Madam Avalon examined his backside. “He’ll do nicely, I believe. Be at my painting studio tomorrow after you’ve recovered from this evening’s activities.”
“What’s in it for me?” Kenwick asked.
“Fame. Notoriety. Ladies clamoring to meet the artist’s model.”
His lips quirked to one side. “I suppose I can clear some time in my schedule.” He drifted off toward a group of ladies who were admiring some portraits hung in the gallery, leaving Dane alone with Madam Avalon.
“May I have a moment of your time in private, madam?”
“Of course.” She led him to a secluded bower.
“If I tell you something in confidence, can I be assured it will stay that way?”
She placed a hand on her heart. “I’m the very soul of discretion. Perhaps not when it comes to my bedroom exploits, but in other areas my lips are sealed.”
“Something happened to me the other day. I was set upon by ruffians in a dark alley. They said my brother owed them a debt and that they had information that could be used to ruin my family. I don’t think Roman ever visited you here, but through your contacts in the demimonde, have you ever heard any chitchat about my brother being involved with any nefarious characters, or getting himself into gambling trouble, or something of the sort?”
Her brow furrowed. “Your brother’s reputation was spotless, as far as I know. But I’ll keep my ears open now, and I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Oh—wait, there is something. There was a gentleman who attended a salon last week, and he was asking questions about you. I quite forgot until just now.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tallish, slender, thin mustache, and receding hairline. Annoying habit of sucking his teeth. Rather a loathsome fellow. I should have asked his name, but I was very occupied that evening.”
“Not a regular patron.”
“I’d never seen him before.”
“Thank you. This helps immensely. At least now I have an avenue of inquiry to pursue.”
“If I see him again I’ll send word immediately.”
“Thank you, madam. And now back to the ducal desk. No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid.”
When they rejoined Dane’s friends, Kenwick had already selected his companion for the evening, a curvaceous young lady who threw herhead back and laughed heartily at every comment he made.
“I’ll leave you to your evening, Kenwick,” Dane said.
Dane made for the door but was stopped by Dudley, who staggered against him, already three sheets to the wind. “Leaving so soon?”
“My steward is attacking me tomorrow with an army of clerks bearing paperwork.”
“That’s not why you’re leaving,” Dudley slurred. “You’re still thinking about that delectable Miss Oliver.”
“I’m not.” But of course, he was. He’d think about her until his dying day.
“You’re smitten with her. What really happened at the seashore?”
History lectures. Herb gathering. The achingly beautiful dream of a simpler, better life with the most beautiful woman in the world by his side.
“What happened at the seashore was nothing but an impossible dream.”
“You’re halfway in love with her.”
“It was a brief flirtation, nothing more.”
Dudley jabbed at his chest with an unsteady finger. “I can tell when you’re lying, you know.”
“Maybe you’re right, Dudley. Maybe I’m lying to myself. But it’s all I know how to do.”