by Stacy Reid
Lady Carnforth approached him in a swirl of golden ruffles and glittering diamonds. “My dear boy, how wonderful to see you; it has been years!” she gasped dramatically. “Though I do hope it is you under that mask, Alexander. How I missed you. Quite dreadfully.”
He leaned in and dutifully kissed the cheek she lifted to him. “It is I, Cousin Miranda. I missed you as well.” Alexander was mildly surprised to feel the truth of his response. He had missed Miranda’s eccentric, flamboyant manners and opinions.
Alexander straightened as Kitty’s gaze unerringly found him atop the balcony. She went remarkably still before lifting her chin in acknowledgment. There went that unusual warmth pouring through his heart again.
Perhaps he needed to see one of his doctors.
The curious brown eyes of his cousin settled on Miss Danvers, then swept the crowd below. Miranda cast him a curious sidelong glance. No doubt she anticipated his reaction to the ton’s inquisitiveness. Many matrons of society and several debutantes blatantly ogled him. He could feel society’s rabid stares and ceaseless speculations like poisonous ants crawling over his neck and back.
“Our society can be a tad bit ridiculous,” she said with a sniff. “I’ve ordered the most lavish food for refreshment, decorated the room in an Egyptian theme. They are all the rage, you know. And invited everyone who has some secret attachment or scandal swirling around their name. But they are too busy watching you and Miss Danvers. You’ve quite upstaged me, dear boy.”
“It was not deliberate, I assure you.”
“Hmm, I gathered after your order to send her an invitation, you would actually attend. Why was it so important for Miss Danvers to be here tonight?”
“It simply was.”
She harrumphed, no doubt irritated he would not divulge anything noteworthy for her to gossip about.
“She is a trifle…loud, my boy; I’m surprised at your choice,” Lady Carnforth said, sidling closer to him. “I confess I knew nothing about Miss Danvers or her family until a few weeks ago. I was shocked the girl already had four seasons. Truly some people ought to know when to give up, though I must declare she should be ecstatic at snagging you.”
His cousin had missed the mark entirely. “You are loud and flamboyant, Cousin Miranda. Miss Danvers is something altogether different. A rare hothouse flower in the midst of hardened diamonds.”
Another sniff. “You sound as if you admire her. Clearly the newspapers were right about your adoration!”
He made no answer, content to watch Miss Danvers’s interactions within society. Stares of stern disapproval and envy followed her stroll across the expanse of the ballroom. It was in the bold way she stepped, the daring green of her exquisite gown, the proud angle of her head. He sensed she hadn’t worn such colors before her transformation to Kitty Danvers. What had she been like before? The same? Different? A timid mouse or the tigress before him now?
He truly liked the exuberant way she sashayed to the edge of the ballroom. There was a haughty lift to her chin, and it was bravado, as if she dared anyone to remark on her presence. It was a defense, and he wondered if she had a difficult upbringing to be this prickly…to be this different.
And it seemed an injustice to use such an inane word to describe the woman below.
She wasn’t the sensible, proper sort of lady he’d been told lovingly by his mother years ago would make him the perfect duchess. Odd that had been her recommendation, for his mother hadn’t been the well-behaved sort.
Miss Danvers was the opposite of anyone who’d ever held his attention. She appeared to be a woman who could be as brilliant as a flame and as fickle as the wind.
Would my mother have liked you, Katherine Danvers? Would you have appalled her…or would you have fascinated her, as you’ve seemingly bewitched me?
Alexander caught himself studying the way her hands moved, the turn of her head, and the sweet, oftentimes earnest expression on her face as she spoke with her sister. “My fiancée is fine as she is, Cousin Miranda,” he replied to her silent glare.
“My dear boy—”
“And I will not take kindly to anyone who implies otherwise,” he murmured coolly. “She is to be treated with all cordiality and respect.”
