by Stacy Reid
The dark indulgence in his tone rattled her equanimity as nothing else had done that night. A message throbbed in his voice, one she was unable to decipher, but a ripple of awareness scythed through her. The duke was a man who stood in the gray area of morality. Perhaps that was the reason he’d not exuded disgust at her charade, the reason he hadn’t penned a letter to the newspapers denouncing her…and maybe the reason he had traveled to see her.
The very implication of that being the reason he stood before her left her breathless with a bewildering clash of fear and anticipation.
“May I ask what you will do, Your Grace?” How odd she sounded so calm when she wanted to scream her fear at his slow response.
A tense silence blanketed the room for gut-wrenching moments. Say something, she wanted to snap. But she worked to be temperate and bury the panic.
“Ah,” he said with that odd, fleeting smile. “I believe I shall do nothing.”
Kitty laughed and then sobered instantly. In fact, she tugged the glove from her right hand and placed the back of her palm against her forehead. Her skin was surprisingly cool. She understood nothing, and she was uncertain that she wanted clarity anymore.
“Are you well, Miss Danvers?”
The cool mockery in his tone suggested the wretched man knew he toyed with her composure.
“Yesterday I was caught in the rain. I had a mild fever when I went to bed. I am not altogether certain I did wake this morning. There is a very strong possibility I might still be in bed dreaming.”
He tilted his head. “You are also peculiar. I like that.”
Kitty was even more confident she was stuck in some delirious nightmare. There was a trace of amusement in the odd warmth of his voice. Nothing was clear, and she glared at the mask obscuring the nuances of his features. She wanted to flee from the madness of this encounter, and perplexingly she wanted to stay…to converse with him, to find out why he had truly come for her, what path she needed to traverse to avoid scandal and ruin.
“Why do you wear a mask?” she asked. “The speculation of your peculiarity will be on the lips of everyone within society.”
He faltered into such complete stillness, she wondered if he breathed.
“My face is scarred,” the duke finally replied.
She had not heard that rumor or even a mention in the newspapers she’d dug up on him. And Kitty was glad there hadn’t been rabid speculation that fed his pain to the ton as fodder for gossips.
“Show me,” she whispered, mildly shocked that she would dare be so familiar and improper. What madness had overtaken her? She could not credit it. Though her reaction was unpardonable, Kitty lifted her chin, an evidently defiant gesture, and waited.
“Ah…not only are you peculiar but also daringly impudent. My interest soars, Miss Danvers, infinitely so. I wonder, is this your diabolical design?”
She sucked in a breath at that bit of provoking cynicism.
He took one step closer, and the room shrank. How did he do it?
“I thought only to look upon the features of Your Grace. It is decidedly odd to converse with you so masked, as I am ignorant of your full appearance. There was nothing else behind my request.”
The hand not gripping the cane pressed against his heart, and two fingers tapped twice. “How disappointing, truly.”
He was the peculiar one, and Kitty felt like a leaf floating on the vast waters of the ocean, being churned about in its frothy waves. The duke was a man of consequence, and she sensed the force of the crafty and intelligent personality surrounding her.
While it pained her to admit it…she was intimidated.
Every instinct warned her that it would not do to appear frightened or witless, that he would not mind that she was in possession of an unruly tongue, as her mother often lamented. Yet why should it matter that he would like her oddity? The only thing of import was that her family escaped unscathed, even if she were sacrificed upon the altar of her desperate recklessness.
“Your Grace seems to want me to have another reason for my request; I would not dare disappoint you.” She canted her head left, assessing him. “Perhaps you are not the Duke of Thornton…and a charlatan out to deceive me.”
He smiled, and her heart beat faster.
“Is that the best you can do?” He tsked, as if disappointed. “Do you really think I’m not Thornton?”
“I believe you are the duke,” she admitted. It was too preposterous to consider another scenario. Only the real duke would know she pretended.
“Why do you think I came for you?”
