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.