers, blundering through a dark woodland full of soldiers. Her part was to distract her mother’s guests from cornering Alec or noticing when he’d gone. When the house was thronged, the dancing fully commenced, Celia would slip away and meet him in the appointed place.

The entire ball, in fact, was a diversion. Alec, Lady Flora, and Mrs. Reynolds had planned down to the minute what each of them would do. Celia had watched Alec grow grim as they plotted, the warrior in him erasing the smiling charmer Alec could become. He was a dangerous man, as Celia had sensed the first day she’d met him.

However, even with the officers attending the ball, and the soldiers likely slacking while their superiors went off to an entertainment, Alec would have to move like a ghost as he scouted the old house for a sign of his brother.

“You’ll gleam in the moonlight.” Celia said. “You won’t even need a lantern.”

Alec chuckled. “I have hidden plainer clothes in the woods. Don’t worry about me, wife. I have done this before.”

“That is hardly reassuring.”

Alec slid his arm around her and scooped her to him for a long kiss. The silver threads of his coat and the gold in the lace scratched her skin, and the entire garment reeked of perfume. But Alec’s kiss was his, hot, commanding and giving at the same time.