Rafael was terribly nice to dance with, causing Victoria little strain. Her leg didn’t complain overly, and after the waltz was done, it was time for supper.
“You’re an excellent dancer,” Victoria said as she slipped her hand in the crook of his arm.
“So are you. I’m starved. Once I’ve taken care of my stomach, perhaps I can convince you to see to my other needs.” His lecherous grin, replete with a display of lovely teeth, robbed his words of anything but amusing nonsense. He squeezed her hand.
“You’re being outrageous”—this said with a giggle—“and you really should stop it.”
“What did you say, Victoria?”
She heard Elaine behind her, her voice sharp and suspicious. She turned to smile, saw the fury in her cousin’s eyes, and cocked her head to one side. “Come along, Damien,” chided Elaine. “You’re taking me to dinner, remember?”
Victoria had the poor judgment to giggle again. “This is Rafael, Elaine.”
Elaine sucked in her breath, staring at Rafael. “But I . . . that is, Mrs. Madees told me that . . . ha, never mind. There’s Damien.”
“Quite a problem there,” said Rafael thoughtfully.
“Yes. But Damien has done nothing since we’ve returned.”
“Not even a hair out of line?”
“No, he is probably well and completely over whatever it was he felt toward me.”
“It’s true that you’re no longer a virgin. Perhaps that was the obsession he had with you.”
“I heard Elaine say once to Damien that she feared that as her time neared he would lose interest in her.”
“If my twin does lose interest in his pregnant wife, I hope he has his survival enough at heart to stay away from you.”
Victoria paused a moment and looked up at him. “If the DeMoretons accept our offer, then we can leave Drago Hall as early as next week.”
“Well, actually . . . no, not really, Victoria.”
“Ah, out at last. Come now, husband, I’ve been patient with you, but you—” She didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, hello, Lady Columb. How lovely you look tonight. How is Lord Columb?”
Rafael stood with an interested smile plastered on his face as the two ladies conversed, his attention on the various young men he’d spoken with throughout the evening. He would wager the Seawitch that each and every one of them was part of the Hellfire Club. But what annoyed him no end was the realization that none of them had the brains to organize such a venture. The one who had done that—the Ram—was no Johnny Tregonnet or Lincoln Penhallow or any of the other young wastrels. But Johnny, with his surfeit of brandy, was the weak link. Rafael determined to push Johnny before the end of the ball.
“I’m starving,” Victoria said, tugging on his sleeve. “Lady Columb decided I really wasn’t pregnant, and went off to mind somebody else’s business.”
“I’m trying, Victoria, I’m trying. Allow me to seat you and I’ll fetch you a plate. I see that is the way it is done. The gentlemen are the waiters.”
“All right. Why don’t I sit with Lincoln Penhallow and Miss Joyce Kernick? Shouldn’t you like to get reacquainted with Lincoln?”
“Ah, yes, gentlemen are but waiters and studs and the butts of their fond wives’ jests.” He flicked a careless finger over her cheek, then escorted her to where Lincoln and Joyce Kernick, a young plain-faced girl endowed with a dowry the size to render her quite comely to the most critical eye, were seated.
Baron Drago and his lovely, very pregnant baroness were alone for a moment at their table. “I made an utter fool of myself,” Elaine said, her hand fretting over her stomach.
“Oh?” Damien looked away, waving at Lord and Lady Merther. “They will join us momentarily,” he added languidly. “I trust that in your present condition, my lord Merther will have the decency to keep his hand off your knee.”
Elaine waved that away as being of no interest. “I thought Rafael was you. And Victoria was laughing with him and he was touching her and I . . . well, I was furious.”
“We’ve been married for five years. You can’t tell me apart from my twin?”
Elaine studied his handsome face. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as lean as his twin, but it was difficult to tell unless he was naked. His eyes were the same brilliant silver gray, the nose straight, the cheekbones high. And the lustrous black hair—no difference at all there, nor in the beautiful mouth that smiled identically, or grinned just offside, so very charmingly. But there was one difference, noticeable only when either of the twins laughed immoderately. Both were possessed of perfect white teeth, but Damien had a gold tooth toward the back of his mouth.
“No,” she said at last. “It would take me a few minutes of speaking with you before I would truly be certain.” She continued studying him for another minute or so. “If you wished to make me believe you were Rafael, I don’t know how long it would take me to realize that you weren’t.”
“I shall tell Rafael to hold his tongue around you, then, my dear. Ah, my lady, please allow me to assist you.” And Damien was on his feet, helping the very obese Lady Merther into a chair that he prayed would hold her considerable weight. Her breasts, shoved up ridiculously high, in a gown that was too youthfully styled for her, were nearly fully exposed. He saw the blue veins and the stretch marks from her four pregnancies. He never stopped smiling.