Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(42)
Geoffrey resisted the urge to snort. If there was one man who knew finances, it was Duldon. Geoffrey had never been sure how he did it, but Duldon always knew which way the markets were headed and which ships full of goods were due in. If it were possible he would have even sworn Duldon knew which ships’ goods had spoiled long before they even drew near shore. “And are the rumors true?” He turned back to gaze at Lady Brookingston, whose eyes still remained locked on someone hidden by the crowd.
“Yes, as a matter of fact they are. The woman might as well be sitting on bags of gold.” Duldon’s eyes moved to look upon Lady Brookingston and then turned back to Geoffrey with iron intent. “And your question makes me believe that other rumors may be true as well.”
A cold pit opened in Geoffrey’s gut, blocking out all other thought. “Other rumors?”
Duldon held his gaze, as if seeking confirmation. “Rumors that your father has finally found a way to escape from your net of restraint. Is it true that he is leasing Risusgate—and to an American?”
Geoffrey tore his eyes from Duldon’s and turned back to the milling crowd, back to her, seeking any distraction from the furious tumble of emotions that Duldon’s words fired within him. And then the crowds parted and he saw the focus of Lady Brookingston’s attention.
The Duke of Mirth stood laughing, a wine goblet in each hand, a man without a care in the world.
The Duke of Mirth—his father.
She had to stop staring. Louisa forced her glance away. It wouldn’t do to be caught with her eyes locked upon this older duke as if she were a young girl catching sight of a boxful of kittens.
If only her spine would stop prickling and her heart stop racing. It was not him. And she had to stop thinking that every other man she saw was her mysterious lover.
Charles was gone—and must remain that way.
The heat that rose in her body, that pooled between her legs, that longed for something more was only in her mind. And she could control her mind—or at least she could try.
Another drink would do the trick. Perhaps she’d move from punch to champagne. Something cooling was called for, perhaps something with just that little bit more.
And she wasn’t talking about bubbles.
Raising a hand, she gestured to the footman who had just entered the room with a silver tray of delicate glasses.
The glasses clinked slightly as he walked toward her.
And then, as she reached for one, another hand snaked past her, grabbing the very glass she reached for. Stepping back in surprise, she found herself bumping into another body, a warm body smelling faintly of peppermint and something else she couldn’t quite put a name to, something green and fresh.
“So sorry, my dear.” The voice, that voice, echoed from behind.
Turning her head, she found herself looking up at the Duke of Mirth’s smiling face.
“I do tend to be a little bit overeager when the champagne makes the rounds. I’d say it’s all the gas, but my son would chide me for being rude. He’d be convinced that I meant something other than I did. I just happen to like bubbles. They tickle my nose.”
“I was just thinking of my own fondness for bubbles,” Louisa replied. It wasn’t quite true, but it was close enough.
“More beverages should have them,” the duke said, handing her a glass. “Do drink up. It is a fine vintage. Lady Hamilton always does well by her guests. No desire to cut corners, unlike some others.”
“I am not sure to whom you refer, your grace, but I do agree about Lady Hamilton.” She took a sip and smiled. “She has a most generous soul. I knew her well when I was younger.”
The duke narrowed his eyes and squinted at her. She could feel him cataloguing her in his mind, searching for her identity.
“You’re Landes’s girl, married the Beckwith boy—the one who had the hassle of inheriting the title and becoming earl. Brookingston. He’s dead, isn’t he?”
She could only blink. “Why, yes, he is.”
He sensed his faux pas, and it was the duke’s turn to blink. “Sorry. My Geoffrey may be right about my manners. I never do like the bother of thinking before I speak. You must have been fond of the boy. Wives aren’t always, but you look the type to have insisted on the kinder emotions.”
“Well, yes, I was. I did consider it a love match, for all our families approved.”
“That’s good. I do like a love match. Had one myself. Corrine was always a dear, knew just how to handle me.” He wiped at the corner of his eye. “She’s gone, too. It does still hurt, even after all these years. I can see you feel the same.”
“Why, yes.” This was one of the strangest conversations she’d ever had.
The duke suddenly held up his flute, already empty although she’d barely seen it touch his lips. “Let me get you another.” His solemn expression changed in a moment, a wide grin spreading from cheek to cheek. “It never does to dwell on sad things. Does the soul much better to move on, to stay busy. I imagine you think the same—why else would you be wearing such a festive dress? It’s always good to put off the mourning and move on. Are you here looking for a new husband? I don’t remember hearing of any babes. Didn’t some cousin or other inherit Brookingston’s title? Never do remember these things, but I am sure that’s right. Hard on you not having an heir—but there, I am getting glum again. No need for that. If it’s a husband you want, it’s a husband we’ll find.”