She liked finding the small details about people that made them unique. But she had a feeling the duke hadn’t personally chosen anything in these chambers except for the books and the horse paintings.
A crystal decanter filled with something amber glowed invitingly on a sideboard. Perhaps a small sip of whatever spirits the duke consumed of an evening would warm her more fully. She pulled the stopper from the decanter and sniffed. She wasn’t a connoisseur of spirits but this smelled delectable—like burnt sugar and apricots. She poured a small amount into a glass and tried a sip. It didn’t taste quite as good as it smelled, and it burned going down, but it did leave a nice warm glow in her belly.
With his expensive brandy giving her courage, she decided to venture into the bedchamber next door. It was mostly bed—a huge affair set high off the ground, as though the duke should be enthroned as he slept, the mattress dipping slightly in the middle as if the weight of his huge, muscled body had left an indelible imprint.
No silk negligees left in his armoire, or any other evidence of a mistress. Everything costly and of the highest quality—silk bed coverings in a deep gold shade, soft white linens, silver washbasin—but nothing that really told her anything about his intimate life. His cologne smelled of ambergris and bergamot.
Was there nothing illicit for her to find? Nothing that might give her a clue as to his vices, his pleasures, or perhaps, more importantly, his weaknesses?
A folded sheet of paper on the bedside table caught her eye. It was a list of names: Kitty, Janet, Tessie, Laurel. Ah, now this was interesting. Conquests? Potential wives? Sisters, even?
A mystery for her to solve.
She sipped more brandy as she tiptoed around his room, careful to leave no trace of her exploration. A black silk dressing gown hung on a wardrobe hook. She lifted it free and held it to her nose. Yes, it smelled like him. The earthy musk of the ambergris, the refreshing citrus tang.
An image of him wearing nothing but black silk, drinking brandy, propped up in bed reading Shakespeare popped into her mind. She shivered, hugging the dressing gown closer.
“Ahem.”
She spun around, heart pounding.Please don’t let it be the duke.
“I thought I told you not to touch anything, Miss Crewe.”
Only McArdle, with a censorious frown.
“I was just having a look around.”
He sighed heavily. “Follow me, Miss Crewe.”
Ana grabbed her boots from the rug in front of the fireplace and hurried after the butler. It wasn’t until they were halfway down a long hallway that she realized she was still clutching the duke’s silk dressing gown in one hand.
“No trouble at all, says she,” McArdle muttered under his breath as he glided ahead of her. “Ha!”
“What the devil happened to you?” asked Dane, Duke of Rydell, when Dex entered the Thunderbolt Club. “You’re even more battered and bruised than usual.”
Dex groaned and flung himself into a chair. He’d run away from his house so fast that he hadn’t even changed his ripped coat or wiped the blood from the scratch across his cheek. “Miss Analise Crewe. That’s what happened,” he said glumly.
“The young lady you’ve been searching for?”
“The very one.” Dex accepted a tumbler of brandy. “I found her.”
“Excellent news! You’ve been searching for her forever. Where was she?”
“The rookeries.”
Dane gave him an incredulous look. “I hope you removed her swiftly.”
“I attempted to. She had other ideas.”
“What’s she like?”
“Small of stature but grand in energy. Self-described as a redheaded spitfire of a hellion.” He smiled slightly, thinking about how she’d attempted to dissuade him from wanting to make her his mistress. “Delicate and tough, like the progeny of a bare-knuckle boxer and a goldfinch. Crewe was a mild-mannered man, though stalwart and deadly in a battle. She must have gotten the spitfire from her mother’s side.”
Dane laughed, studying his fresh injuries. “Don’t tell me she did that to you?”
A servant handed him a cloth and Dex wiped his cheek. “Thought I was a bounder attempting to steal her virtue. Wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise to explain myself. Fought like a cornered alley cat.”
“Wish I could have seen that. Hey, Somersby,” he called to their dark-haired, strong-jawed friend who was slumped in a corner, nursing an entire bottle. “Warburton was trounced by a young lady this evening.”