Chapter Three

Dreams were the best part of sleeping. The icing on an otherwise spongy, comforting lemon cake. Sometimes they had a bit too much lemon, but mostly they were sweet. Never, at least in Selena's experience, had they been so syrupy that they bordered on shameless. Never had they been alarming.

Until she had a dream about him. That man. Warrick, her brother's best friend—rich, titled, the world at his fingers.

And in this rather frightening dream, he had kissed her.

If only that that had been the most scandalous part. But no, he had kissed her to distract her. His main goal? Stealing the betting book and running off right after, leaving her a bothered mess.

Like the knaves most men are.

She should never have made an alliance with Warrick, and she needed to get rid of that blasted book.

"Why are you scowling?" Theodosia asked with a small nudge to her arm. "We are supposed to be enjoying an evening of dancing."

Selena scoffed. "I'm agog at how little impact the Turkish trousers parade made. They should have made their debut on this dance floor, though there not many couples dancing."

Her friend lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. "Fabulous gowns will always trump trousers. And so long as the nights are filled with bright parties, jewels, and those fabulous gowns, the world could end, and the majority would not care. The world is truly strange."

"Strange... yes." Toss in a secret club, a family curse, an unlikely fellowship, and strange took on a rather stronger meaning. However, Selena didn't completely trust her alliance with Warrick, which was why she hadn't told him about the club's signature embroidered on the trousers.

Three days had passed since her brother had confined her to the house after the parade. Three days of being watched like a hawk until Selena thought she would die of stale air. Which was why she needed to get out of that house no matter the cost. She couldn't even breathe in there.

Oh, very well, it wasn't all that bad.

She supposed she could breathe just as well in the house as outside. What she couldn't do was search for clues about the club. She hadn't come up with a plan to find them either. Her sleuthing abilities were sorely lacking.

Was her best hope to receive a direct invitation? And if so, did that mean if she wanted to receive the holy pass, she would have to become more visible? Act more scandalous? Or poke and probe more amongst the ladies of the ton?

Though, upon reflection, it might be na?ve to assume one had to behave scandalously to enter their ranks. After all, scandal served as poison to secrecy. The same for probing. Rumors might flare up.

Then should she appear proper? Who should she be? How should she act? These questions were giving her an ache in the temples.

"How troublesome."

Theodosia eyed her askance and guessed, "Still troubled by lack of clues?"

"Yes." Selena surveyed the crowd with interest. "That's why I'm here tonight. What about you? How did you give my brother the slip?"

Theodosia's eyes glittered with delight. She leaned closer to Selena. "I found a myself a girl who looks similar to me—a twin if you will—to take my place, cause him a wealth of confusion and throw him of my scent tonight."

Selena pinned her friend with a look of awe. "You truly possess a brilliant mind."

"You should take a page from my book if you wish to shake your watchdog."

"On the contrary, he is helping me find the club." In a way.

"When did that come about?"

"The day of the parade."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Theodosia clucked her tongue. "Incompetence seems to flow in that man's blood."

"Well, I can't seem to find a group of women hiding in plain sight, so birds of a feather."

Her friend shook her head. "That is different."

"Be that as it may, what more must a lady do to get invited? Honestly, I'm at a loss."

"Warrick might report to your brother. That would make it even harder."

"He promised not to, and I didn't tell him about the crest." Yet. "Perhaps I should let be what will be." Though the more she thought about her situation, the more she thought that Theodosia might have a point about this club. What were the club's intentions?

"And those are the words of a woman searching for meaning?"

"Those are the words of a woman accepting that meaning exists in her present circumstances as well as in her search for it." Selena's eyes widened as a light flickered in her mind. "Present circumstances."

"Ballroom," Theodosia said dryly.

"Exactly! Where would women of a secret club congregate at such an event?"

"I honestly cannot say."

"The cardroom."

"The cardroom? Why?"

"I seem to recall the women I overhead disappeared into a cardroom." Why hadn't she thought about this before?

Theodosia cocked her head to the side. "That doesn't mean much. They could just enjoy playing cards. Are you sure you are not grasping at straws?"

