by Stacy Reid
“You heard me, Miss Danvers.”
“But surely I could not have, Your Grace.”
“I value my privacy, and while you are a guest in my home, I will not have a keen-eyed gossiper reporting anything of my life to the press or society. Curiosity and conjecture I will not tolerate. I trust this will be no hardship for you.”
“I fear I cannot visit you in Scotland. That is an outrageous suggestion, and I must not undertake to do so,” she said, perturbed at his unapologetic audacity.
“I’ve not allowed any room for negotiations.”
His brilliant blue eyes chilled, and that loss of warmth sent a warning down her spine.
“I cannot traipse around the countryside without a chaperone. My reputation might come under the severest of scrutiny.”
Another sip of his tea, an artful, calculating pause. “How surprising you think of matters such as your reputation. After this elaborate ruse, I cannot believe you are as delicate as you protest to be.”
A mocking brow arched, and she flushed. That low tightening in her stomach and the slow drum of her heart when their gazes collided was a decidedly odd sensation.
The teacup and saucer were lowered carefully to the walnut table. He leaned back against the cushions in a relaxed pose, crossing his long, muscular legs at the ankles. “A lady of your daring should have no reservations.”
“I will not be goaded into acting without propriety. I am not the rash sort, though I daresay it may appear so, Your Grace,” she retorted.
Tension crackled in the air between them.
“Ah, so your deception to pose as my fiancée was methodically planned and craftily executed.”
Kitty blinked, at a loss for words for precious seconds. “Let me ardently assure Your Grace, I did not enjoy the disagreeable necessity of the charade I orchestrated for society.”
That oddly admiring smile once again curved his lips. “How old are you, Miss Danvers?”
She considered refusing the unexpected question, then said, “Three and twenty, Your Grace.”
“You are not a debutante who requires constant supervision. You are ingenious enough to surrender to my plans without a prick to your reputation. I trust you will see it done, hmm?”
He remained entirely unmoved.
“Your Grace—”
“You will agree to all my terms or end the engagement today.”
His voice was so low and well-modulated, it took precious seconds to absorb the ruthless intent laced within its soft tones. Her entire body trembled, and her heart fluttered like a captive bird. It was a minute or two before she could trust herself to speak, and the dratted man simply waited.
“The season is a gauntlet that needs the most delicate of guidance. My sisters cannot do without me. Everything I’ve sacrificed is for them. To leave them when they need me…” She paused and took a deep breath.
His closed expression suggested her pleas were futile.
“You’ll be gone for a week or two at most; they’ll survive,” the duke said drily.
“I owe you much, Your Grace, but surely there is a different manner in which I might make amends.”
He favored her with another of his measuring glances. “I will have my godmother—the Countess of Darling—take your sisters under her wing. Lady Darling’s stamp of approval will surpass your hovering presence as they navigate the marriage mart.”
Kitty’s breath exploded on a gasp. The countess was one of the most influential ladies of society, and her patronage was more than Kitty ever dreamed of for her sisters. Emotions clogged her throat as she stared at him. “You are willing to do that?”
“Yes. And if this is any consolation, my sister, Penny, will be our shadow. She’ll be a very interfering chaperone,” he said with mild amusement and a good deal of fondness. How startling to see the softening of his severe features.
“Your sister resides with you in Scotland?”
“Yes,” he murmured, an odd look of calculation in his eyes. “I believe Penny has read all the newssheet mentions of your particular bravery and is keen on meeting you.”
Perhaps there was still hope she could turn this situation to her advantage. “I am very much obliged to you, Your Grace,” she said softly. “May I propose how long our engagement should stand while we explore the bonds of a possible friendship?”
His lips twitched. “No.”
His absolute denial sent a strange shock through her. “Your Grace—”
“The duration will not be bounded by time but by my…interest.”
She snapped her spine straight. In other words, if he found her company to be boring, he would not endure it for six days, much less six months. Kitty realized then he did not care why she had taken on such a deception; it mattered only that he had found something new and shiny to play with. And she was in no position to negotiate. The situation was becoming intolerable.
Then an unexpected warmth unfurled through her. This man was the elusive and powerful Duke of Thornton. Kitty quite believed he could have any number of ladies, both respectable and tarnished, by his side in whatever manner he desired. Yet it was something about her, a wallflower to the ton, that had captivated his regard.
Her foolish, foolish heart unexpectedly started to beat faster in sheer fascination. “I will make myself available, Your Grace.”
His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Then our negotiation is completed.” He lifted his teacup in some sort of salute before swallowing the contents.
They heard the sound of the front door opening, and anxious footsteps danced a hurried beat on the marble tiled floor. Kitty suppressed a groan as the excited tones of her mother and sisters filtered through the hallway. She stood, smoothing the wrinkles in her day gown, and took a steadying breath.
The duke obligingly followed suit and slowly stood, facing the open door, his hands clasped behind his back, his bearing one of command and power.
Discomfort curled through her, and she worked to banish it.
“Katherine, I’ve heard the most astonishing news—”
Her mother faltered upon seeing the duke, her hand fluttering to her chest. She appeared to be quite overcome as her gaze snapped from her daughter to the duke.