“Am I the only reason you are here?”
“Yes.”
Dear God. It was so odd, Kitty could not dismiss him from any part of her awareness, and she so desperately wanted to. “I…am not sure, Your Grace. You are not angry or outraged. Your intentions are elusive to me, and I dearly wish they were not.”
The hand gripping the silver-handled walking cane tightened. “Did you think it was mere rumors, wicked gossips, which I’m long used to, that pushed me with the force of a battering storm from my estate in Scotland to mingle with these vipers of society? Did you think I traveled for days and nights unceasingly to be faced with pretense from your lips, Miss Danvers?”
She stared at him helplessly, her mouth dry and alarm flipping through her belly with the speed of a racehorse at Aston. It touched his lips again—that unfathomable half smile that hinted at a secret or forces at play only he understood.
“You are different, Miss Danvers. In the cold silence of my chamber, my thoughts were consumed with meeting you. I fancifully wondered if you had bewitched me; then I wondered if I had become so desperate in my emptiness that a prick of light in the form of deception could rouse me so. Different is always good, welcome, something bright, wonderful, and exquisite from the ordinary drudgery, don’t you agree?” he asked with surprising frankness.
What was he saying? Her skin felt sensitized, and her heartbeat was impossible to control. “Your Grace…”
The hollowness in his tone as he referred to his desperate emptiness struck her forcibly. And the notion that her mad scheme had inspired him somehow was too remarkable. She was something bright…and exquisite? Her mouth went even drier.
The duke had come for something from her, and she wanted to cry her frustration, for she still could not perceive it. “What do you require of me?”
“Honesty, Miss Danvers.” His voice was like a slow stroke of flames across her sensitive skin. “Going forward…let it be honesty that binds us.”
She took a quick breath of utter astonishment. “Your words imply a state of future entanglement for us, Your Grace. I question such a possibility. I will, however, at this moment endeavor to be honest…always,” she whispered.
He deserved it from her, considering how she had used his reputation without shame or regret.
The cold brilliant blue of the eyes behind the mask glittered with something fierce before his lashes fluttered down. When they lifted, only curious indifference stared at her.
“Tell me, why do you wish to see the face behind the mask?”
“I…” She laced her fingers before her stomach and considered the man who stared at her with such penetrating regard. As if he wanted to strip her of all facade and see the heart of the woman in front of him. Honesty… “Perhaps I want to see the face of the man who inspires such vexatious impetus inside me.”
A quick flash of intrigue and expectation before he canted his head left and said, “Oh?”
As their eyes met, she felt a shock of some undefinable sensation dart through her. Awareness flowered inside Kitty. He enjoyed the notion she was not cowering before him.
“My heart beats, my palms are sweaty, a thousand questions swirl in my mind, yet I feel more alive than I’ve been in longer than I can remember. I feel fear but also anticipate something I do
not understand.”
Pleasure lit in the cold blue beauty of his eyes. “Ahh.”
Such satisfaction in his soft exhalation.
Stupidly, shockingly, she stepped closer to the man. “Your Grace. Let me see your face.”
Kitty knew she would never be able to look back and know in what moment of this intimate encounter she had decided to abandon all sense of propriety and expectations of her position in society and all the gentle admonishments of her dear mamma over the years. The excuse of honesty felt like the reason she used to reveal the wanton and improper lady who had always existed within.
Silence lingered. Yet she sensed he was inordinately pleased with her. Was it her turn to be fanciful?
Embers sparked from a log in the fireplace. Unexpectedly, he reached up and removed the mask. The revelation was abrupt, the ensnarement of her complete regard immediate.
The twisted skin of his face was so macabre, yet the man so beautiful.
The release of her breath trembled on her lips and settled in the room.
The skin across his left cheek and down to his chin and neck was indeed roped with brutal scars. Kitty wondered how a man who seemed so self-assured and powerful could be wounded in such a manner. It was unsettling to see such imperfection in an otherwise stunningly masculine face.