"Does my speculation seem so farfetched?" She didn't think so. At this point, even if she was grasping, she'd grasp with a smile on her face.

"Also, don't old women play cards? Oh, and married women whose husbands are cavorting around."

"What a ridiculous thing to say."

"My mother's words, not mine."

"Your mother truly is from a different breed of women."

"By the by," Theodosia drawled, her voice now dry as the desert. "How did you slip away from your watchdog?"

"Oh, that? As a determined woman does, I suppose. I marched straight through the front door and hailed a hackney."

"Are hackneys that readily available?"

"Fine, I sent for one ahead of time. Why do you ask?"

"Because your watchdog has been staring at you with blades shooting from his eyeballs since his arrival three minutes ago."

"What?" Selena head snapped in the direction Theodosia indicated with her chin. She had thought with her being confined to the house by her brother, he would drop his guard. Just a bit. Just so that she could steal a moment away from him. "Curse it."

Between the two of them—he with his family curse and she with his merciless presence—who was really more cursed?

Their gazes locked.

A shiver rippled along her nerve endings. She hadn't glimpsed his brawny body in three days, but she'd heard the low timbre of his voice those three mornings as she passed the dining room. However, she hadn't had the nerve to enter, their previous conversation too fresh in her mind.

Never wear them again.

The hair on the back of her neck rose. Every instinct pulled at her to approach him, but she remained frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare at him.

Amongst all her brother's friends, he was the only one not easily dismissed from her mind. It was those eyes. They weren't overly intense or outrageously indifferent. They were just... perceptive. In contrast, all other gazes appeared rather flighty. That was probably why her infatuation with him at the time had lasted as long as it did.

But it hadn't lasted.

Right.

All men were hound dogs, and that perceptive gaze had never remained on her long. Until now. Up until he'd been assigned as her guard dog, that gaze seemed to settle on older women. He had once even said so himself, and she had fostered a habit of giving her brother and his friends a wide berth when they were drinking at home after overhearing that snippet of conversation.

Ignorance meant bliss in some ways. But it was rather annoying at the moment. Should she tell him about the club's crest? He might be of more help if she placed a bit more trust in him.

"Are you all right?" Theodosia waved a hand before her eyes. "You've gone from pale to light pink to bright red."

Selena looked to Theodosia and patted her cheeks, breaking the spell woven by his gaze. "It must be the temperature of the room."

"If you say so," Theodosia said lightly. "What were we speaking about again? Oh, right, the cardroom."

Yes, the cardroom. "Old women and lonely wives aside, don't men like to play cards at their clubs? It makes perfect sense."

"I suppose it's not the worst assumption." Theodosia tapped her finger on her chin. "Cardrooms are usually where all the secret deals are made. At the very least it's worth looking into."

"Secret deals? How do you know that? Wait, you don't have to answer that. Your mother." Selena pondered for a moment. "Since your mother is so knowledgeable, would she perhaps know about family curses?"

"Family curses?" Theodosia openly scrutinized her as though she were a newfound farm animal. "Why on earth would you want to know about such things? Do not tell me the Savages are cursed?"

"Not us, no." Selena peeked in Warrick's direction, his gaze still on her. Her cheeks heated up again. "It's him. He's the one with the family curse. In exchange for his assistance to find the club, I must help him gather information on curses."

Laughter curled Theodosia's lips. "You? Help a man break a curse?"

"What's with your tone?"

"Oh, no, nothing. It's all rather interesting, is all."

Selena cut her a look. "And I'm not helping him break the curse. He can break it himself. As I said, I am gathering information."

"In that case, I might know of someone who can help you with this topic."

"You do?" Delight filled Selena. "Who?"

"An acquaintance with more knowledge on these sorts of things. I shall send you his details in the morning."

"Splendid." At least she wouldn't have to read a book on the matter. Not that she would have gone that far—curses weren't real. It surprised her that Warrick would even entertain such a possibility.

"Shall we head over to the cardroom?" Theodosia asked. "You've put me in the mood to play a few hands."

Selena cast one last look in Warrick's direction before nodding. "Very well, but keep your eyes peeled for any clues."