“Mamma…” Kitty cleared her throat, feeling unaccountably nervous. “Your Grace, may I present my mother, Viscountess Marlow, and my younger sisters, Miss Judith Danvers and Miss Henrietta Danvers.”
Her mother and sisters dipped into deep and elegant curtsies. Upon rising, her sisters made a valiant effort to not look directly at the duke’s scars, but her mother stared at him without any revulsion. In truth, Mamma’s eyes were soft with compassion and respect.
“It is a privilege to make your acquaintanceship, Your Grace,” Mamma said with a smile.
The duke stepped forward and surprised Kitty by offering them a most charming bow in return.
“Lady Marlow, how delightful to make your acquaintance at last. Misses Danvers, I’ve heard many good things about you; I’m charmed.”
Kitty watched in muted amazement as her mother and sisters flushed, and as the duke transformed himself into a most amiable gentleman, being very subtle but eloquently persuasive with his compliments. He politely declined the offer for more refreshments and made a promise to call with his godmother in a few days. Her mother almost swooned with rapture at that piece of news.
Soon the duke departed with a speaking glance in her direction, and her sisters were shooed to the smaller sitting room by their parent.
Now that they were alone, Kitty almost fidgeted under the penetrating stare of her mother.
“When you told us the duke was your fiancé, I grappled to believe it. And despite the announcement in the papers, I thought the engagement was not real,” she said softly, her eyes searching every nuance of Kitty’s expression. “You have always been too daring a
nd irrepressible, and I wondered…”
“How astonishing you should think that, Mamma.” Kitty kept her face serene despite the awful jerking in her heart and lowered herself onto the sofa. “Shall I ring for more tea?”
“No,” her mother murmured, strolling over to sit beside her. “The duke’s arrival in town was all anyone could speak of. I ran into Lady Goodall and Lady Weston, and I had to pretend knowledge of his appearance at last night’s ball and the shocking news you disappeared alone with him for several minutes.”
She clasped her mother’s hand. “Forgive me, Mamma— I should have informed you this morning. Last night the duke’s appearance was unexpected. He wanted to surprise me. And we did have a private audience.”
Her mamma squeezed her fingers reassuringly. “And did the private meeting accomplish what you desired?”
Kitty hesitated, the need to fling herself onto her mother’s bosom welling in her heart. It had been so long since Kitty had sought comfort and direction from her parent. In truth, it felt as if Kitty herself had been the directional force in the household since Papa died, and it was she who supplied reassurance and handled all the troubles they faced. For more than five years, they had depended on her for food, household management, stability, and a sense of safety. Not once had she crumbled, but now her lips trembled, and her throat burned with the need to unburden. If only for a few minutes.
Her mother was staring at her, clearly waiting for her to say something. It was a tactic that had worked alarmingly well from when she was a small child. That piercing and unflinching stare from their mother always had her children revealing all their secrets and shenanigans.
Kitty felt her cheeks grow warm with a guilty blush. “The duke…the duke has invited me to his Scotland estate for several days.”
It was tempting to lie and pretend, but she was heartily sick of misleading the woman she loved. Now that everyone would surely believe her engagement with the duke was beyond reproach, she could be more transparent with her mother. For, especially now, Kitty hungered for some sort of guidance. “He has stipulated no chaperone, Mamma.”
“Well!” her mother gasped, releasing Kitty’s hands, a thoughtful frown splitting her lovely face.
“I do not think the duke means any harm but that he wishes to know me better without being scrupulously watched. He has a sister in residence, and she has a governess. I’m sure it will all be proper.”
If only her voice did not lack conviction, and if only her heart did not pound with such shocking anticipation. Goodness, what is wrong with me?
Her mother smiled warmly and wrapped an arm around Kitty’s shoulders. “Sometimes a gentleman needs the encouragement of a lack of chaperone to be bold. That was how it was with Artie and me. A few stolen moments here and there cemented our love,” her mother said, her cheeks pinking. “The duke may require such moments with you, my dear, and I must say I agree with the man. You are three and twenty, and by all accounts the duke is thirty. You are both sensible adults with a public attachment.”
Kitty’s throat closed in shock. Her mother was giving her leave to be improper. The viscountess had always been such a stickler for propriety. It was Papa who’d been more lenient and understanding of Kitty’s and her sisters’ antics. It was inconceivable that her mother would make such an unorthodox suggestion. “Mamma—”
“I will discreetly allow with certain friends that you will visit your aunt Effie in Derbyshire for a week or two, as she is feeling poorly.”
“Mamma!”
Her mother stood and peered down at her. “I daresay if the duke should be given the chance to know your sincere heart and wonderful nature, nothing would prevent him from making you his duchess,” she said softly, her eyes growing watery.
Kitty stood, searching her mother’s expression. “Mamma—”
The viscountess lifted her chin. “I want that for you. Not because a connection with the duke will be beneficial for our family, but because you deserve to secure your place in this world, and I will not be ashamed to ardently wish it for you with a man of rank and wealth. My dear, fortune favors the bold. I need not say more.”
