Chapter 9

The Duke of Eversleigh threw his cards into the center of the table, his face impassive, though he had won a considerable amount of money in the first two games of the evening.

Lord Horton threw in his cards, too. "I should know from experience never to play against you, Marius," sighed. "You're always a lucky devil!"

"We miss you at the club, Eversleigh," Rufus Smythe commented. "Tell us, do you still believe you were wise to choose a bride so carelessly?"

Eversleigh raised his quizzing glass and eyed his questioner slowly, his face still expressionless. "Ah, but I never: do anything without care," he answered.

Sir Wilfred Denning smoothed the lace of his cuffs over his well-manicured hands and shuddered delicately. "You'll certainly chose fast enough, Eversleigh. I am still smarting at the loss of my grays. I see you have given them to her, Grace. A nicely ironic touch, that!"

"Indeed you have brought the duchess into fashion, Marius," Horton commented. "She is all the rage, I understand."

"Henry is one of a kind," Eversleigh answered enigmatically.

Rufus Smythe laughed. "I see that even your cousin has taken a fancy to her," he said.

Eversleigh toyed with his quizzing glass again, but did not lift it to his eye.

"I lunched with him at Watier's today," Smythe continued. "It must be pleasant, Eversleigh, to have a relative willing to relieve one of the tedium of accompanying one's wife to all the social functions."

Eversleigh's hand, clasped around the quizzing glass, stilled. The half-closed eyelids hid eyes which had sharpened. "To which event in particular are you referring, Smythe?" he asked with a languidness that was at odds with his alert eyes.

"Oh, he was taking her to something or other tonight, was he not?" said Smythe, gathering the cards together and proceeding to shuffle them.

"Ah, tonight, yes," said Eversleigh, and prepared to play the hand that was dealt him.

At the end of the game, which he again won, Eversleigh rose to his feet in leisurely fashion and brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his coat sleeve. He turned to his host. "This has been pleasant, my dear fellow," he said, "but I have another engagement for tonight that I cannot avoid.

"Marius!" said Horton, also rising to his feet. "The night has scarcely begun. I thought we were to have a fair chance tonight of stripping you of your fortune."

"Ha! See what marriage has done to him?" Denning mocked with his haughty drawl. "He does not even have the stamina to sit up with his friends to play cards."

"Perhaps he has better things to do," said Rufus Smythe, leering.

"I am delighted to have left you with a topic on which to speculate for the next hour, my dear fellows," Eversleigh said, seeming quite unperturbed by the good-natured teasing.

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A half-hour later, the Duke of Eversleigh was announced in the music room of Mrs. August Welby's home. That lady was all aflutter. Having a real live duke present at her musical evening, especially such a distinguished one as Eversleigh, was beyond her wildest dreams. Finally she would be a success, counted among the foremost of society's hostesses.

The guests were partaking of tea and pastries when he arrived, the first part of the program having been completed. The Italian soprano was billed for the second half of the evening. Eversleigh accepted a cup, remained on his feet, and languidly surveyed the gathering.

"Marius," a familar voice said at his elbow, "one does not expect to find you at such events. Have you suddenly acquired culture?"

"Like catching a cold?" Eversleigh returned, turning his lazy, half-closed eyes on Suzanne Broughton.

"That does not answer the question," she said archly, slapping him on the wrist with her fan. "Is Signora Ratelli the attraction? Rumor has it that she is looking for a new protector.

"Hmm," he replied, "I believe I should find it a little disconcerting to share a bed with a partner who has to practice scales. "

She laughed. "I miss you, Marius," she said. "Have you not tired of the freckled little chit yet?"

"You mean her Grace?" he asked, eyebrows raised, hand straying-to the handle of his quizzing glass. "Good Lord, no!"

He strolled away in the direction of the chairs that had been set out for the audience and suffered through the first aria sung by the Italian. During the first break, before -1 the second selection, he made his excuses and left.

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Henry chattered brightly during the carriage ride to the opera house. She felt uneasy with Oliver for the first time and wished there were some way of avoiding the evening's entertainment. But cowardice was not one of Henry's vices. She smiled brightly as Cranshawe handed her from the carriage, her face now covered with the green mask, her figure covered with the matching domino. Her companion looked almost sinister, she thought, dressed all in black.

The atmosphere inside the building was quite different from that in the various ballrooms that Henry had visited. The noise level was noticeably higher. The dancing was considerably less elegant. In fact, the music seemed to provide only an excuse for men and women to touch and ogle one another. Ladies' fashions even among high society favored low necklines and a generous display of bosom. Yet many of the female dancers here made Henry blush with the obvious vulgarity of their dress.

As Henry preceded Cranshawe to the ground-level box he had reserved, a smiling gallant reached for her hand and tried to pull her onto the dancing floor with a "Dance, m' dear?" as the only introduction. Oliver's black arm encircled her waist and drew her against him. For the moment, Henry was glad of the protection.

Her relief was short-lived. When Oliver drew her onto the floor to waltz, he held her close, with one hand splayed firmly across her back so that her breasts and thighs came continually into contact with his body. When she raised an indignant face to his, she noticed that his eyes glittered strangely behind the black mask.

"Don't hold me so close, Oliver," she ordered crossly. "I shall tread on your feet and hurt you."

He flashed his charming smile. "I should consider it a pleasure to be trodden on by you, Henry," he said. "And I do not believe you are heavy enough to inflict much pain."

"Even so, sir," she persisted, pushing firmly against his shoulder with her left hand, "I wish to have more room."

"For one so young, you are a remarkable tease, Henry," lie said, smiling tenderly down on her. "I hold you close merely to protect you from the crowd."

"I don't like it," Henry said bluntly. "I believe most of the people here have had too much to drink!"

Cranshawe threw back his head and laughed. "Henry, I never had you labeled as a prude," he said. "I believe you are cross only because these revelers have a start on you. Let us return to our box and -order some refreshments."

Henry followed him, though she resisted all his attempts to ply her with alcohol. She insisted on drinking lemonade. Soon they were joined by two other couples, who appeared to know both her and Cranshawe. The talk became noisy and vulgar. Henry, who could usually hold her own in any conversation, found herself sitting in uncomfortable silence. When one of the men asked her to dance, she found again that she had to constantly fight to maintain a decent distance from him. At the same time she had to keep her head averted to avoid the smell of liquor on his breath.

As soon as she could attract Cranshawe's attention on her return to the box, she asked to be taken home.