A waltz was announced. Both Miss Danverses were asked to dance, and with wide smiles they allowed themselves to be escorted onto the dance floor. The orchestra swelled around him, the most powerful and eloquent notes filtering through the air, music he had missed more than he realized, and not once did Alexander remove his regard from the dancing figure of Kitty Danvers.
It was in his arms she should be; the inane thought ran through his mind on a loop.
“You are staring at your fiancée, quite shamelessly I might add.” Cousin Miranda sniffed.
“That I am.”
And he would not apologize for it or pretend gentlemanly contrition. He had the urge to be the one dancing with her, holding her close, perhaps directing her away through one of the terrace doors to steal a kiss.
Odd, that. This was the second time in as little as a day he’d thought about kissing her. For the first time in years, Alexander felt as if he did not know himself.
What am I to really do with you, Miss Danvers?
…
Kitty stood on the fringes of Lady Carnforth’s ballroom away from the fashionable crowd, content with rejecting her third offer to dance. One waltz had been enough. Chandeliers sparkled with hundreds of candles shedding rich light on handsome men and gorgeously gowned women, strolling about in silks and satins as they laughed and twirled around the expanse of the ballroom.
The fashionable elites were in their element, and Kitty had never felt more out of place.
She was in attendance only because the duke had used his influence, and it was this morning an invitation had been delivered to Portman Square with a personal note apologizing for the oversight from Lady Carnforth herself. Her mother and Anna had been beside themselves with glee, and the house had been filled with peals of laughter and excited chattering. Hours later, dressed in their best ball gowns, with hair styled into the artful chignons with tendrils kissing their shoulders, Kitty and Anna had made their way to the ball with their mother.
She had lost her mother in the crowd, but Anna she could see, her radiant smile seeming to light the entire ballroom, wearing her admiration of the baron openly for all the world to observe and speculate. If she were not careful, the rumors could turn sly, considering he’d not yet declared himself in any promising fashion. Even though Kitty admitted the baron as he stared at her sister appeared equally besotted—if not more.
With a heavy sigh, she snagged a glass of champagne from a passing footman.
“The newssheets tomorrow will speak of your droll boredom and marvel that you could be aloof at such a remarkable event, which boasts a twenty-piece orchestra and the king himself, who is yet to arrive.”
Kitty whirled around, grinning. “Dear Ophelia, how glad I am to see you.”
Her friend was exquisitely gowned in a dark yellow ball gown, her wild beauty appearing more delicate and ethereal than ever. She had been the only friend out of their set likely to be invited to Lady Carnforth’s illustrious ball.
“I’m incredibly pleased to see you as well, Kitty. I dare say my night will not be so tedious anymore, for I have your delightful company,” Ophelia said with a pleased grin.
Kitty laughed. “I, too, am glad for your company.”
“You do appear out of sorts. Is all well with Thornton?”
At the mention of the duke, her stomach flipped alarmingly, and she did everything in her power to not glance toward the shadowed balcony. Quickly she recounted to Ophelia all that had happened.
Ophelia shot her an astonished glance. “I should mention within the next few days to our friends that you’ll be visiting your aunt in Derbyshire for a couple of weeks, but y
ou’ll not be visiting Aunt Effie but with the duke in Scotland?”
A flush worked over Kitty’s face. “Yes,” she said, meeting her friend’s eyes unflinchingly. “I want everyone to think that is where I am. I’ll confess all once I’ve returned and there are no rumors, of course.”
“Oh dear,” Ophelia said. “That is quite scandalous indeed. Are you by chance developing feelings for him?”
“Of course not!” But the denial sounded hollow to her ears. “I’ve only just met the man, and he is decidedly peculiar and unlike anyone I’ve ever met. I like his oddities and I truly think we could be friends. It is unusual, is it not, that none of us is friends with someone of the opposite sex? It promises to be quite interesting.”
“Yet, my dear Katherine, you seem perturbed.”
She lowered her head conspiratorially, and Ophelia obligingly dipped hers in turn. “He has demanded I visit him without the benefit of a chaperone. I’m to travel alone to Scotland with the duke.”
