Falling Into Bed with a Duke (Hellions of Havisham) Read Online Free Page A

kissed. Never been ushered into a shadowy garden. My dance partners are becoming fewer and farther between. I am recognized for what I am: a spinster. It is time for me to acknowledge that I shall never experience a grand love, and I won’t saddle myself with a man who can’t love me as deeply as my father loves my mother. Or my brother loves you. If I’m going to be with him for the remainder of my life, I want a gentleman who is besotted. And if I can’t have that, I want to know at least once what it is to be with a man without the barriers of societal mores. Maybe then, I can move on and find happiness elsewhere.”
    With a sigh, Grace worked her hands free of Minerva’s clasp, reached into the pocket of her skirt, and withdrew a folded slip of paper. Minerva wanted to snatch it up, but she feared she would tear it because Grace’s fingers were turning white with her death grip on the frail parchment.
    “Along with the address,” Grace began, “I have included a list of gentlemen to avoid should they cross your path. Lovingdon assures me that they are selfish lovers—not that he knew why I was asking, but it seems that in the privacy of their clubs, men are prone to boasting about their conquests.” Pursing her lips together, she extended the paper. “Please be very careful.”
    Minerva closed her steady fingers around the answer to her dreams. The time for being careful was long past. She yearned for a night to remember. “Don’t suppose you have a list of whom I should consider?”
    Grace released a forced laugh. “Afraid not. I just wished a gentleman could see you for your true worth, something that has nothing at all to do with your dowry.”
    “Not every gentleman can be as wise as my half brother.”
    “Pity that.”
    Pity indeed. But then, Minerva wasn’t one to languish on the negative. She’d had no luck with the marriage market. It was time to move into the realm of pleasure.
    T HE Duke of Ashebury was on the hunt for a pair of long, shapely legs. Standing casually with a shoulder pressed to a wall in the front parlor of the Nightingale Club, he observed with a jaundiced eye those who entered. The ladies wore flowing silk that caressed their skin as a lover might before the night was done. The shimmering fabric seductively outlined the body, hinted at dips and swells. Arms were bared. Necklines were low, the silk gathering just below a tasteful showing of cleavage designed to entice. People murmured and sipped their champagne, while exchanging heavy-lidded gazes and come-hither smiles.
    The flirtation that occurred within these walls was very different from that found in a ballroom. No one here was searching for a dance partner. Rather, they wanted a bedding partner. He appreciated the honesty on display, which was the reason that he often stopped by when he was in London. No pretense, no ruses, no duplicity.
    He had already claimed a bedchamber, the key nestled in his jacket pocket, as he wanted no one to disturb what he had so painstakingly set up. His needs were unique, and he knew that within these walls, they would be kept secret. People did not discuss what occurred at the Nightingale Club. For most of London, its existence was something spoken about in longing whispers by those who knew it only as myth. But for those familiar with it, it served as a sanctuary, liberator, confidant. It was whatever one needed it to be.
    For him, it was salvation, bringing him back from the brink of darkness. Twenty years had gone by since his parents’ deaths, yet still he dreamed of mangled and charred remains. Still, he heard his mother’s terrorized screams and his father’s fruitless cries. Still, his behavior when he’d last seen them taunted him. Had he known that he’d never look upon them again—
    With resolve, he shook off the haunting musings that sent a chill down his spine. Here, he could forget, at least for a few hours. Here, the regrets didn’t gnaw unmercifully at him. Here, he