Page 166 of Dukes for Dessert

“You’re quite serious, aren’t you?” she asked, returning her attention to the much cleaner, still sloppy floor.

“Yes.”

“Do you ever smile?”

At his silence, Theodosia picked her head up.

“No,” he said coolly and then returned to picking up the pieces of the Devil’s brandy decanter.

“Hmm.” It really wasn’t her business whether the stranger sent by Herbie was smiling or serious or seriously smiling. It mattered that she’d secured the sword, made quite the mess in her wake, and now cleaned said mess. That is what mattered, and yet, unbidden, she lifted her gaze to him once more—hopelessly intrigued.

It was the masquerade and the thrill of excitement from being here, on the cusp of discovery that accounted for this unexpected interest in… Herbie’s friend. Herbie’s friend, who was, as of now, absent a name.

“Do you have a name?”

“Of course I have a name,” he gritted out.

Theodosia pointed her eyes to the ceiling. “Of course you do—”

“Then why did you ask?”

Humph. Well, he was the surly sort-indeed. Then, she eyed him contemplatively. Considering he now braved the Devil’s displeasure and Newgate to help her, a stranger, retrieve her family’s sword spoke volumes of the man. It also occurred to her the anxiety he himself must be feeling. After all, the Theodosia sword was nothing to him, and yet everything to her. “Forgive me, you must fear the Devil, as well.”

He stilled and gave her a probing stare.

Theo stole a glance about. “The Devil.” One never knew where demons lurked. One such as the duke likely found little pleasure in inane amusements such as a masquerade and could very well now be seeking out his lair.

His eyes narrowed and she patted him on the hand. “You needn’t fear. Your secret is safe with me. I’d no sooner confess your part in this retrieval to the Duke of Devlin than I would dance with the devil at midnight.”

“My secret, you say?” The first hint of droll humor underscored that question.

She frowned. “Very well. I do see your point. My secret. I merely referred to your service.” Theo returned her attention to the pile of glass and the tiny slivers that remained. Concern turned in her belly. “It is hopeless, isn’t it?” At his questioning look, she slashed her hand at the mess she’d made of the situation. The entire point of her well-thought out mission had been to retrieve the broadsword, replace it with her own, and leave no hint of anything amiss. “A ruthless, self-absorbed man such as the duke would not have likely deigned to pick up his head to note anything amiss.” He arched a single dark brow. “With the sword,” she explained. Really, for the keenness of his ice blue stare, the fellow did seem to be having difficulty following along. “Perhaps one day, years later he might have noted something amiss, but now with this.” Theo looked at the barren sideboard. “Why, he’ll notice this.”

“Undoubtedly,” the stranger said dryly.

She pursed her lips. Theo appreciated his help. She truly did. Yet, he needn’t find such humor in the entire situation. With a resigned sigh, Theo shoved to her feet and dusted her palms together. “We must leave the remainder.” She’d already been gone too long from the festivities. She’d secured the sword and now it was time to make her retreat.

The dark stranger unfurled to his full, towering height and Theo really should be thinking of escape and the victory of having the weapon in hand, and yet…she swallowed hard. She inched her gaze up, up, ever upwards, from the broad wall of his powerfully muscled chest to the square jaw and the sharp planes of his chiseled cheeks not obscured by that dark mask and then she settled her eyes on his. Hard, unrelenting, and curiously devoid of emotion, his stare penetrated her in a way that quelled all thoughts of flight. With his midnight black attire, black domino, and dark, unfashionably long hair, he cut a terrifying figure and she wondered, not for the first time, at his costume selection. After all, one always feared what they didn’t know. At her stare, the gentleman winged another brow upward. “Who are you?” she blurted. At her own audacity, heat slapped her cheeks, and she gestured to his dark attire. “I am Joan of Arc, and you are—”

With long, powerful fingers, he freed the mask concealing his identity and tossed the thin fabric aside. “The Devil Duke.”

Even with only half of his face presented her, her breath caught at the glorious perfection of the man. The chiseled perfection of his aquiline cheeks would have inspired envy in one of those marble masterpieces crafted by Michelangelo. She’d never been one to be stricken silent by a handsome gentleman and so she forced words past dry lips. “I daresay if you’re to arrive as the Devil, you’d be requiring that nasty, wicked scar he’s rumored to possess.”

The gentleman shifted, presenting the full of his face. Her heart thumped a wildly erratic rhythm. In full, he was even more glorious…and she blinked, and then went on tiptoe peering up at the wicked scar that ran from the corner of his eye, bisecting his cheek, and ending at the slight cleft above his lips. “Why, you have even applied a false scar.” Theodosia frowned. That wasn’t well done of the man. She might herself despise the Duke of Devlin and his entire family but she would never be so cruel as to mock a man’s disfigurement. Then, with a boldness inspired by secret identities and the cover provided by the masquerade, she touched her fingertips to the mark upon his face.

The gentleman shot a hand about her wrist, firmly encircling her flesh in a determined grip that was both oddly hard and gentle all at once. Her heart pounded harder as his eyes fell to her lips and for one maddening moment, she wanted this nameless, but no longer faceless, stranger who’d risked discovery to aid her, to place his mouth upon hers. He leaned down, shrinking the space between them and she fluttered her lids wildly as she turned her lips up to receive his kiss. “You misunderstand, Lady Theodosia.” A lethal steel underscored those whispered words, causing her to jerk her eyes open. The coolly mocking smile adorning his lips chilled her. “I am not disguised as the Duke of Devlin.” The first warning bells blared in her ears. “I am the Devil Duke.”

Blinkblinkblink.

Oh, dear.

This was a problem, indeed.

4

Chapter Four

Damian took in the rapid and powerful range of emotions to cross the lady’s face; denial, a dawning truth, horror, and then ultimately, by the pale white of her skin and the rapid rise and fall of her chest, terror. Through it all, he continued to hold her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip. Then, her terror gave way to a flash of annoyance.