The Duke I'm Going to Marry(38)
His eyes brightened and he cast her an odd, rakish smile. “Ah, I’ve heard that country girls quite enjoy their beds at night.”
Dillie agreed, for the cool breezes and outdoor activities had a way of tiring one out. “Quite so. Nothing better.”
“I love country girls. They’re lots of fun. Lots of fun indeed.”
She nodded, not sure why his eyes were suddenly gleaming like two bright lanterns and his smile was now an open-mouthed, toothy grin.
“Perhaps we should end this torture and take a stroll on the terrace,” he suggested. “My cousin is out there and will be grateful for the company.”
Dillie agreed without hesitation. The scent of hot, sweating bodies now permeated the ballroom and left an unpleasant tickle in her nose. Charles had a pungent air about him as well. The promise of a lilac-scented walk in the cool of the evening sounded perfect. There was nothing untoward about a casual stroll since they’d be joining Lady Mary. He’d mentioned her several times during their dance, obviously concerned for her welfare.
The torch-lit terrace was crowded as they stepped out onto it, but Dillie enjoyed the pleasant breeze. At least thirty guests stood about in small groups, the ladies fanning themselves while some gentlemen smoked cigars. Others held drinks in their hands. “I don’t see Lady Mary,” Dillie remarked, craning her head to search beyond the immediate crowd. She leaned over the balustrade to look across the flower beds. It was early spring and only the lilacs, primroses, and bluebells were in bloom.
Charles also looked around. “She may have walked to the fountain. She mentioned earlier that she might. Let’s have a look.”
“It’s awfully dark back there. Do you think she would have strayed so far on her own?” In truth, the garden wasn’t very large and most of it could be seen from the terrace, but there were a few dark nooks, no doubt where lovers hid to do all the naughty things she had been warned never to do.
“This is her first ball since her husband’s death. I’m worried about her. Will you help me find her?”
Dillie hesitated. She trusted Charles, but didn’t wish to walk into one of those dark places with him. Yet he seemed genuinely concerned for his cousin.
He took her hand and pressed it lightly. His fingers felt hot and clammy. “She might be feeling lonely. I wouldn’t know what to say to comfort her. I’d be most grateful if you stayed with me.”
She agreed for several reasons. First, he truly appeared concerned. Second, he wasn’t likely to make it down the steps on his own, for he was swaying and in danger of falling flat on his face. She placed her other hand under his arm, bracing his weight against her shoulder. “Of course. I’ll be glad to help.”
Charles smiled that odd, drunken smile again.
She managed to guide him down the terrace steps and endure his overly enthusiastic gratitude. He leaned close. He still felt clammy and smelled pungent. He reached for her hand again, and missed when she hastily stepped back.
He tried again and wound up giving her hand a sloppy, wet kiss.
Ugh! She felt as though Jasper, her brother-in-law’s enormous sheepdog, had slobbered over her fingers, for Charles’ tongue was that wet and sticky. She extricated her hand from his grasp. “Stand still. You keep falling on me.”
He giggled.
Crumpets, perhaps he’s a little more drunk than I realized. She sighed. “Come on, let’s find Mary.”
They made their way onto the pebble pathway between the flower beds and yew shrubs, and he began to call out his cousin’s name. Then he made a lewd rhyme out of Mary’s name.
Dillie frowned. “Be quiet, Charles.”
“Why should I?” Another giggle. “You’re a country girl. You’ve said so yourself.”
What did that mean? A little prickle ran up her spine. Being out here alone with him suddenly didn’t seem quite so sensible. “Why don’t you stay right here while I look for her? I think it will be easier if I search on my own.”
“Can’t let you do that. It isn’t safe. I must protect you.” He swayed as he spoke, back and forth like a tree branch on a stiff breeze. His speech was slurred, and his grin was little more than an unattractive leer. He hiccupped. Lily had once explained to her the intensifying effect of cold air on an inebriated person. Something about the fermentation process within one’s body. She hadn’t paid attention at the time. Her mistake.
Charles still had that odd glint in his eyes.
“Don’t move,” she commanded. “I’ll find her. Wait right here.”
He nodded. “Right here,” he said, pointing to his toes.