“How terribly exciting!” Ophelia gasped, her eyes twinkling.
“It is outrageous, that’s what it is,” Kitty cried, unable to still the flutters in her stomach. “However disagreeable the thought of being with the duke in such an unusual situation may be, I am determined to bear it.”
“Perhaps it is an opportunity.”
She glared at her friend. “Have you gone daft? The only opportunity is one for ruin!” And she had to do it or risk the dratted man calling off the engagement publicly. Kitty did not want to believe his promise to do so a bluff and regret it later.
“Or to become his duchess in truth,” Ophelia murmured.
“Do hold your tongue!” Kitty cried, not wanting the foolish hope to lodge in her heart.
“I daresay this is the chance to beguile the duke with your natural charm.”
Kitty suppressed her groan, then faltered into complete stillness when the duke suddenly pushed from the shadows. Whispers erupted and churned in the air. And the ton ogled him shamelessly as he moved through the throng, yet the duke bore such attentions as though they hardly concerned him.
He seemed immune to it all as he descended the wide staircase. His body moved with easy grace, and a surge of surprised concern went through her as she noted the absence of a cane. His face, however…once again a mask covered the scarred half side, though this time its color was black with striking filigree of gold and blue. The effect was stunning and provocative.
The duke carried himself with such a commanding air of self-confidence, one would hardly remark on his mask or the slight limp in his gait if he were observed closely. And Kitty felt the regard of their society was entirely upon him.
“Do you know why he is here?” Ophelia asked, shifting protectively closer to her.
“No,” Kitty said, unable to wrest her eyes from him. “But it was the duke who arranged for Lady Carnforth to bestow an invitation to me.”
Ophelia bumped into her shoulder quite indelicately. “Oh, Kitty, please do look away; you are being fast and scandalous!”
Heat rising in her face, Kitty tried her best to comply. Several prominent lords and even the prime minister, and the minister for foreign affairs, made their way over to him. She discreetly watched as he conversed with apparent ease, showing no reaction to the avid staring at his mask. At times his lips curved in amusement, other times he laughed, and she fancied she heard mocking disdain in his tone. Either way, the lords and ladies currently gathered in his circle seemed enraptured with whatever he said, yet there was an air of isolation around him, as if he were detached from it all.
The half side of his expression not hidden by that beautiful mask was one of worldly cynicism, his mien one of exquisite boredom and apathy. So why had he come?
Unexpectedly, his head swiveled, and their gazes collided. She tilted her head in greeting, a peculiar warmth flooding her lower belly. Without further acknowledgment of his compatriots, he made his way over to her. Kitty wanted to fidget as the dozens of eyes suddenly were upon them.
“Lift your chin; be arrogant and beautiful. Remember you are Kitty Danvers,” Ophelia whispered beside her before discreetly melting away.
Kitty sank into a curtsy when the duke stopped before her. His responding bow charmed her, the tender warmth in his eyes seduced her, and she glanced away, peering above his shoulder lest she make a fool of herself.
Remember I am simply a toy, a pawn in a game where he is the only player and the rule maker.
He held out one of his arms. “If you would honor me with a dance, Miss Danvers. I have it on good authority another waltz is to be announced.”
Rather bewildered, she gave him her hand, curtsying slightly. They made their way onto the floor as the orchestra struck up a waltz. His hand slid slowly about her waist, drawing her close. With a slight shift of his palm, he guided them into the waltz.
Dear God, we fit.
That was the inane thought blaring through her mind as he rested his hand atop her shoulders, and she lightly touched his as they twirled into the beat of the elegant dance.
“I thank you, Miss Danvers. I haven’t had this pleasure in years.”
“The pleasure is entirely mine, Your Grace.”
Another fleeting smile touched his lips. Several questions tumbled through her thoughts, but she held them back lest she offend him. Kitty couldn’t help wondering how he could command her movement with such effortless grace when only a few days ago, he’d arrived at another ball in a wheeled chair.
