My Darling Duke

by Stacy Reid

  And his face…

  She could hardly breathe. A smooth white mask covered half his face like white porcelain. The effect was eerie and powerful.

  Dear God, this could not be the duke.

  Broad shoulders moved as his hands turned the wheels of his contraption, which took him to the very top of the stairs.

  The champagne glass slipped from Kitty’s nerveless fingers and crashed onto the parquet floor. The horrifying sound reverberated through the stillness of the ballroom and, as if by some unseen command, the crowd parted. Her loyal friends pressed closer, and Kitty could feel their alarm. They knew the intimate details of her sinful plan and correctly perceived how calamitous the duke’s presence was to her. A few ladies lifted their fans to their faces, and sly whispers reached her.

  “Look how pale she is!”

  “Oh dear, why is she so shocked to see her fiancé?”

  “Well, look at him!”

  It struck her forcibly how momentous this occasion was. All her research indicated he had not stepped foot into a ballroom in years.

  “You must go to him,” Ophelia said softly. “You must do everything to persuade him against ruin. Please, Kitty, do not run. The scandal would be unceasing if you do.”

  Panic closed her throat, and fear threatened to steal her sanity. Her feet, as if they had a will of their own, crept forward, then faltered. Of course he could not descend. Instead, his gaze scanned the massive ballroom, his expression impossible to read even with the flawless male beauty not hidden by the white mask.

  He was a king, surveying his domain, and she had the inexplicable awareness she had unwittingly invited a most dangerous man into society’s limelight.

  Why else would he resurface now, after years of shunning the glittering world of society? Never in her wildest fantasy had she dreamed her outlandish prank would succeed on such a monumental level. For she’d had real success, if she had dragged him from the cave where he had buried himself for so long.

  Dear God, what am I to do?

  Taking a few bracing breaths, she squared her shoulders. There was only one thing she could do. Face him…this, whatever this was…head-on and never allow him to see how she quaked. Surely he could have her arrested and charged with fraud. Ruination and a far worse fate for her and her sisters danced into her vision.

  Weaving through the still-paralyzed crowd who seemed trapped by the sheer magnetism pouring from the man on the landing, Kitty walked to the bottom of the steps, then made her way up on trembling legs. He watched her, that half mask making it impossible to ascertain the emotions that painted his expression.

  The elegantly dressed manservant who stood behind the duke, his hand on the edges of the wheeled contraption the duke was sitting up straight in, seemed just as fascinated with her ascent.

  She reached the top of the stairs, and the dreadful, ogling eyes of the ton were upon them.

  The gaze behind the mask was dark, cold, and steady. His eyes were a brilliant, striking blue, and she couldn’t break the power of his stare. She felt like a terrified field mouse beneath the piercing regard of a hawk. Kitty’s heart pounded, and her knees trembled. She managed to dip into an elegant curtsy without pitching onto her face.

  “Your Grace,” she said. “How delightful that you made it. How…pleased I am to see you.”

  Surprise flared in his eyes, then curiosity…then admiration. Before his gaze was once more rendered inscrutable.

  In the stillness of the ballroom, her voice carried, and a ripple of whispers began as her words were passed in a chain to those who did not hear. Kitty desperately prayed he did not publicly repudiate her. Certainly that could not be his purpose at Lady Sanderson’s ball?

  She chose her words carefully. “Should we take a turn in the gardens?” she asked softly, needing privacy to explain her madness.

  She could feel the kiss of his eyes as they traced over her features, her décolletage, her hollows and curves. The intensity of his stare encompassed her entire body. Anxiety cramped her gut. Being the sole recipient of his unflinching regard was thrilling and frightening at once. Though she feared his words, she began to wish he would speak, for the silence was dreadful.

  Power and arrogance radiated from the duke, and Kitty fought against a wave of pure panic. She was out of her depth in every way, and she had no notion of how to deal with the man before her. Wings of indecision fluttered in her stomach, her thoughts frantically skipping along the avenues of escape, discarding one idea after the other.

