“We have to return to the party before our coinciding absences are noted,” he said, his voice was raw and hoarse. Then he lowered his chin and peered forcefully into her eyes. “Wewillcontinue this…conversation.”
He did not even wait to receive her agreement. Fully embodying his role as marquess now, he likely couldn’t imagine she’d dissent. And as he took another step back and gazed out toward the hall, Charlotte noted the strong lines of his profile. He was determined. Fierce. Intention and purpose sharpened every angle and hardened every plane. A shiver danced through her—subtle, soft, and terrifying.
She held her breath as he stepped from the alcove, but before she could slump back against the wall, he turned back to her, snaked a hand behind her nape and pulled her mouth back to his for another mind-stealing, soul-snatching kiss. Thrilling sensations coursed out to her fingertips and toes. Desire, possession, and something a little bit dark and disturbing swirled through her core. Before she could give into it, he tore himself away with a harsh grunt and left her there with the sound of his retreating steps.
Chapter Nineteen
Though Miss Dicksonavoided looking at him for the next few hours as they endured an excruciating dinner seated on opposite ends of the table, Ralston was incapable of the same. His gaze continually slid in her direction. As did his thoughts.
The woman confused the hell out of him.
She said she’d come to London for vengeance. But what the devil did that even mean? She’d insisted they could not continue, then demanded the pleasure he was so desperate to give her. The experience had rattled him beyond belief. She’d been stunning in her climax. Unabashed and beautiful and bold.
And now, she wouldn’t even look his way.
She pushed and pulled with such swift interchangeability; he was utterly disoriented.
When dinner was over and the guests returned to socialize in the drawing room, Ralston made his excuses to the host and left the party. He would not get any answers tonight. Not here anyway. He’d have to wait for later.
But later didn’t happen that night. Even though he waited in their room at the Lyon’s Den for more than two hours, she didn’t come. The next night he waited for three hours after checking four times to ensure his message was delivered. The next night,he paced the room, already certain of the outcome. And as his frustration overrode his impatience and he finally decided to leave, he was stopped before he managed to exit the building entirely.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon would like to speak with you,” the burly bouncer declared, gesturing toward a hallway with the full expectation that Ralston would simply follow his direction.
Angry enough to confront the woman and demand the answers to questions he should’ve asked long ago, he followed the bouncer through the club to a black door. Mrs. Dove-Lyon answered the man’s knock with a call to enter and Ralston was left on his own.
Entering the large, stately office, he was not surprised to see the lady alone, dressed in her usual widow’s weeds and veil.
“Come in, my lord. I’ve been meaning to have a conversation with you.”
Ralston grunted—an arrogant, dubious sound—but strode forward to a chair set across the desk from her. Once he took a seat, the lady seemed to release a gentle sigh, though she still didn’t speak for a long moment.
Neither did he. Even though he’d have liked to demand information, he decided to wait her out and see what she wished to discuss first.
After a long while, Mrs. Dove-Lyon made a small sound of satisfaction. “You’ve a great deal of self-control, Lord Redington.” Since it wasn’t stated as an obvious compliment, Ralston didn’t reply. And the lady continued. “Have you enjoyed the opportunity to relinquish that control?”
Now he frowned, rather fiercely. He hadn’t expected her to reference the intimate nature of his activities at the club.
Seeing his response, she laughed throatily. “Don’t worry, my lord. You can trust me to keep such things carefully guarded. It’s what I do.” She waited another beat before continuing. “Iassume you’ve found pleasure in your experiences here or you wouldn’t keep returning. Unfortunately…” she paused to tilt her head, “it seems as though Madame does not feel the same.”
Ralston ground his back teeth. “It would seem so,” he muttered.
“Shall I suggest another lady to occupy your time?”
“No.” His answer came quick and definitive.
“You want no one else,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon mused.
“What do you know of her?”
The woman chuckled. “I know everything, my lord. Now, let me ask you a question. What do want with the woman? And I’m not talking about your time in the room upstairs. I mean…out there. In the real world,” she added with a sweeping gesture.
Ralston frowned heavily. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you?” her voice hardened a bit. “I’ll be more concise. I’m asking what are your intentions toward Miss Dickson?”
That she would so boldly speak the lady’s name made him tense. What if he hadn’t figured out her identity? It could’ve been a significant betrayal to Miss Dickson’s anonymity.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon laughed. “Don’t worry, Lord Redington. The lady’s name is kept safely within these walls. She is safe with me. Is she safe with you?”