“What do you like to do?”
Kitty frowned. “Why?”
“I am trying to ascertain the kind of woman you are, Miss Danvers. I watched you earlier, and I do not feel as if balls are that exciting for you.”
She stared at him with a mixture of dread and fascination. In all the seasons she’d had, and the few gentlemen who’d danced with her or paid a call upon her, none had ever asked her what she liked to do.
How very odd she hadn’t realized before. “Your Grace, I—”
He stumbled, his fingers tightening on her shoulder and hip to the point of likely bruising her. She swallowed the cry of discomfort and met his eyes. They were shadowed with pain and fierce pride. And Kitty knew in that moment she should not question the lapse in his movements or dare suggest they stop.
He twirled her with lithe grace, his tight grip never relenting, his lips flat, his words silenced, the command of his pain absolute. And she flowed with him, ignoring the tight clasp that he seemed unaware of, and danced with him in silence.
The last notes of the waltz died away. He released her, bowed, and then straightened. His gaze was inscrutable, and her heart trembled. Then, without speaking, the duke turned and walked away. He disappeared quickly into the crowd. Several curious whispers buzzed through the air, and she strained to watch him above their heads until she saw him no more.
She hesitated for only a few seconds before making her way through the throng. Something was wrong, and she could not ignore it in good conscience.
Glancing discreetly about, she slipped through the open terrace door. Several ladies and gentlemen were about, but they seemed more to mind their own business than to assess hers. Kitty remained on the terrace for a few seconds before accepting that he had continued. She hurried down the small steps that led along a cobbled garden path. There a few people lingered in darkened alcoves, and giggles and husky murmurs reached her ears.
She kept going, glancing about to see if she could find the duke. Kitty almost missed the stone bench near the entrance of the conservatory, hidden by shadows and overgrown plants. There the duke sat in a shocking display of disarray. His jacket and cravat had been discarded, and his fingers dug into the harsh stone bench. Surely he would rip the nails of his fingers to shreds. There was a sheen of sweat about his brow; the corded neck of his throat was stiff with tension. Yet he was absolutely still, his breath
ing deep and even.
Then a rough, tortured sound rode the air. Kitty pressed a hand across her heart, her eyes closing briefly at his pained groan. Her throat went tight, then a soft, stupid smile curved her lips.
He had willingly endured this pain…to dance with her. Why?
He shifted, and the shadows obscured his features wholly, yet she knew the moment he saw her. Kitty’s body suddenly felt weightless; her heart trembled, and her awareness of the duke heightened with shocking intensity.
Though he did not speak, the demand for an explanation was palpable. In the dark shadows of the gardens, he stared at her, no gentlemanly consideration of her sensibilities as his eyes skimmed over each swell and dip of her body. Something unknown crawled through her body, heating her from the inside.
Kitty glanced back at the pathway, feeling discomfited at their isolation. She returned her regard to him, and he was still considering her in that piercing manner. She became increasingly uneasy under his silent scrutiny, and it forced her into speech.
“You escaped as if the devil were at your heels, Your Grace.” She pushed tendrils of hair behind her ears. “I…I wanted to inquire if you are well.”
Damn her curiosity. She had been conscious, almost from the start of their acquaintance, of a compelling attraction between them. It wasn’t wise to be with him alone, in such an isolated area of the garden. Kitty wondered whether it was the rebellious streak in her, so frequently deplored even by her mother, that had drawn her irresistibly to the duke.
Silence lingered. The stillness of the night enfolded them.
“Come sit with me, Miss Danvers.” With a dip of his head, he motioned her to the iron chair in front of his, under the warm splash of light from the nearby gas lamp. Where he would be able to observe every nuance of her face and demeanor while he remained shadowed.
A thrill of frightened anticipation touched her spine, and an oddly primitive warning sounded in her thoughts—run, run, run as fast as you can.
