Dominic's friendship with Jason Stuart, Lord Effing, was of long standing—having begun when they were at Eton together. Although they both possessed keen intelligences and virile, muscular bodies, they differed in many respects. Jason
was several inches taller and had a heavier build. He was also fair where Dominic was dark, and his features were less harsh. His blue eyes danced with laughter, manifesting none of the chill that often filled Dominic's gray ones.
When Dominic seemed disinclined to speak, Jason broached the subject of Charles Germain. "I take it the search has been futile so far?" he said, tilting his tawny head to one side as he scrutinized his friend.
"Entirely," Dominic responded. "Germain was seen once this past week, but Manning's agent lost him. I think tomorrow I'll begin making my own inquiries. This waiting is growing intolerable. I want to get back to Julian's place as soon as may be."
Jason raised an eyebrow. "A woman?" When Dominic slanted a piercing glance over his shoulder, he chuckled. "Come now, Dom. The shooting cannot be very good this time of the year, and you've never been anxious to bury yourself in the country. There must be another attraction besides Denville's company."
"There is," Dominic said softly, taking a sip of brandy.
"Another conquest to add to your string?"
Unconsciously, Dominic raised a hand to his cheek. "This one won't be so easy. She's a little wildcat who forgets she is female. I was about to teach her a well-deserved lesson when Manning's bloodhound interrupted us."
"Don't tell me she slapped you?"
Dominic's smile did not reach his eyes. "On the contrary, she struck me with her riding whip."
"Good God, it's a wonder you left her with her skin intact. She sounds troublesome. Why bother with her? You have more than enough beauties hanging on your sleeve as it is. What about the Opera dancer all our friends are raving about—Miss Crowell? You were seen with her at least once this past week. I would have thought a woman with her charms could hold you for a time."
Dominic shrugged. "I didn't bother to find out. I only wanted Cassandra to draw Germain's attention, and she suited my purpose for the evening. Her charms, as you put it, were adequate, but she liked the color of my money too well for me to contemplate anything further. A trifle too grasping. But then, aren't all women? Except Lauren, of course," Dominic added, knowing Jason's love for his wife.
Jason laughed. "Not all, my friend—although many are, I suppose. At least Cassandra Crowell won't expect marriage. I hear Lady Denise has been thinking along those lines. Rumor has it that you have her in keeping again. There's even been speculation that she's holding out for the greater prize of becoming your countess."
"Denise knows me better than that."
"Perhaps, but the odds in the betting books went up when the lady suddenly acquired an exquisite ruby bracelet."
"Merely a parting gift," Dominic acknowledged with a frown. "Do you know, all this talk about women and marriage is beginning to bore me. What do you say we adjourn to the cardrooms?"
"Thanks, but I'll have to decline. I don't like to leave Lauren for too long. She tires easily in her condition. Incidentally, she asked me to remind you of your promise to stand godfather when our child is born."
"I remember. You can assure her I'll be in town for the christening."
They talked for a while longer before Jason took his leave, and afterward Dominic made a leisurely stroll through the card rooms in search of some worthy sport. He had his choice of Hazard, Commerce, Vingt-Un, or Faro, but none of the stakes were as high as he liked. He joined the play at the Faro table for a time, but the game didn't hold his interest for long. A few hours later he was shrugging into his greatcoat and accepting his hat and gloves from a footman. Meaning to walk, he directed the doorman to send his carriage home and stepped into the night.
An icy wind whipped around him as he strode down St. James Street. The gusts played havoc with the recently installed gas lamps, but the freezing temperatures at least succeeded in reducing the putrid smell of the London streets. Dominic hunched his shoulders against the chill and buried his hands deeper in the pockets of his greatcoat. The silence of the night was sometimes broken by the clatter of a passing hackney, although Dominic hardly noticed as he pondered how to solve his current dilemma.
The situation was indeed puzzling. He had seldom been frustrated by circumstances as he was now, but the mere fact that he was anxious to be done with the problem of Germain was odd. Normally he welcomed such diversions.
When he had succeeded to the title and inherited his grandfather's vast fortune, Dominic had had the means to indulge almost any desire he cared to name. He had given up a life of leisure, however, for the challenge of pitting his skills against the formidable agents of Napoleon's government. During the war, he had had to depend on his wits and his superb physical condition merely to survive. Even with Napoleon imprisoned on Elba, his skills had been needed, since several factions in France and England were busy planning the Corsican's escape while trying to drum up support for his return to power.
Dominic had worked for Edward Manning in the Foreign Office for nearly six years before Waterloo had put an end to his spying activities. At loose ends again, his fortune diminished by inflation and heavy wartime losses, he had set about rebuilding his holdings. He had spent a great deal of time at his country seat in Kent, plowing the income back into the land and making it thrive again.
When his satisfaction with that endeavor had lessened, he had begun to travel a great deal. The lifestyle suited him, although it offered him few challenges. Moving about the great capitals of the world, however, he was at least able to ease the gnawing restlessness that filled him after too long a stay in one place.
His most recent travels had taken him to America where he had enjoyed the untamed wilderness of that vast country for nearly a year before moving on to the West Indies. But the urge to return to a familiar way of life at last had driven him home. Since then, however, he had been oddly discontent with his life. And now he felt trapped where he normally experienced only boredom.
He knew quite well what was causing his present vexation of spirit, though. Brie. He had been unable to forget her. There were constant reminders of her. The glowing coals of a fire, a heated conversation, a passionate embrace, the tang of snow in the air.
Even Jason's wife Lauren had reminded him of Brie. Earlier in the week when he had dined with the Effings, the sparkling green of Lauren's eyes had mesmerized him for a moment, even though they were a different shade from Brie's, with too little blue, and none of the stormy clouds.
Dominic grimaced. He was allowing Brie's memory to affect him far more than was wise. She was naught but a country wench he had known for a short time. Still, he would have to conquer his growing obsession before it got out of hand.
Forcibly, Dominic turned his thoughts aside. When he reached his townhouse in Berkeley Square, he let himself in quietly. Of the skeleton staff he employed to maintain the residence, only Farley, his manservant,generally stayed awake till the wee hours to await his return. It was still early and Dominic was not expected, but Farley appeared in the foyer as if
by magic. Dominic relinquished his outer garments and turned to mount the stairs.