Her mother swirled and sauntered from the room, leaving Kitty quite astonished with excitement and trepidation filling her heart.
Fortune favors the bold?
Well, surely she needed no more encouragement than that to lead her heart to possible ruin and pain.
Not that she would ever be so foolish to set her cap for a duke, and certainly not one as enigmatic and odd as the Duke of Thornton. Certainly not one who could ruin her if he whimsically decided she was no longer interesting.
Yet the memory of his lips ghosted over hers. She could still feel his arms enclosing her, as if his touch had been imprinted on her skin. The subtle taste of his passion, the wonderful scent of his masculinity, and the yearning in his eyes just now when he’d called her a treasure.
Her! A treasure he wanted to explore. Utterly ridiculous.
She closed her eyes, pressing her palm flat against her thumping heart as she whispered, “And yet also so very wonderful.”
Chapter Seven
Alexander lingered within the shadows of the high balcony of Lady Carnforth’s luxurious and opulent town house ballroom, watching as the crowd milled about. A few well-connected and familiar members from the press mingled within the crowd, chatting with the prime minister, the Duke of Bancroft, and the vivacious hostess. At times, their hungry gazes settled on him, their eager attention assessing his half mask and the ebony cane gripped in his hand.
Fashionable London was positively addicted to gossiping and the newspapers that fed their habits, and tomorrow all would read and speculate about the Duke of Thornton’s visit to London in ever greater detail.
An odd sort of amusement arrowed through him. Even odder, a sense of nostalgia filled his heart. There had been a time he’d loved being about town, the frivolities of the season a thing to look forward to with keen want. How strange to think he might have missed it while he’d been healing in Scotland.
The fashionably dressed society surged around him, the scent of various perfumes, the facile chatters and loud laughter assaulting his senses. Many faltered, avid stares lingering on him where he reposed against a Corinthian column. Their curiosity about the man behind the mask was palpable, but no one had the audacity to approach.
His title floated in the air in hushed whispers, and more than once he wondered what in damnation he was truly doing. He’d never fancied himself a man ruled by impulse or passion. Not even when he had been a part of the social scene years ago, the sobriquet of “mad, bad, and dangerous” haunting his name, had he acted rashly. Everything had always been methodically planned and executed, and it had been that strategist in him that had admired Miss Danvers’s ingenuity.
Yet since his discovery of the delightful minx, impulse was his name. The ungovernable cravings she roused in him demanded study and exploration, and he was recklessly surrendering to all urges.
Was his life truly so empty that his sole occupation was now the unraveling of Kitty Danvers?
It seemed to be, for he could not convince himself with logical arguments to crush her ruse and walk away. She was an imposter and certainly deserved to be unmasked, but that cold thought had melted, and only the burning curiosity to understand her complexities and peel back this peculiar creature’s layers remained.
“Viscountess Marlow, Miss Kitty Danvers, and Miss Anna Danvers.”
His attention was entirely arrested by the butler’s announcement. Then she appeared atop the opposite landing and completely stole his breath.
How and why, perhaps he would never understand. The reporters who covered these events so tomorrow’s scandal and fashion sheets could report all the on-dits snapped their gazes from her up to the high balcony where he lingered within its shadows. Once again, Miss Danvers would be the cente
rpiece of their articles, and surely they would paint him as the besotted fool who had stood frozen and stared at her arresting presence.
Alexander was uncertain how to feel about the adoration the ton claimed he owned for her. He was not the kind of man given to softer sentiments. Not that he did not believe in the higher power of love. He did. In the past there simply had never been any lady in his life to inspire feelings beyond mild affections and fleeting lust. Even his fiancée of the time had been about power and connection, the brightest diamond of society paired with the coveted rising star of politics and the heir to a dukedom.
The paper hadn’t dared then to mention the words “love match.” Yet now the cartoons painted him slavishly in love and spoke about his adoration of the delightful Kitty in mocking tones. Another sin to punish Miss Danvers for, surely—he should not be remiss in that.
Miss Danvers wore a brilliant dark green gown, a provokingly stunning jewel in the midst of pastel and warm colors of the other gowns. He allowed his gaze to unabashedly travel over her. Through the elegant drape of her dress, he could see the lines of her hips, round and lush, the slender curve of her waist, the beguiling weight of her breasts. A few young bucks, and even one or two more stately gentlemen, sent her quick, covetous stares.
Miss Danvers seemed unaware of her own desirability, for she did not blush or preen, merely assessed the atmosphere as she made her way down the stairs. She was petite, sleek, lushly curved, and the raw sensuality of how she moved held him momentarily spellbound. His fiancée was remarkably pretty, with an inviting mouth which was unmistakably provocative. Alexander could only marvel at the dim-witted idiocy of the men of the ton for not marrying such a delight.
Another young lady descended behind her, and she was garbed in a pale pink gown that also clung to her willowy frame. The two women spoke briefly, then made their way through the crowd toward the sidelines. The whispers floating about revealed her to be Miss Danvers’s sister.
They were lovely ladies. It was a pity the men of the ton decided to judge their worth based only on their family’s purse strings and connections.
