Page 179 of Dukes for Dessert

The Earl of Lavery opened and closed his mouth, like a trout tossed ashore. “What—”

“I’ve come to request the next set, my lady.” Damian directed his request to Theodosia.

Her lips parted on a moue of surprise.

“What in hell are you thinking?” the gentleman with dark hair and brown eyes who bore the faintest resemblance to Theodosia, asked. By his total lack of control, he ventured this was, in fact, the youngest Rayne son. “You dare present yourself…”

Theodosia placed a hand on her brother’s forearm and murmured something. He merely shrugged free of her touch. “With the devil’s mark stamped upon your—oomph.” He glowered at Theodosia who’d effectively ended those words with a sharp jab of her elbow.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. Forgive him.”

That apology made on behalf of her brother brought shocked gasps from the trio of Raynes.

No one had ever defended Damian before. Largely because, as the heir and then holder of a dukedom, he really needn’t require defending. Some strange, indefinable emotion squeezed at his chest that this slip of a young woman should brave her family’s wrath to protect him.

“You can go to the devil,” the earl barked, bringing shocked gasps from nearby lords and ladies.

Damian ignored the mottled, portly gentleman and instead fixed his gaze upon Theodosia, as he became painfully aware of his hand held out to the lady, while Polite Society looked on. The stretched moment of indecision, punctuated by the strums of the orchestra’s waltz. Then, with a small smile, she slipped her hand in his and the tension eased from his chest.

Ignoring the black curse spat by Theodosia’s brother, Damian guided her onto the dance floor and positioned his hand about her waist.

“You are here,” she blurted, as they launched into the one-two-three step of the haunting waltz.

“Do you believe I’m merely an apparition sent from the bowels of hell, my lady?” he asked in clipped tones.

She pointed her eyes to the ceiling. “Do not be silly, Damian.” Had the lady just called him silly? No one in the course of his nine and twenty years had dared disparage him. “Do you take me as one who is afraid of you?” No, when most quaked in his presence or reviled him in the manner her family did, she smiled and boldly challenged him. “Because I’m not,” she confirmed. “For the rule long followed by our families—”

“The rule?”

“Come, Damian,” she scoffed. “A Rayne does not attend the same event as a Renshaw. We know that and the lesson was likely ingrained into you since you were a mere boy being schooled as future duke.”

Yes, the lady was unerringly correct in her supposition. He trained his gaze on the crown of her dark tresses. Butterfly combs adorned her hair, the sapphire and ruby gems glittered under the glow of the chandelier, beautiful and yet, incomplete. Lavender thistle. The reason he’d come. Or was it….?

“Damian?” she prodded, pulling him to the moment.

“In the wake of your,” flight, “departure, my lady, you left behind your hair combs.” Hair combs he’d gently disentangled from her hair. His fingers twitched in remembrance of the luxuriant silkiness of her curled tresses.

Some of the light dimmed in her eyes. “Oh.” His stomach tightened at the disappointment reflected on the precious planes of her face. Oh God, he could not lie to her. He tightened his grip about her waist, angling her body closer to his, ignoring that her family, Society, honed in on each subtle move they made. “And I wanted to see you.”

Her lips parted. Blinkblinkblink. His heart tugged at the endearing little shocked gesture that was only hers. “Why?”

That question proved far more dangerous. Or, at the very least, the possible answers did. The truth was because she’d captivated him. Inspired him with her resolve and strength, and more, the romance of her spirit that saw an old weapon and saw old tales of legend and love.

Instead of responding, he turned his own question on her. “Why do you not fear me?”

“You’re just a man, Damian.”

For the entire nine and twenty years of his life, his identity and name had been nothing more than a title to his parents, siblings, servants, and Polite Society. Until now. There was something gripping, potent and powerful in being seen as simply a man.

A commotion sounded in the hall and he glanced over her shoulder through the figure cutting an angry path through the assembled dancers. Whirling couples strove to circle away from Aidan Rayne. Damian bit back a curse and applied a gentle pressure to her waist, bringing her gaze up. “Will you meet me at Hyde Park, just on the edge of Kensington Gardens, before the sun rises? I will return your hair combs.”

She nodded once, just as Aidan settled a hand upon his shoulder.

A collective gasp went up and the dancing lords and ladies strained to see the impending confrontation. Damian stiffened but remained with his hold upon Theodosia.

“Aidan,” she whispered, an unexpected steel underlined the admonition.

“Release my sister,” he bit out, ignoring his sister.