Sweet Revenge To The Duke (Book 1)

Chapter Four

As he watched the house guests swirl around the crowded ballroom, Oliver's jaw tightened. In the midst of all this commotion, how was he going to find Athene? Under normal conditions, he'd recognize her by her fiery hair color, but Burley, curse the guy, had only a few lamps lit and no chandeliers at all. The duke stated that the Greeks and Romans didn't have chandeliers, so the room was lit with cressets and torches to be historically accurate. Burley would simply laugh and order his footmen to extinguish the flames if one of the decorations caught fire.

Where had Athene gone? If only he hadn't been such a stuttering i***t the night before. He'd referred to her as 'Miss Heartless,' as though she yearned for his attention—but which of them was he attempting to persuade? Hearing that some demon had kissed her in the dark had put him on the back foot, and he'd covered it up by behaving dreadfully. Miss Athene Edwards seemed to bring out the worst in him every time.

"Why aren't you dancing, brother?"

He cast a peek down at a young Greek hero dressed in a Venetian half mask similar to his own but with somewhat less clothing. "Have a nice evening, Oscar." No. I don't need to be warmed up. With such a thin attire, I'm sure you must. You do realize you're in an English country house on the eve of winter, don't you? At the very least, you should have let Bosworth make you a cloak."

"In the palaestra, Greek athletes wore nothing." I'm trying to strike a balance between being genuine and not being too surprising. Isn't this supposed to be an orgy? ”

"I don't think we're supposed to take the subject so literally," Oliver said, a shiver running down his spine. He felt that very few men and women's proportions would be acceptable without the use of their regular corsets, padding, and exceedingly strong buttons.

Oscar took a sniff. "With your bare shoulders and Zeus-like posing, you're a great person to talk to."

Oliver crossed his arms across his chest and said, "I don't pose." He was already agitated enough without his brother bugging him like a horsefly. "Now, please leave. You're causing me to be distracted."

"What are you protecting yourself from?"

"Oh, nothing," she says. I'm amusing myself by attempting to recognize people behind their masks. In the dim light, it's not as simple as you may imagine."

"Have you seen our Athene?" ”

What the blazes? Is it possible that Harry has a psychic ability to interpret his thoughts?

"I was at a loss for words."

"I warned you it would be challenging."

"Why don't you go out and enjoy yourself with a couple gorgeous maidens?" By hiding in the shadows and looking down your nose at everyone, you're not living up to your reputation as a rake."

"It's been a long time since then." Besides, no one knows I'm down here."

Oscar snorted and sank into the throng. Oliver scoured the area once more for Athene's whereabouts. He prayed the brooches had satisfied her; he'd spent the morning scouring Ipswich for something fitting, and the ride had pretty much tired his horse.

When he found them, he was overjoyed, and he told himself they were wonderful and couldn't fail to satisfy her. And it might make up for his churlishness the night before, at least in part. He had considered mailing them anonymously in order to pique her attention, but she may suspect the brooches came from the same thief who had stolen a kiss. He didn't want her to pursue that line of inquiry any further.

He looked around again, but there was no indication of Athene's recognizable figure in the crowd. There was nothing that could be done. He'd have to jump in and locate a willing Bacchante to dance with, hoping to finally find the one he needed to speak with.

“Oh!"

"Your pardon," he said as he braced himself against a sleek young woman in his brother's arms. Oscar is a jerk. Was he jolting him on purpose?

A silken voice murmured at his elbow, "How graceless these young folks are." He shifted his gaze to the woman, restraining himself from bowing—Roman senators did not bow. Didn't they?

He smiled and nodded. “Indeed. My wicked brother was one of them. He could have purposefully thrown the young lady in my path."

"Or he's not the best dancer in the world." He appears to be in need of assistance."

"Believe me, we tried," Oliver said, chuckling as he sipped from his wineglass. "Nothing seems to work. Despite this, the young are supposed to find learning easy."

"Not when they're adamantly opposed." Now, tell me, sir, do you have a dislike for dancing? ”

"Absolutely not. I'm getting used to the unusual surroundings, strange music, and utterly untamed type of dancing that's going on here."

"After that, drain your glass, refill it, then drain it once more." You'll see that the conditions don't matter nearly as much."

The corners of his mouth twitched. The woman, who was lightly dressed but deftly draped, was everything but subtle. He wasn't accustomed to being approached in this manner. Normally, he did the approaching—a considerably more preferable method of doing business. Any woman who made an effort to get close to him was almost certainly a treasure seeker. He then reminded himself that she was probably unaware of his true identity. He had no notion what hers were.

Then he noticed she was wearing a silver brooch that he recognized. Who else could Athene's protector be? The hair on the back of his neck pricked. He had to assure Athene's support at all costs because she was a woman with vital influence and far too much power over her.

When multiple things happened at once, he was about to make a formal introduction.

"Get away from the wall and join in, you foolish creature," Oscar cavorted cheerfully with his dance partner, accidently knocking Oliver's glass from his grasp and spilling a waterfall of red wine over Miss Thompson. Oscar, startled, let go of his Bacchante, who tottered into Oliver's arms, off-balance.

The guardian screamed angrily, Oscar burst out laughing, the Bacchante stared up at Oliver, and over the frantic rushing of his heart as he realized who he was holding, he heard someone command the musicians to stop playing.

The same voice spoke again, faint yet forceful, above the whispered bewilderment.

"No one is allowed to move a muscle." "Do not say a single word."