The Forbidden Duke (7 page)

The move had happened quickly, but she relived it in half time—the glide of his hand, the whisper of his breath against her ear, the dark promise in his gaze when he’d faced her and taken her hand.

Silly, silly featherbrain!
There was no promise—dark or otherwise. As he’d said, it
was
just a dance. A glorious, spectacular, delicious dance that she would recall at least ten thousand times.

“What do you hope to do in London this Season?” His question surprised her. She didn’t know what she’d expected from someone called the Forbidden Duke, but it wasn’t normal conversation.

I hope to comport myself admirably
, was the first answer that came to mind, but she didn’t wish to expound on that. “I imagine we’ll ride in the park, pay calls, and I’ll likely adorn the wall of a few dozen balls and parties.” She’d meant the last in a bit of jest, but also feared it might be true.

He arched a thick brow at her. “You won’t be adorning the wall. You danced with me. Everyone will want to dance with you now.”

She believed him. But she also had the unsettling thought that every other partner would pale compared to him.

The next couple danced between them and joined their respective ends of the lines.

Though they were free to speak and could hear each other over the music, it meant talking at a volume that would allow their dancing neighbors to overhear. It had been one thing to converse beside his parents, but now that others could eavesdrop, she found she didn’t want to say anything. Probably because the only things she wanted to discuss involved his forbidden state. How had he earned the nickname, and how did he feel about it? A shame she would never know.

At last, one of the many questions battering around in her head forced its way out. “Will you leave after our dance?” she asked, and again instantly regretted her boldness. “My apologies, that is none of my business.”

“That is what I typically do, yes. However, I might linger for a bit.” His gaze did just that—lingered—over her. She loved the green of his eyes, dark and mossy, almost like velvet.
 

The dance continued, and they exchanged a few more pleasantries. Nora was lulled into a sense of comfort, something she suspected would evaporate the moment the dance ended, which was imminent since the last couple had started down the line.

“Our dance is almost at an end,” Kendal said.

“There’s another in the set, is there not?”

He shook his head. “Not this time. The first set is just one dance—my stepmother prefers it that way.”

Nora hadn’t known this and was unaccountably disappointed. The music drew to a close, and everyone bowed or curtsied to their partner. Kendal offered his arm, and Nora clasped her hand around his sleeve. She would savor this moment, certain it would never repeat itself.

He led her back to the refreshment room, and again the throng divided as if by some sort of spell. But then it seemed Kendal excelled at casting a very specific sort of magic that drove everyone into an obsequious state.

They happened upon Lady Dunn, who was seated near the wall. Her gaze fell on them with something akin to admiration or maybe approval. Kendal took his leave, and Lady Dunn motioned for Nora to join her.

“Well done, my dear,” the older woman said. “When next we meet—away from this crush—you must recount the entire dance. I want to hear every single detail, beginning with why he asked you.”

That was a question Nora didn’t have an answer to and would forever ponder—when she wasn’t too busy just feeling happy that he had.

Chapter Five

H
aving done his duty to his stepmother, Titus went upstairs to Satterfield’s study to escape the inanity of the ball goers.
Not all of them
were tedious
, he told himself. One in particular was quite intriguing.

He heard a steady stream of women accessing his stepmother’s sitting room next door, which had been converted into a retiring room. He wondered if any of them were Miss Lockhart with her gold-brown eyes and alluring smile.

His annual dance had always been a duty, but tonight he’d enjoyed performing it more than he ever had. Miss Lockhart was refreshingly open. He’d had to keep from laughing aloud at the way in which she’d put that ridiculous carper in her place. He hadn’t felt so at ease with another person who wasn’t from his inner circle in a very long time. In forever, maybe.

And just who was his “inner circle”? His stepmother, of course, and Satterfield. His steward at Lakemoor, his secretary here in London, probably his valet, and perhaps his butlers. Maybe the stable master at Lakemoor. Once upon a time, he would’ve included the group of friends he’d run with in his youth, but he’d left them behind when he’d shunned their lifestyle. Some of them had matured a bit, while others were as debauched as ever. He was friendly with a few of them—they discussed politics and the like—but he didn’t socialize with them.

Hmm, yes, he was alone, but not lonely, as his stepmother surmised, and he liked it that way.

As if he’d summoned her by thought, the door opened and Lady Satterfield walked inside, saying, “There you are. Harley said you hadn’t left, which I could scarcely believe.”

Titus had conversed briefly with the Satterfields’ butler before coming upstairs. Just as he’d been surprised by Titus’s arrival at the tea the other day, he’d seemed taken aback to learn that Titus wasn’t leaving as soon as he’d completed the favor for Lady Satterfield.

Titus shrugged and sipped from the glass of whisky he’d poured from his stepfather’s cabinet. “I just needed some quiet.”

“Do you mean to return to the ball?” she asked, with perhaps a touch of hope.

He shrugged again.

She shook her head but smiled. “You needn’t stay. I appreciate you dancing with Nora.”

