My Darling Duke

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.