  The silence felt thick, charged. Then finally, he stirred.

  “Miss Katherine Danvers, I presume?”

  Chapter Five

  The duke’s low tone was darkness and sin and something wickedly delightful. And she heard the threat of challenge and warning in his soft, contemplative question.

  Before she could formulate a proper response, the sound of the hostess ordering the orchestra to play pierced the air. Too slowly for comfort, the strains of the waltz leaped to life, and those who found the scandalous dance more rousing than Kitty and, presumably, the duke swept themselves away onto the floor.

  Suddenly, Lady Sanderson herself was by their side.

  “Your Grace, you honor me,” the marchioness breathed, dipping into a curtsy, her eyes glowing with her pleasure. What a coup it was for her to be the first to declare the Duke of Thornton had been under her roof. “I’ve summoned my lord from the card rooms, and he shall be here momentarily.”

  Her gaze lingered too long on the porcelain mask before flickering to the bath chair. The marchioness wrung her hands, her fluster spiking the nervous tension inside Kitty.

  It was imperative she find a way to escape the ball, rush home, pack her belongings, and disappear.

  As if the duke sensed her silly, panicked thoughts, he spoke. “I will meet with Sanderson before I depart. As it stands, I must confer with my…beloved immediately.”

  Dear God.

  He had read the scandal sheets.

  The marchioness dipped into a curtsy and hurried away.

  “If I recall correctly,” the duke continued, turning back to her, “Sanderson has a small drawing room this way, which would offer us privacy, Miss Danvers.”

  Away from the ball, and safety, and her friends, and possibly flight? Most certainly not.

  Yet her tongue would not loosen. A mocking smile ghosted across the half lips not covered by the mask, and Kitty narrowed her eyes, not liking that he perceived her dreadful anxiety.

  “Certainly, Your Grace. If you’ll lead the way,” she said staunchly.

  They turned away from the ballroom, and the weighted speculation of the ton felt like a boulder pressed on top of her shoulders. As her fiancé, he could converse with her in relative privacy without undue conjecture, and Kitty would still ensure she left the door ajar.

  The manservant spoke to him in Greek as he pushed him in the wheeled contraption down the empty hallway.

  Why was she merely following like a lamb to the slaughter?

  “I believe this to be the drawing room,” the duke said smoothly.

  His manservant opened the door, and she cheered up slightly to see it was a small study. That, however, did not deter him. There was a fire burning low in the grate, and the room was cast in more shadow than light.

  “This is adequate,” he said, then addressed the servant once more in the same language.

  His servant bowed, and then a silver-handled walking cane seemed to materialize in the hands of the manservant. The duke gripped it and stood.

  Oh. He could walk.

  The duke was taller than she imagined, and though he had a cane, his posture was impeccable. Her forehead barely cleared his chin, bringing the masculine breadth of his chest into stark review. He was dressed in formal trousers and jacket, complemented by a blue waistcoat and an expertly tied silken crav
at.

  His body was lean, lithe, powerful, with no trace of softness anywhere. That she did not expect from a man in a bath chair.

  How had he ended up this way? While the gossip had hinted of an accident, no details had been revealed. The question hovered on her lips, and she forcibly swallowed it back.

  He waved for her to precede him inside, and she sauntered into the room with affected calm. She jolted when he closed the door behind him with a decisive snick. “I believe, Your Grace, the door should be ajar. For propriety’s sake,” she hurriedly added.

  It was important to her he did not think her afraid or witless.

  “Do you?”

  Kitty felt an odd sense of shock at that bland remark. “Yes, of course.”

  His unswerving gaze made her uneasy. “I cannot credit you would want anyone from society overhearing the conversation we are about to have.”

  Oh dear. This was a disaster.