*

Warrick lifted hisglass and took a swallow of spiced wine, his gaze tracking the dancers swirling about the black and white tiled floor of the Ashworth ballroom. There were only five couples dancing in total, which spoke volumes of how the mess of the betting book had escalated. Who would have thought misplacing a list with a bunch of heiresses' names would warrant this much trouble?

Very well... a list he'd had a hand in creating and transforming into the nightmare it was today. But still, he had a much more troubling and current nightmare to worry about. A nightmare that might cause more chaos than even that list.

What he wouldn't give for a bottle of French brandy, no obligation to get out of bed the next day, and the capacity to forget about that damn list and wagers for a few hours.

And her.

Forget about her.

But he was on duty tonight, and duty had a name: Selena Savage.

A name that represented a particularly sharp thorn. Always sticking and poking into his side. Three days ago, that thorn had grown ten sizes.

Despite his best intentions, despite having tried to get out of this role of protector, he'd been roped into a search for a damn secret organization. Even knowing the disaster that would come of this, he hadn't been able to say no. He'd sacrificed himself once again. And this time, he really questioned his choices in life. Unlike the times he merely flinched at them.

Selena was right—he was not responsible for her.

Yet he could not find the argument to wrench himself away from her. At first, guilt had driven him to agree to Saville's request, but guilt had certainly not driven him three days ago. Something else had. Something burning deep within.

Christ, those trousers... Another thing he couldn't wrench away from—the memory of the way they had clung to her legs as though they belonged on them. He had never seen Selena as anything but Saville's sister. An outspoken little chit that loved to bicker with her brother. Now, he saw her as something else. A woman. An outspoken woman that loved to bicker with her brother, certainly, but also one that had developed a dangerous charm.

Damn trousers . . .

Why did that memory have to call everything into question? Why did it affect him so much? What the hell was next?

These women had become more perturbing than the fortune hunters prowling the fringes of the ballroom when the list was exposed. They were all dangling over the cliff edge of chaos at each soiree, tea party, and musical.

He took another sip of mulled wine, his gaze tracking Selena where she conversed with Lady Theodosia as though she hadn't set a storm upon polite society. She was a vision in blue silk.

At least no Turkish trousers.A small mercy.

Her hair was piled atop her head tonight in a proper style.

I should have demanded she never again wear her hair down as well.

The entire mess was their own fault—him, Saville, Deerhurst, and Avondale. But mostly him. If he hadn't lost the list, so much chaos could have been prevented. Things might be different now. He understood why he and his friends had to keep an eye on the women with the aim of protecting them from unsavory characters. Yet the sight of Selena Savage three days ago had him willing to, if he could go back in time, lose that list all over again. A troubling thought.

He took another sip of wine.

Not bad. But not good either.

Oh Brandy, Brandy, wherefore art thou Brandy?

He had found the manufacturers of the trousers. Now, only one question remained: Did he tell her or not? He could bury the information and the manufacturer with a snap of his fingers. But would that stop her from marching into the streets of London to hunt them down herself?

No, it would not.

However, before he could approach Selena, another lady stepped into his path.

"Warrick, dear," Lady Ridgeland cooed. "You look like you're in need of a bit of attention tonight."

Warrick scowled. The chaos hadn't only brought fortune hunters from the shadows, but also called forth a different breed of females. Not that they didn't exist in the first place, they just moved from the shadows openly into the light.

This woman a perfect example. A huntress. Granted, the years had been kind to her, and she was still a beauty in her forties. But she was infamous for her affairs. She was also the Earl of Ridgeland's wife.

"You are mistaken, madam."

"Come on now." She leaned close—too close—as if she wanted to attract him with her scent, like a black widow attempting attract a mate. "I will make it worth your while."

A chill shot down his spine—the instinct of a male in danger—leaving a cold trail along his back. Warrick preferred to survive the proverbial mating ritual.

"I'm not in the mood, madam."

"How can that be? I'm offering you a night of pleasure on a silver tray. What man would turn down such a dessert freely offered?"

Him.

"I'm afraid I'm busy tonight," and every night, "madam."