Without the mask obscuring his features, the bold, arrogant slash of his cheekbones hinted at restrained power. Lips that had seemed full and sensual before now had a ruthless curve. And his eyes without the sunken shadow cast by the white mask…were exquisite in their dark blue brilliance and piercing intelligence. The unscarred side of his face was smooth, wrinkle free, clear of laugh lines or frown lines. As if he meandered through life expressionless, his heart reserved with no outward emotion to show.
This time when he moved closer, she stood her ground. They stared at each other. He had a quality of stillness that hinted at unfathomable depth. And helpless curiosity roiled through her, feeling as if invisible strings reached from him to her…
And pulled them closer.
Kitty tried to recall how many glasses of champagne she’d consumed.
He measured her with a cool, appraising glance. “The last ball I attended and showed my face at, at least nine ladies fainted. I believe I can still hear their shrieks of horror.”
How had she not uncovered that bit of gossip in her research on the duke? She lifted a shoulder in an inelegant shrug. “That must have been some time ago.”
“Seven years if I recall correctly.”
“I must say I know no one with such delicate nerves.”
The duke gave her an arresting stare. “So you are not frightened, Miss Danvers?”
“I would be the worst sort of lady to be frightened by someone hurt by misfortune, wouldn’t you agree?”
He remained silent, studying her with uncomfortable intensity, and she returned his regard with unabashed curiosity. It was then she observed grooves of discomfort bracketing his mouth. He’s in pain. His posture had also altered, and though now he leaned heavily on his cane, he did not seem less. The duke was the most virile and arresting person she had ever met, and her face heated for having such improper thoughts.
Kitty swallowed her alarm when his hand tightened on his walking stick, and he slowly ambled closer. He stumbled, and with a gasp, she lunged toward him.
He slapped her outstretched hand, but she did not recoil, gripping his upper arm to steady him. “Your Grace!”
His impossibly beautiful eyes iced over. Slowly she released him but didn’t step back. Kitty suspected she had offended him with her instinctive reaction, as fierce pride and a guarded watchfulness burned in the gaze that settled upon her.
This was not a man who relied on others for help, and even now with the grooves of pain deepening the frown on his lips, he did not unbend. There was a stillness in his gaze that spoke of suffering, an unfathomable strength, and something elusive that she might never touch or comprehend. Suddenly her heart ached, and her throat burned, sensing the depth of pain he must have endured to be this indomitable.
Finally, he reached for her hand and she allowed it, though she could not say why.
“Forgive me, Miss Danvers. I confess I am not used to being touched by anyone other than Penny.”
His lover? Why did the notion make her heart squeeze?
His thumb made a slow stroke down her wrist. “My sister.”
Oh. She took a long, ragged breath. “I didn’t wonder at it.”
“Liar,” he whispered with soft amusement. “Your eyes are very expressive. It is a wonder you were able to fool anyone.”
He lowered his head, and Kitty stared up at him uncomprehendingly. Then nothing else mattered, for his lips pressed against hers, and her senses caught fire. She gasped at the soft featherlike pressure as his mouth gently molded over hers. With a quiet sound of surprise, she parted her lips and stiffened as shock poured through her veins when he touched his tongue to her bottom lip.
“You are truly an innocent. I wouldn’t have thought it,” he murmured against her lips.
Kitty stumbled back, staring at him helplessly. “Whyever did you kiss me?”
Inexplicably, Kitty’s heart pounded, and something long dormant inside her stretched and hummed to life. The ripple of interest to know this man burned through her, igniting a need that was at once terrifying and exhilarating. She was not the fanciful sort. Papa had always praised her for being sensible. This surge of interest felt irresponsible and silly. Yet it was there, roiling through her in confusing waves.
Finally, he said, “You are my betrothed.”
