*
“Lady Julia Castle?”Alonzo repeated her name aloud.
“A shapely blonde with wide, brown eyes, deep intelligence that would repel most men, and an air of superiority that rivals any queen’s?”
Damien had described her perfectly. Regretfully so, for apparently the lady had a collection of silent admirers that would rather cast bets about when the she would accept a lover or better yet, a marriage suit.
“Sources say her father has grown impatient with her, demanded she choose a husband or he’ll do it for her.”
He rubbed his chin, rather intrigued by the idea of seducing a lady who didn’t know who he was. “How old is she?”
“Nineteen,” Graham answered. “Ripe for the taking.”
Why did it bother Farrington to hear other men discuss her so carelessly? “Would you say such things to her father?”
“Of course not!” Graham assured him. “We are all friends here.”
Alonzo nodded; he could easily forgive their crude remarks—he had been equally guilty in the past—women being their shared passion. But not a duke’s daughter. Only courtesans and widows had graced his bedchambers across the Continent. There was nothing he could do about it now. Farrington would have to wait and see if she accepted his invitation for tomorrow evening. If she did, he’d get her alone in the countess’s gardens and begin the arduous but also fulfilling process of seducing her. If not, he would find a way to be formally introduced to her father.
“I must go,” he said suddenly. “I cannot break with tradition, and in order to be in my best form tomorrow evening, I require extended rest.”
“Rest?” Graham eyed him speculatively. “I thought you were the opera star, not an actor like me.”
To Graham’s credit, he could spout off Shakespeare upon request, having memorized every line of every play, a habit he picked up at the age of seven.
“What do you mean, Graham?”
“You’re not going home to sleep. You have a bloody ritual that you follow religiously the night before any performance. Unfortunately, you’re a superstitious fool.”
Alonzo grinned and straightened his cravat. “I am proud of it.”
“Indeed. A rosewater bath, a fresh shave, three snifters of whiskey, a massage from your favorite maid, and a half dozen boiled eggs? Sounds more like the ingredients for a witch’s spell,” Damien teased.
“Those indulgences have never failed me.” Alonzo bowed. “I am off.”
“Wait!” Damien stopped him as he started to walk away. “Do you care to make a wager before you leave?”
He had never shied away from a friendly bet, however, if such a wager was recorded in the book at White’s, then everyone would know he had an interest in Lady Julia. That would undoubtedly compromise her reputation.
“No,” he said with conviction.
“No?” Damien pressed.
“Shall I spell it out for you, old friend?” He really needed to stop thinking about the lady and focus on preparing himself for the concerto. “I will see you both tomorrow evening. Good night.”
Once he had his coat and hat on, he departed the club, realizing there were many hours left in the day. Too much time to waste wondering if Lady Julia would show up tomorrow.
Chapter Five
“You look lovely,Julia,” Willa said as she watched her spin about in front of the mirror. “The rose color of your muslin gown is perfect against your porcelain skin.”
“And you? Do you regret wearing the blue?” How could she? Willa was beautiful, chestnut hair, dark eyes, and dimples that appeared whenever she smiled or pouted—which she did often.
Their hair matched, intricate mixes of braids and curls arranged becomingly about their faces in the Greek style, with dozens of pearls woven into Julia’s abundant tresses. A single strand of pearls and sapphires graced her long neck, drawing attention to her low, square-cut neckline. She held a matching fan made of silk and ivory and decorated with matching jewels to her necklace.
A generous friend, she had loaned a delicate gold chain with a ruby pendant to Willa. Both would draw attention when they entered the countess’s townhouse, especially since they had only been able to send confirmation of their attendance at the last moment.
Pleased with their appearances, Julia signaled for her lady’s maid to bring their matching wraps, which would protect them against the evening air. Since her father had gone to his club for the evening, demanding only that she take an extra footman with the carriage and her lady’s maid as chaperone, it had been easy for Julia to accomplish the first part of her plan—give the pretend duke every reason to dislike but respect her. For no matter what, she would catch him in his lie, then possibly expose him for what he truly was.
