She didn’t seem old.
“Plain.”
Plain had occurred to him, but she wasn’t plain. Not really. In fact, she might be the opposite of plain.
“Uninteresting.”
That was absolutely not true.
“I was tossed over by a duke.”
Still not the whole truth. “And there’s the rub?”
“Quite,” she said. “Though it seems unfair, as the duke in question never intended to marry me in the first place.”
“Why not?”
“He was wildly in love with his wife.”
“Unfortunate, that.”
She turned away from him, returning her gaze to the sky. “Not for her.”
Devil had never in his life wanted to approach another so much. But he remained in the shadows, pressing himself to the wall and watching her. “If you are unmarriageable for all those reasons, why waste your time here?”
She gave a little laugh, the sound low and lovely. “Don’t you know, sir? Any unmarried woman’s time is well spent near to unmarried gentlemen.”
“Ah, so you haven’t given up on a husband.”
“Hope springs eternal,” she said.
He nearly laughed at the dry words. Nearly. “And so?”
“It’s difficult, as at this point, my mother has strict requirements for any suitor.”
“For example?”
“A heartbeat.”
He did laugh at that, a single, harsh bark, shocking the hell out of him. “With such high standards, it’s unsurprising that you’ve had such trouble.”
She grinned, teeth gleaming white in the moonlight. “It’s a wonder that the Duke of Marwick hasn’t fallen over himself to get to me, I know.”
The reminder of his purpose that evening was harsh and instant. “You’re after Marwick.”
Over my decaying corpse.
She waved a hand. “My mother is, as are all the rest of the mothers in London.”
“They say he’s mad,” Devil pointed out.
“Only because they can’t imagine why anyone would choose to live outside society.”
Marwick lived outside society because he’d made a long-ago pact never to live within it. But Devil did not say that. Instead, he said, “They’ve barely had a look at him.”
Her grin turned into a smirk. “They’ve seen his title, sir. And it is handsome as sin. A hermit duke still makes a duchess, after all.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s the marriage mart.” She paused. “But it does not matter. I am not for him.”
“Why not?” He didn’t care.
“Because I am not for dukes.”
Why the hell not?
He didn’t speak the question, but she answered it nonetheless, casually, as though she were speaking to a roomful of ladies at tea. “There was a time when I thought I might be,” she offered, more to herself than to him. “And then . . .” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know what happened. I suppose all those other things. Plain, uninteresting, aging, wallflower, spinster.” She laughed at the list of words. “I suppose I should not have dallied, thinking I’d find myself a husband, as it did not happen.”
“And now?”
“And now,” she said, resignation in her tone, “my mother seeks a strong pulse.”
“What do you seek?”
Whit’s nightingale cooed in the darkness, and she replied on the heels of the sound. “No one has ever asked me that.”
“And so,” he prodded, knowing he shouldn’t. Knowing he should leave this girl to this balcony and whatever future she was to have.
“I—” She looked toward the house, toward the dark conservatory and the hallway beyond, and the glittering ballroom beyond that. “I wish to be a part of it all again.”
“Again?”
“There was a time I—” she began, then stopped. Shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve far more important things to do.”
“I do, but as I can’t do them while you’re here, my lady, I’m more than willing to help you sort this out.”
She smiled at that. “You’re amusing.”
“No one in my whole life would agree with you.”
Her smile grew. “I am rarely interested in others’ opinions.”
He did not miss the echo of his own words from earlier. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
She waved a hand. “There was a time when I was a part of it. Right at the center of it all. I was incredibly popular. Everyone wished to know me.”
“And what happened?”
She spread her hands wide again, a movement that was beginning to be familiar. “I don’t know.”
He raised a brow. “You don’t know what made you a wallflower?”
“I don’t,” she said softly, confusion and sadness in her tone. “I wasn’t even near the walls. And then, one day”—she shrugged—“there I was. Ivy. And so, when you ask me what I seek?”
She was lonely. Devil knew about lonely. “You want back in.”
She gave a little, hopeless laugh. “No one gets back in. Not without a match for the ages.”
He nodded. “The duke.”
“A mother can dream.”
“And you?”
“I want back in.” Another warning sounded from Whit, and the woman looked over her shoulder. “That’s a very persistent nightingale.”
“He’s irritated.”
She tilted her head in curiosity, but when he did not clarify, she added, “Are you going to tell me who you are?”
“No.”
She nodded once. “That is best, I suppose, as I only came outside to find a quiet moment away from supercilious smirks and snide comments.” She pointed down the line of the balcony, toward the lighter stretch of it. “I shall go over there and find a proper hiding place, and you can resume your skulking, if you like.”
He did not reply, not certain of what he would say. Not trusting himself to say what he should.
“I shan’t tell anyone I saw you,” she added.
“You haven’t seen me,” he said.
“Then it shall have the additional benefit of being the truth,” she added, helpfully.
The nightingale again. Whit didn’t trust him with this woman.
And perhaps he shouldn’t.
She dipped into a little curtsy. “Well, off to your nefarious deeds then?”
The pull of the muscles around his lips was unfamiliar. A smile. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled. This strange woman had summoned it, like a sorceress.
She was gone before he could reply, her skirts disappeared around the corner, into the light. It took everything he had not to follow her. To catch a glimpse of her—the color of her hair, the shade of her skin, the flash of her eyes.
He still didn’t know the color of her gown.