  He considered her in the silence that followed. The duke stood perfectly still, rigidly erect with the aid of his walking cane, and aristocratic. Kitty found his quality of stillness so unnerving.

  Then he asked, his tone soft and lethal, “How do you dare?”

  Ice lodged in her stomach, and her entire body trembled for precious seconds. She gathered herself. Straightened her spine and took a hard, deep breath. “I was desperate and foolish,” she said with fearful honesty.

  He angled his sleek, dark head to one side and studied her with unflinching intensity. A flare of restlessness blossomed through Kitty, and for a moment she could hear only the pounding of her own heart. She barely managed to maintain her calm composure.

  “Why are you pretending to be my fiancée, Miss Danvers?”

  Lie, her instincts screamed, but she could not. Her sins were already too great against this man. Kitty began to feel the weight of his stare, and it took an inordinate amount of will not to flinch. “Your Grace, when I consider how dreadfully I have imposed upon you, I am stricken with mortification.”

  A barely-there smile touched his lips, then vanished so quickly she wondered if it was her overwrought nerves encouraging her imagination.

  “I truly doubt a woman of your ingenuity might be mortified in any situation.”

  Kitty took a deep breath and tried to be quick in her explanation as to why her pretensions had been needed. “It was ill judged of me to concoct a plan that shamelessly importuned upon your good name and reputation. My intention was to save my sisters and mother from a life of poverty and unhappiness. I promise I will repay every penny spent on letting the town house and the monies and the carriages. I have planned to secure employment as a governess after my sisters are settled comfortably, and by my calculation, I shall be able to repay your unmatched generosity in about…ten years or so.”

  He smiled. And it was her turn to simply stare. Why was he smiling? The man must be addled.

  “You…you are not angry?”

  He seemed to consider this. “No.”

  Something brilliant and cunning glowed in the depths of his eyes. Then the fireplace flickered, the light shifted, and only the most arresting cerulean blue pinned her beneath its piercing stare. His entire body, his very demeanor spoke of strength. A duke secured in his elevated position, the embodiment of privilege.

  Who is this man?

  “May I ask why, Your Grace?”

  “You wish me to be angry with you, Miss Danvers?” he murmured.

  “Of course not. I have imagined every scenario in which you confronted me, Your Grace, and none resembles this. I…I fear I am failing to understand what is happening.”

  There was a disconcerting hint of sensuality in his slight smile. Oh, what do I know? She was fighting to keep her wits about her; nothing was making sense. For all she knew, he could be withholding flatulence. Gentlemen tended to do that in a lady’s presence.

  Heat bloomed through her at her unladylike thoughts, and his piercing gaze sharpened. “Would you like to share more of your thoughts, Miss Danvers?”

  “No.” Her blush got hotter, and she turned away, lifting her face to the fresh night air coming through the slightly open windows. She walked away to the fire, and after a struggle to regain her composure, she said, “I fear you’ve lost all good opinion of me before we’ve had a chance even to converse. Not that I flatter myself to think we would have ever met or that you would find me favorable.”

  She flushed at her panicked ramblings, took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Kitty lifted her chin, looking beyond his shoulder, finding his mask disconcerting. Do not be a silly miss, she chided herself, then leveled her gaze to his face cast in shadows.

  She wondered how he had placed himself so well in the ominous shadow cast from the fire. Habit perhaps? Did he feel more comfortable in the arms of darkness? She was being morbid when she desperately wanted the circumstances to be anything but. “May I ask…what is to be done about our situation, Your Grace?”

  “I believe these unorthodox circumstances call for informality, Katherine. Please call me Alexander.”

  Why did he sound so reasonable and unruffled? Certainly the entire affair was beyond remarkable. Alexander. Though he had invited the familiarity, she could not be so intimate with a man who made her feel so desperately unsure of her position. Worse, why did his request sound like an invitation to sin and debauchery? Surely it was her overwrought nerves.

  “You are awfully silent, Your Grace.”

  “I am content with observation.”

