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"I'm surprised Jenny has not come around and I do not remember seeing her at the ball last night either."

Lavinia bit her lip in guilt and avoided Lady Hartfield's probing gaze. "I was planning to check up on her soon."

The truth was that Jenny had gotten a nasty cold and had taken to her bed. The letter she had written to Lavinia said as much. The response she had sent back to her friend wished her quick recovery and some other mundane gossip tacked on, but she had written nothing about her entanglement with the Duke.

On one hand, she didn't know if she was allowed to tell Jenny the truth. She didn't think even Victor had told his friend the Viscount. On the other, well, she hated to lie to her friend, and she knew that Jenny would take one look at her and know she was lying.

Lavinia was conflicted, and she hated to admit it, but she was glad Jenny was away for a while. At least until she could put her story together.

"She's in bed with a nasty cold," she replied, "I'll pay her a visit soon."

The older woman made a noncommittal sound and then rose up from where she had been sitting, smoothing down the front of her dress, "Very well then, I will be waiting downstairs. Do hurry up, but not too fast. It will not do for you to appear too eager for him."

With that, she left Lavinia to get dressed.

By the time she got downstairs, hair swept up into a secure bun, with a few loose tendrils left to frame her face, The Duke of Wyld was already there, seated in a bright orange sofa. He dwarfed the furniture and the way he lounged back on it made him look like a king on his throne overseeing his subjects.

She wasn't sure if the authority that enveloped him was a result of his title or if it just came naturally to him.

"Your Grace," she curtsied and he rose to his feet. To her surprise, he took her hand and brushed a kiss against the inside of her wrist, right above her gloves.

The feeling of his lips lingering against her skin made her breath stutter and she froze. The touch had barely been enough to be a thing of note, but it affected her all the same.

And then his eyes rose and met hers, rooting her in place.

Lady Hartfield's throat clearing pointedly behind them caused them to jerk apart.

"These are for you," it was only then that she noticed the flowers in his hand. She took the roses with a pleased smile and a moment later, her aunt was at her side, taking them from her hand.

"Thank you, Your Grace, they are beautiful."

"Please sit," he told her.

A smile curved her mouth, "I believe that is my line," she replied before dropping into the bright sofa.

It was only when he joined her in the chair that she realized how small it was. Or maybe he was just so large. His thighs pressed into hers and even through layers of fabric, that contact seemed to burn through her. She could only imagine what the contact would feel like without anything separating their skin.

Lavinia swallowed nervously, refusing to meet neither her aunt's nor her fiancé's gaze. For some reason, she thought they would be able to read her lurid thoughts and be appalled.

"How are you?" Victor's voice cut into her thoughts.

"I've never had a gentleman or any other type of man call on me," she said honestly, "I must admit that I am at a loss. Are we to talk about the weather now?"

"It's a dreary gray that looks like it will be rain."

She shook her head at him, "You could have made some attempt to be poetic."

"I’ve never seen the appeal in dressing words up when it could be just simply said."

"I still find it hard to believe that there are so many male poets and writers with how common it is for men to think like you,"she mused, "I suspect that they are all women who have taken male pseudonyms and identities to avoid a scandal."

"Do you read a lot of poetry?" he asked curiously.

"No," she replied, "But I do read a lot of books," then she lowered her voice, embarrassed, "Mostly romance books, but I've been known to dabble in some mystery and some work about travel and geography."

"I must admit that I've never read a romance book, but I have several travel journals that describe the locations so perfectly, one could almost feel that they have been transported by the words."

"How fascinating," she said, "I have always wanted to travel."