Nora.
He tried to think of her as Miss Lockhart, but from the moment he’d heard her name and experienced the sensuality it seemed to spark in his brain, he’d had a rough go of it. Maybe he’d abandon the pretense—at least in his head.

“Did it help?” he asked.

His stepmother exhaled. “I’m not sure yet. She’s just received her second invitation to dance, and Lady Dunn, bless the woman despite her penchant for gossip, has given her stamp of approval.” Her lips curved down. “However, there are other women—who I think knew Nora in the past—who have not been as gracious.”

Titus felt an urge to return to the ball and glower at the termagant who’d been bothering Nora. “Yes, I overhead one of them speaking to Miss Lockhart. I don’t know her name, but ask Miss Lockhart. You mustn’t ever invite her to Satterfield House again.”

His stepmother arched a brow at him. “Indeed? You sound as if you leapt to her defense.”

Titus didn’t want to expose his guilt regarding Nora or the fact that he felt beholden to help her. “I am doing what you asked—elevating her status.”

“And I appreciate it. Perhaps then you won’t mind lending just a bit more of your support. We’re to attend Lady Fitzgibbon’s picnic at Brexham Hall in a few days. Will you join us?”

Titus couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do less. The thought of spending an entire afternoon at an insipid Society event made his skin crawl. Once upon a time, he’d enjoyed such nonsense, but now he’d rather meet with his secretary or dig into a treatise or a book.
 

However, this event would include Nora. Surely that would lift its potential from certainly dull to possibly entertaining?

“You needn’t come for the entire time,” his stepmother said. “Hopefully by then she will have garnered a bit of favor, perhaps even a potential suitor or two, and your continued attention will only solidify her status.”

Of course there would be suitors. She was looking for a husband, was she not? Still, the thought of a gentleman courting her inexplicably provoked his irritation. “I will put in an appearance. Will that suffice?”

Her brows climbed into a graceful arch of surprise. “More than. I expected you to say no.”

If it had been anyone other than Nora, he would have. But he felt a specific responsibility to aid her cause. He may not have been the one to compromise her, but he may as well have been standing there encouraging Haywood.
 

“Perhaps you’re finally letting down your guard.” His stepmother lifted a shoulder and gave him a sly smile. “Who knows, maybe you’ll even take a wife.”

“Let’s not put the cart before the horse.” He tossed back the rest of his whisky.

She chuckled. “Never. And anyway, I’m quite content playing sponsor to Miss Lockhart. Once I’ve secured her future, I may take on another young lady. It’s quite invigorating.” Her smile was tinged with sadness. “It makes me think of Eliza.”

She was speaking of Titus’s half sister who’d died at the age of three, when Titus had been ten. There had been no other children after that, so it made sense that helping Nora appealed to her. He set his empty glass on the sideboard and took his stepmother’s gloved hand. “I’m sorry this is dredging that up.”

She squeezed his fingers and let him go. “I’m not. And anyway, there is no dredging involved. Eliza is always with me.” She briefly touched her chest above her heart before tugging her glove more snugly over her elbow. “I do worry about you, though. Are you truly happy on your own?”

“As happy as I need to be.” He would’ve said
as I deserve to be
, but that would have invited unwanted questions and concern. “I shall be happier in a short while when I am away from this ball.” Indeed, why hadn’t he left already?

An image of Nora—the proud angle of her head and the confident jut of her chin as she’d put that woman in her place—rose in his mind, and he silently chided himself. He’d wasted a perfectly good hour—more than that now—that he could’ve spent at his club or in his library. Or better yet, in the arms of his mistress.

His stepmother walked toward the door. “I’m afraid I must return downstairs. I’ve been gone an age.” She paused at the threshold. “Will you come with me, or are you leaving?”

“Leaving.”

“Good night, then.” She blew him a kiss and left.

Titus followed her from the room, but as he escaped down the back stairs, he wondered if he’d really go to his mistress. He hadn’t been to see her since that first night, what, nearly a week ago? The night before he’d met Nora.

Clenching his jaw, he resolved to visit Isabelle. He needed to return to his normal London routine, which included regular appointments with his mistress. But as he climbed into his coach, he wasn’t thinking of his beautiful courtesan. No, he was thinking of tawny eyes and dark pink lips that belonged to a woman he could never have.

T
wo nights later, Nora attended a soiree with Lady Satterfield at the home of Lord Bunting. It wasn’t a crush, but there was far more of a crowd than Nora had anticipated. She’d forgotten how many people spent their evenings seeking entertainment around London. It made the last nine years of her life seem incredibly sedate and painfully lonely.

But then she hadn’t needed the social whirl of London to underscore that point.

She’d been too aware of her solitude as well as the fact that she’d be alone forever. Until she wasn’t. And now that she wasn’t… Well, it felt strange to be thrust into this madness again.

Madness? Was that how she saw it?

Yes, because
anyone
would acknowledge that the London Season was overwhelming and terrible and quite, quite mad.