"You don't look busy to me." She placed her hands on his chest. "Come now, Warrick, dear."

A bitter taste coated his mouth. It wasn't the first time she had approached him, but it was the first time she had been this bold. In other circumstances, he might not have minded, but he drew the line with married women. Though even if she hadn't been married, his mind only had space to occupy one woman at a time. He was a simple man in that regard. And that space had quite recently been claimed.

He shrugged off her touch, but not before he caught Selena's stare from across the floor. She looked away when their gazes touched, and Warrick inwardly cursed. "I'd prefer you don't test my patience. Go pester somebody else."

That beautifully aged face contorted, revealing the true woman behind the mask. "How dare—"

"Lady Ridgeland." Dare grinned as he sauntered over to them. "I see you have set your sights upon the one man you can never sway."

Warrick let out a light breath of relief, earning him a viscous glare from the woman.

"All men can be swayed," Lady Ridgeland said to Dare, her eyes never leaving Warrick. "The earl is merely playing hard to get."

Dare arched a brow at Warrick.

Damn it. "I don't play games."

Dare nodded, smiling at Lady Ridgeland while he flung and arm around Warrick's shoulder, finally drawing her attention, though there was a perceptible edge to that smile. "Warrick is not the best company tonight, but I hear the Duke of Mortimer has just arrived and is looking for some fun."

Lady Ridgeland eyed them a moment before striding off with a huff.

"I'm in your debt," Warrick said, inclining his head to the man.

"We males must stick together."

Warrick sent Dare a skeptical glance. "Mortimer is a male. Is he even attending tonight?"

"He is here, yes." Dare's grin widened. "But he is not looking for fun."

"Then why did you send that harpy his way?"

"He is more contemptuous than you."

Warrick grunted. He couldn't argue on that score. The duke was stiffer than a stick and extremely poised. Not one to tumble about with women of ill repute. He was also in search of the betting book and had shown that he was not a man to be crossed. But that was about where Warrick's interest in him ended. Though he had wondered at the man's determination.

Dare patted his shoulder before removing his hand. "Be careful of Lady Ridgeland. She is not a woman who forgives or forgets."

"Are you speaking out of experience?" Warrick dusted off his chest where that woman had touched.

"God no, I value simplicity. But I've heard the tales. That woman is a complication that is hard to disentangle from once you allow her into your bed."

"Noted." Though Warrick had no intention of entangling with her in any way or form.

"You made quite the spectacle at the parade with Lady Selena," Dare remarked. "That must have earned you the slap of the century."

"You were there?"

"Of course. I would never miss the chance to see a group of women prancing about in trousers."

Why did he even ask such a question of a libertine like Dare? "It wasn't that much of a spectacle was it?"

Dare smirked. "No, the true spectacle followed after you left. Your little scene was the catalyst for others to retrieve their wives. Scores of women hoisted over their husbands' shoulders and swept off home."

"Bloody hell." This was the first he'd heard of that. At the time, he'd been too distracted to care about the consequences and he didn't follow the gossip rags. He'd acted out of instinct. No woman should be dressed like that and step foot outside.

His gaze shifted back to Selena. He froze. Where had she gone? She'd been there a few seconds ago.

His gaze tracked the crowd and found her just in time to glimpse her disappearing through the doors at the opposite end of the ballroom.

"What's over there?" Warrick asked Dare, pointing in the direction Selena had gone.

"Cardroom, if I'm not mistaken."

What was the wily woman up to now? Hopefully not something that required him to hoist her over his shoulder again. The shape of her curves had already haunted him enough. However, he could not help wondering whether she had witnessed that black widow trying to weave a perilous web for him. It shouldn't bother him. The touch meant nothing. Would lead to nothing. But he also didn't want any misunderstandings to arise because of it.

"Say, have you glimpsed Saville tonight?" Lady Theodosia was here so it stood to reason Saville should be here somewhere as well.

"I can't say that I have."

"Strange." Warrick handed his glass to Dare.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Don't care," Warrick said as he patted the man's back. "There's a prickly thorn I need to pluck from my side."