Two hours of conversation and dancing passed pleasantly enough, yet Emma discovered nothing even remotely suspicious. She headed for the refreshment table, the oasis of gossip at any social gathering. Accepting a cup of champagne punch from a footman, she discreetly posted herself behind a potted palm and eavesdropped on the surrounding voices. Alaric’s name soon cropped up, and she peered through the fronds at the backs of the chattering trio.
“… it appears as if Strathaven truly is Croesus,” said a grey-haired gentleman. “The price of stock in that joint venture of his has increased threefold in the last week. Everything he touches turns to gold.”
“Should have bought shares myself,” said a short balding fellow.
“I wouldn’t act too hastily.” The drawl came from a tall blond man whose black jacket was meticulously fitted to his figure. “You never know what will happen with speculation. As I understand it, Strathaven doesn’t have his investors’ confidence. If the vote to expand the venture doesn’t go through in a fortnight, the shares will plummet once more.”
Obviously, the man doesn’t know Alaric, Emma thought. Strathaven would never leave something like a vote up to chance.
“Speculation is a young man’s game,” Grey Hair said. “I’ve always said that the only wealth a gentleman can depend upon comes from land.”
As the men’s talk drifted to other topics, Emma found her attention hooked by another conversation, this time between a gaggle of ladies standing by the champagne fountain to her left. Emma had a clear view of their bobbing plumes as they spoke in titillated tones.
“They say Strathaven means to resume his duchess hunt,” said a plump brunette.
“Given his scandal of late, I wonder at his temerity,” said her friend in rose silk.
“He’s never lacked for temerity and well you know it.” The arch tones came from a third lady with a smirking expression. “I have no doubt he’ll get what he wants—he always does, after all. Anyway, his search for a wife is old news. What intrigues me is when he will be on the market for Clara Osgood’s replacement.”
“Lady Julia, how perfectly wicked of you!” the first lady whispered in delight.
“You were thinking the same thing, Lady Lauren.Ijust said it aloud.”
“Well, I confess I am intrigued by rumors of his prowess. You have heard what they say about his personal, ahem, endowments?” Lady Lauren giggled. “Apparently they match his financial ones.”
“And that’s to say nothing of his stamina and control,” Lady Julia purred. “I’ve heard our duke is as deliciously dominant in the bedchamber as he is in out of it. Why, it’s said that a certain Lady M. enjoyed a rollicking afternoonon his desk…”
As the ladies tittered, Emma turned away, her cheeks burning. She knew, of course, about Alaric’s past and his proclivities, yet hearing other women talk about him in such an openly lascivious and covetous manner caused hurt and, yes,jealousyto burgeon.
Images flooded her: Alaric tying Lady Clara up in the garden... him making love to nameless, faceless beauties on thesame deskwhere he’d made love to her...
Up until this moment, the passion she shared with Alaric, while undoubtedly wicked, had also seemed... special. Precious. That others had known the raw intensity of his lovemaking made her chest ache. Her throat cinched, his gift suddenly heavy and constricting.
“Hello, miss,” said a hesitant voice. “I was wondering if you would mind some company?”
She turned and found herself looking into the blue eyes of a plump, ginger-haired pixie.
“I beg your pardon?” Emma said blankly.
The girl, who looked barely eighteen, turned as red as her hair. “You were standing there alone, and I’m alone... well, not exactly, I do have my chaperone, but she’s busy with the other duennas, and I... dash it all, I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” she finished miserably. “It’s a terrible habit of mine, and Papa says it makes me awkward. As if I could bemoreawkward...” Her self-conscious shrug caused the ribbons to flutter on the many tiers of her gown. “Never mind. I’m sorry for disturbing you. I’ll just be—”
Emma took an instant liking to the girl. “No, don’t go. I was just woolgathering, and I’d love some company. I’m Emma Kent.”
“I’m Gabriella Billings, but everyone calls me Gabby.” The way the girl’s smile lit her face reminded Emma of Polly. “It is lovely to meet you. It’s so tiresome to be a wallflower that even other wallflowers won’t pay any attention to. Truly, I’m more of a wallweed.”
Emma stifled a smile. “Surely it isn’t bad as all that? You’re perfectly charming.”
“Only because you’re a decent sort. I can always judge a person’s character, you know, just by looking at them,” Gabby said cheerfully. “Being a businessman’s daughter, I’ve inherited the ability to size someone up at a glance.”
“Really?” Emma said, amused. The girl’s irrepressible spirit now reminded her of Violet.
“Take you, for instance. You have a kindly disposition, yet there you were hiding behind that palm, so I surmised that you didn’t fit in here either. I thought you might be a middling class sort like me. No offense,” Gabby added quickly.
“None taken. It’s true.”
“Your gown is delectable. And your necklace has the ladies green with envy. So even if you are a Cit like me, you have oodles more style,” Gabby said in consoling tones.
Emma had to smile. “I wouldn’t mind being a Cit. But actually I’m from the country.”
