Page 22 of A Deviant Spinster for the Duke (The Gentlemen’s Club #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

A knock at the bedchamber door frightened Valeria out of her skin, her hand closing around the note she had been poring over. She shoved it under the coverlets, just as the door opened and Beatrice poked her head around.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked, stepping into the room.

Face hot with panic, Valeria fixed a smile onto her face. “I was trying to decide if I should read or go to bed early. As such, I have done neither.”

“I thought we were supposed to be attending a dinner party tonight?” Beatrice wandered over and perched on the end of the bed, flopping backward. Her hands folded over her stomach, eyes gazing up to the draped canopy.

Licking her dry lips, Valeria shook her head. “Papa is still not feeling well, and I lack the strength to indulge in tiresome conversation for another evening. Tomorrow, though, we shall attend Lady Wexborough’s soirée. So, do not be too dismayed; it is just one evening without amusements.”

“Oh, I was not bothered about the dinner party,” Beatrice replied, tilting her head even further back to stare at her cousin. “I was worried about you. I thought, perhaps, you had caught uncle’s cold, or that I had… upset you with my silly chatter last night.”

Guilt pinched at Valeria’s chest, for she had been rather distant with her cousin throughout the day. They had taken a walk that morning, and though Beatrice had talked eagerly about everything and anything, Valeria had been less than verbose in response. It had been the same at luncheon and in the parlor throughout the afternoon, and as Valeria had taken dinner in her room, it stood to reason that Beatrice thought something was wrong—that she had done something wrong.

“My dear girl, I promise you have not upset me,” Valeria insisted. “It has been so long since I have endured such a busy Season, and it has exhausted me. I had quite forgotten what was expected. And… I suppose there has been some anxiety, considering no gentleman called upon me today.”

Papa knows it is now becoming a desperate situation. That is the source of his illness, dear Bea. It is the stress of losing everything, making him sick.

Valeria’s eyes pricked with tears, though she turned her face away so that Beatrice would not see. Indeed, Valeria had already penned a letter to a respectable matchmaker. All she had to do was send it, but she had not yet mustered the courage… and the receipt of someone else’s letter that evening had given her pause.

Beatrice rolled over onto her stomach, peering up at her cousin. “They will come, Valery. They are likely suffering sore heads today, but I am certain they will call tomorrow.”

“I wish I had your optimism.” Valeria smiled tightly.

“Can I fetch you anything? A tea tray? A pile of cakes?” Beatrice grinned, kicking her feet, oblivious to the true depth of trouble her cousin and uncle were in.

Valeria shook her head. “I think I am going to retire for the night, though I thank you for your care. And, please, do not think that I am upset with you anymore.”

“Very well.” A shyness came over Beatrice as she shuffled backward off the bed, getting to her feet. “It is just that… I do not have many people who are kind to me, and who like my company. I worry when I think I have lost that.”

Valeria nodded in understanding. “I know, dearest Bea. But you shall never lose that with me. I adore you. And… if you could stay with us indefinitely, I would not hesitate to allow it. But?—”

“Mother would never permit it. I know.” Beatrice groaned, sparing Valeria the struggle of explaining the truth. “I shall take to my own chambers, then, but if you get bored in the night, wake me up. Sleep well, cousin.”

Valeria forced a smile. “I will, Bea.”

Waving lazily, Beatrice padded back out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

The moment she was gone, Valeria snatched the note back out from under the coverlets, smoothing out the creases she had formed when she had crushed it in her palm. It was a note she had not expected. A note that should not have thrilled her as much as it did, but the moment it had arrived, delivered by the housekeeper, her heart had not stopped racing:

My dearest dark angel,

Tonight.

Yours,

Lockie

Leaving the apartments had been far trickier than the first time, with Beatrice shuffling around in her room, refusing to go to sleep, but as soon as all was quiet, Valeria had seized her opportunity.

Under cover of darkness, as a distant church chimed out twelve strokes, she hurried through the empty streets of Mayfair toward Duncan’s residence.