Dear Lord. His tone was mocking, and worldly, and thrummed with a tension she hardly understood. The fierce intensity of his gaze sent her pulse into a gallop. “You are angry, and you have every right to be so, but I pray you will oblige me to make amends.”
“I am not out of sorts in the least. I’ve already mentioned you invite in-depth study. I am fascinated and curious about our engagement.”
Our engagement? Hope stirred in her breast. “Do you mean you will permit me the charade of being your fiancée?”
His dark, arrogant head lifted. Many indefinable emotions tumbled through Kitty. It seemed improbable that he would go along with this. What would be the benefit of this arrangement to a man such as himself? It was astonishingly generous of him to allow her the farce.
“Why?” she demanded, then stiffened as a notion occurred to her. “I’ll not be your mistress.” That disgusting proposition had been placed to her once, and it had infuriated her that gentlemen truly had no tender, respectful regards for a woman without fortune or connections. “If that is why you took liberties and kissed me, I assure you—”
“You’ll not have to worry about ravishment. I am not interested in you in a carnal manner and will never be. Disabuse yourself of the notion.”
The force of his reply struck her speechless with mortification. “You kissed me, and I—”
“I am impotent, Miss Danvers. I assure you, ravishment will never be your fear.”
The low words settled between them, both icy and heated. The chilling finality in his tone warred with the fiery rage that burned briefly in the dark depths of his eyes before his expression shuttered.
“I…I am dreadfully sorry,” she muttered, trying to understand the full implication of this impotence and what it had to do with ravishment. Cleary there was some connection, not that she would reveal her ignorance and naïveté. This man was so coldly self-assured, so effortlessly commanding despite his infirmity and scars that she must not falter in their negotiations. Or what she hoped would be the start of a negotiation. “Then, please be explicit with whatever you want from me, Your Grace.”
He smiled, and it rendered him charming. “Perhaps we shall be friends.”
“Friends?”
“Yes,” he
smoothly affirmed.
“Surely you did not leave your home to meet me to suggest we be friends?” Suddenly Kitty felt frightened. That assessment felt too simplistic to be rooted in reality. The duke must be in possession of a motive he was not ready to share.
The shrewdest of gazes leveled on her. “Perhaps kissing friends,” he murmured, his eyes alight with amusement and interest.
Kitty felt a rush of heat, a fiery ache. She was increasingly, unwillingly captivated. She and a duke…friends. How laughable.
He wanted something else from her—what, she couldn’t perceive, but she was sure of it. “There will be no more kissing,” she whispered, because clearly his lips were not impotent. “Unless you are proposing to make our engagement a reality. I am a respectable lady, Your Grace.”
She had no notion of why she said that, but icy civility replaced the provoking amusement in his eyes.
“Never that, Miss Danvers,” he murmured. “I will never marry.”
Chapter Six
Miss Danvers’s eyes were exotically slanted, her orbs the golden brown of whiskey fringed in thick ebony lashes. Cat eyes. A man could drown in her eyes. Slowly, inch by inch.
“Never? You’ll never marry?” she whispered, her gaze skimming over his face and down the length of his body in a caress he felt as if she’d touched him.
“Correct,” Alexander murmured, his interest growing in shocking leaps and bounds. “Nor will it be a topic of discourse between us again.”
Her eyes widened. The picture Miss Danvers presented was one of artless loveliness. The deep blue silken ball gown clung alluringly to her petite frame, hugging her curves. She was small-boned, curvy, with a tiny waist, and heart-stoppingly lovely. A thick band of rose silk encircled her waist, and the low neckline of her gown was embroidered with flowers in delicate seed pearls. The creamy expanse of her shoulders drew his eyes to her décolletage.
But it was her face that encouraged study. Her cheekbones were elegantly slanted, with classic delicate bones and a faintly haughty nose. She was the possessor of the blackest wavy hair he’d ever seen, supple, flawless skin, full mouth. Miss Danvers caught her soft lower lip between her very white teeth. She had a small overbite. Her lips were too full and pouting.
