Page 58

No, not innocent. Not even the pure silver glow of the moon could makeDuke Blackheartlook innocent.

Not devilish, though. Something in between. Something intriguing, something vulnerable.

He’s so handsome, Beatrice mused silently, her heart sinking.

Why did he kiss me? Why can’t he amuse himself with his opera singers and leave me alone?

And now here they were, and he was looking up at her so expectantly.

He had taken off his gloves, Beatrice noticed with a jolt of surprise.

“Very well,” she said at last, feeling as though she were making decisions from outside of her body.

She took his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against her thin, thin gloves.

His smile widened. Devilish.

“Shall we go, then, Duchess?”

“Everybody is looking at us,” Beatrice whispered, clinging to Stephen’s arm a little more desperately than she would have liked. “Oh, I shouldn’t have worn this gown to Almack’s!”

Ladies were staring at her with expressions ranging between disgust and curiosity, their eyes raking over her gown, taking in every detail of her hairstyle. Gentlemen’s gazes dropped to her decolletagealmost immediately, lingering on her collarbones, her exposed neck, and the silver necklace glittering there.

Stephen chuckled beside her. “You think they disapprove?”

“Certainly, they do.”

He shook his head. “Some do, I’m sure, but many of them feel differently. Now, I would be willing to bet that in a week or two, we shall start to see ladies—especially fuller-figured ladies—wearing simple, sleek velvet gowns in bold colors. Do you think you would like to see that?”

Beatrice bit her lip, glancing up at him. “Are you trying to say that they will be imitating me?”

He squinted down at her, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Do you think you are worth imitating, my dear?”

There was no chance to say anything in response because a group of acquaintances hailed them, and the chaos of conversation had to go on above the chatter and music in the background.

The conversation did not last long, as the music took a more definitive turn, and couples began to drift towards the ballroom.

Beatrice was looking around to find a comfortable seat near the wall when Stephen tapped her elbow, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“Would you like to dance, Duchess?”

His voice, low and full of promise, sent shivers down her spine.

“Could you bring yourself to dance with Duke Blackheart?” he added, giving her a wry smile.

She raised her eyebrows. “You can be Duke Blackheart with your companions and enemies,Your Grace. But you had better be Stephen with me.”

Surprise flickered across his face, just for a moment. “Is that your answer, then? You’d dance withStephen?”

“I suppose so,” she managed.

Grinning, Stephen whisked her towards the dance floor.

The dance was, naturally, a waltz.

“I… I don’t waltz very often,” Beatrice found herself saying.

“Why not?”