  “Of?”

  They fell into a striking silence, which was distinctly uncomfortable. A few moments later, it struck her that perhaps he was not a man at ease with conversation. The rumors did say he was a recluse and had been without the proper company of society for many years. Why, she had never imagined anyone could be so unflappable in such a potentially ruinous situation.

  “Observation of what, Your Grace?” she asked again, not certain what to do or say anymore. It was simply all too surreal.

  “You invite study, Miss Danvers. I’ve been following your conquests of the ton most carefully.”

  Her heart jolted. “My conquests?”

  “The newspaper articles and scandal sheets of your many outings and escapades. Reporters seem fit to compare your laugh with that of a nightingale, your smile to that of sunshine. Quite riveting, I’m sure you would agree. The ton declared themselves scandalized by our courtship, but we know they are secretly fascinated and hunger for more. I am not quite certain what to make of you.”

  The reporters had been merciless in their pursuits for quotes from her about the reclusive duke. It shattered her to think he might have read all the ridiculous flattery she’d claimed he showered upon her. He might have thought her a woman desperate for artful compliments and love.

  A flush worked its way over Kitty’s body as humiliation crawled through every crevice of her heart.

  “I spent most of my journey here wondering what kind of woman you are,” the duke said. “I imagined Kitty Danvers in numerous scenarios. A hardened fraudster? A con artist fleecing the merchants on my good name? A jewel thief using my connections to enter the best houses? A bored lady simply stirring mischief and mayhem? I wondered how to best dispose of you.”

  Her heart lurched, and a shiver went through her entire body. “Your Grace, I—I fear ‘dispose’ may not be the right word to use in this situation. I daresay it rings too ominously.”

  Nothing warm lit in his eyes at her miserable attempt at humor. Dratted man.

  Still, a reassuring remark would not be misplaced, yet he offered none. The duke merely stared, as if she were an unusual creature that invited the most intense speculation. She could hear the faint din of laughter and clinking of glasses from the ballroom, and she concentrated on those muted signs of frivolity, slowing her heart to normalcy. Her entire family depended on her to be unflap
pable and courageous in the face of such ruinous uncertainty.

  She dipped into a quick, elegant curtsy before lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders. “I never meant you any harm, Your Grace. I truly only wanted to borrow your connections for a few months. If I had dreamed for even a second it would reach your ears, I would never have done it. Pray believe that I am sincere.”

  He took a step forward, and she shifted back. Their slight dance had the visible side of his face cloaked entirely.

  “And does that excuse validate your outrageous deception, Miss Danvers?”

  The mask staring at her was at once cold and removed, then glowed with sinister intent. A strange roaring thundered in her ears, and she felt a moment’s unwilling fascination.

  “Of course not, but I pray it may temperate your disgust and anger and allow me the chance to make amends.”

  A slow, fascinating smile curved his mouth. She began to think that he was a very strange man, and one with whom it was going to be more difficult to deal than she had foreseen.

  Kitty glanced away, hurrying over to the far left corner, and lit a candle atop the oak desk. There. Fewer shadows and, indeed, less anxiety on her part. She faced him, frowning her displeasure to see that the candlelight had served only to throw more shadows into the small study, and the wretched man seemed to be…amused? Discerning with that dreadful porcelain mask was hard.

  “I have the greatest apprehension my family will never recover from the scandal exposure will bring. I must know, Your Grace. I believe you are too honorable to willfully subject me to the anxiety I currently feel. Will you please inform me how we are to proceed?”

  She prayed he wouldn’t send notices to the papers of her deception. Poor Anna would be wretched for certain. She would lose whatever admiration the baron possessed. The implication of everything else was simply too frightful to consider. This man could have Kitty jailed or committed.

  “Without knowledge of my character, you presume me to be honorable? How naive you reveal yourself to be. Or are you being artful in your flattery for an advantage? You are a beguiling complexity, Miss Danvers.”