Relief flooded Roarke, along with regret. He had chosen Lightmorrow to approach because of his string of past lovers who were also widows, and it seemed the universe was guiding him to perform his wicked duty. “That would be wonderful.”
“Do you know where my townhouse is here in London?” Lightmorrow asked. “Guests will begin to arrive at nine.”
“I do and I will be there.” Roarke stood and held out his hand again. “Now I must go if I’m to take care of everything on my list before I join you tonight.”
“I look forward to seeing you there,” Lightmorrow said, now watching him with a more appraising eye. “It was nice to see you today.”
“You as well. I’ll speak to you this evening.”
Roarke left then, hating himself for what he would have to do. But as had often been the case in his life, there was no choice.
CHAPTER 3
By the time Roarke stood in Lightmorrow’s ballroom a few hours after their encounter at the club, he had managed to convince himself that he wasn’t the actual worst person in the country. He wasn’t going to hurt the duchess, after all. Just ascertain if she was doing something his cousins would consider untoward. If they used some kind of legal means to deny her an additional ten thousand pounds of inheritance, well, the lady had a fine sum that had already been delivered to her years before.
So he stood with Lightmorrow, after his arrival, watching the increasingly crowded ball, and tried to steady himself. At least the company wasn’t terrible so far. Lightmorrow was proving himself to be amusing and intelligent, despite his reputation with the ladies that could make even the most profligate rake blush a little.
“Do you know Grayson Danford?” Lightmorrow said over the fray.
Roarke’s eyes went wide as he turned toward his old friend. “I…I have heard of him. He made his fortune in canals, yes?”
“He did,” Lightmorrow said. “And he’s working on something new. Steam, I think he said. Something about steam engines? He’s far too intelligent for me to pay attention. But you used to like that sort of forward thinking, if I recall, so perhaps you two will get along. He’s coming over now.”
He motioned toward a tall, hard-faced gentleman who was nearly at their side, and Roarke stood up straighter as Danford reached them and greeted their host. Then Lightmorrow made the further introductions, and for a moment they all talked about the most surface of topics.
“I know you think me quite daft,” Lightmorrow said after a moment. “But I think you’ll find a fellow inventive mind in our friend Desmond here. He likes the idea of steam engines, as well.
Danford speared Roarke with an interested stare, his dark eyes bright with excitement. “That is where the real future is.”
Roarke lifted his brows. “I happen to agree.”
Danford’s gaze flitted over him, reading him in an instant. “Yes, I seem to recall you invested with Harrimon, wasn’t it?”
“Disastrously,” Roarke said, and hated the humiliation that flooded him. “Lost everything, I fear.”
“Well, he had the wrong method. It’s the rail that will lead the future.” Danford sounded so certain it was difficult not to believe him. “I’m putting together a group of men willing to bet on that very outcome. You ought to consider buying in. I guarantee nothing, of course, but the return could be very high.”
Roarke shifted. Everyone knew that when Danford talked, it was best to listen. And he so desperately wanted to say yes. Only he couldn’t. At present, after he paid his mother’s expenses and the lowly overhead he kept for himself, he had approximately one hundred pounds to his name and it would have to last him until his next handout from his cousins. Certainly Danford would expect far more expenditure to be part of his project.
“I’ll have to consider it,” Roarke said.
Lightmorrow laughed. “Well, now I’ve done my most boring duty as a host and let you talk business. But now you must pay attention to all the loveliness to behold all around you.”
He motioned to the ladies in the room around them, and Danford smiled as he looked across the crowd toward a lovely woman with dark hair and startling gray-blue eyes. His wife, Roarke thought he recalled. Danford’s normally hard and intense expression softened. “You may be right, Lightmorrow. Perhaps it’s time to step away from business. I shall ask my wife.” He faced Roarke briefly. “Reach out to my offices if you have an interest. I’m always looking for men with an eye to the future. Good evening.”
He tipped his head and then slipped away into the crowd toward the lady. Lightmorrow shook his head. “Besotted,” he grumbled. “Every one of my friends has been similarly struck, it seems. You and I must focus on remaining—”
He didn’t finish the sentence but instead stared off toward the entrance to the ballroom. Roarke followed his gaze and caught his own breath. Two women had entered the room. One was a slender, dark-haired woman with a shy blush to her cheeks. The other was petite and curvaceous, her auburn hair done stylishly at the nape of an infinitely kissable neck.
He blinked. “Who is that?”
“Etta,” Lightmorrow said softly and then shook his head. “Forgive me, the Duchess of Tunbridge. And the shorter lady with her is the focus of your questions earlier. The Duchess of Sidmouth.”
Roarke’s eyes went wide as he looked again at the two ladies who were now moving across the room, smiling at friends. That was his uncle’s second wife? That absolute stunning vision of a woman who looked like she could still claim her spot as debutante was the much-hated Flora? No wonder his cousins had despised her. She was a breath of fresh air, a spot of light one couldn’t look away from.
And far, far too young for his uncle, who had married her when he was into his fifties. Arranged marriage or not, it was unseemly. She would have married him when she was barely into her twenties, if that. Was it possible his cousins were right in their assessment of her? Had this vision used her stunning beauty against the old man, manipulating herself into a fortune?
The ladies were now feet away and Roarke noticed that some of the color had drained from Lightmorrow’s face. Like he was just as enthralled as Roarke was. He found himself tensing as he awaited the exchange between the handsome duke and the stunning dowager.
But when Lightmorrow spoke, it wasn’t to her. Instead he reached out two hands and caught the other lady’s. “Etta,” he said softly. “Aren’t you lovely.”
The Duchess of Tunbridge blushed to the roots of her hair. “You are a tease,” she admonished shakily. “What a party, Theo. A success, as always.”
The Duchess of Sidmouth cleared her throat playfully. “Yes, and I’m here, too.”
Lightmorrow shook his head and leaned forward to clasp her hand, lifting it to his lips with distraction. “Of course. Welcome to you both. Forgive my manners, let me introduce you to an old friend from my school days, Mr. Roarke Desmond. Desmond, these are the Duchesses of Tunbridge and Sidmouth.”
The Duchess of Tunbridge glanced at him briefly before her attention was drawn back to Lightmorrow, but Flora…that was her given name, wasn’t it? And it fit, for she looked as beautiful as nature, herself. Flora let her gaze flit over him briefly. “Good evening, Mr. Desmond. How nice it is to meet you.”