The cellar door stood open as it had before, and she followed the path through the silent house, until she was outside the drawing room. She could not breathe, but it had nothing to do with running. Common sense dictated that she should not be there at all—indeed, he had told her that she should not come, the last time she was in that spot—yet she had not been able to resist.

It was some kind of madness; it had to be. A deflected desperation, brought on by her circumstances. She wanted fervently to think of something else, anything else, than the looming destitution of her household. Duncan offered that, if nothing else.

“Is that the fluttering of wings I hear?” his voice drifted from within the drawing room.

Steeling herself, she entered. “It would have been far easier to get here if I could fly. You are playing with my reputation again, Your Grace.”

“You did not have to come,” he replied, turning from where he stood by the terrace doors. “Although, I am glad that you did.”

Her heart hammered in her chest. “You are?”

“Indeed.” He began to walk toward her. “I have not been able to stop thinking about you, Valeria.”

The breath abandoned her lungs. “Oh?”

“It is hard to forget the woman who has caused one such pain,” he said, lips quirking into a smile. “I have not been able to think of anything but the throbbing in my foot. You must be held accountable. As such, I felt it was my duty to insist upon those dancing lessons, lest you injure some other poor soul.”

Her heart sank, and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed to curve her mouth into a sarcastic smile. “If I remember rightly, I apologized for that.”

He is toying with me again, and I am allowing it. She sighed, wondering what it was about Duncan that made it so difficult to stay away from him. He was handsome; that was true. He was witty and charming, with an ease about him that she had not found elsewhere. But that did not outweigh his reputation. It should not have done, at least.

“You did, but that does not remedy the problem,” he replied, clapping his hands together, putting on an accent that might have been Russian. “Come, Miss Maxwell—we dance. We turn this clumsy cygnet into a graceful swan.”

She chuckled despite herself, shaking her head. “Why else would I be here?”

He paused, tilting his head to one side, looking at her with a fresh intensity. “I do not know, Miss Maxwell. Why else would you be here?”

“It was a rhetorical question,” she hastened to say, her cheeks warming as she looked away from him.

In truth, there had been no mention of dancing lessons on the note he had sent. It had just been one word, compelling her to sneak through the darkness to be near him again. She could tell herself that she had assumed it pertained to the dancing lessons, but she feared she might be lying.

Did I think he might… want to summon me to express an interest? Her face grew very hot indeed. She could not pretend she had not considered it, especially after he had informed her that he, too, was in search of a spouse. But then she remembered what manner of man he was, and the thought was hastily pushed aside.

Alone, however, in his townhouse, those notions came tiptoeing back. Alone with him, there was no competition: he conversed with her the way she had imagined gentlemen might before her debut; he was lively and interesting and did not seem to believe that there were topics that should not be discussed with ladies; he made her feel seen, he made her feel important, and all while making her stomach flutter.

“Then, let us dance.” Duncan held out his hand, his blue eyes gleaming in the low light. “Let me show you how it is supposed to be done, as I do not think you received my best performance last night.”

She approached hesitantly, covering her smiling mouth with her hand as she realized they had the same issue as before. “We still have no music, Your Grace.”

“Duncan,” he corrected firmly. “While you are here, I must be myself. As for the music—I shall supply it.”

Valeria stepped back uncertainly. “I cannot address you so informally. It would… not be proper.”

She understood the hypocrisy, but there were boundaries that she did not think it wise for them to cross. In formality, there was a certain security that she was desperately clinging onto.

Brow furrowing as if in some pain, Duncan made his way toward her, gently taking her hands in his. Holding her gaze, he walked backward, urging her to the open space at the rear of the drawing room. She followed his lead, tightening her grip on his hands, certain that she was dooming herself in the name of distraction and silly infatuation.

“In that case, we will not use names at all. This evening will be anonymous—I do not know you, you do not know me. We are strangers, in a place where dancing so close is not scandalous, and to be passionate is not a smear upon someone’s reputation,” he told her, as he softly began to hum.

She blinked in surprise, trying to imagine such a place: a foreign land where ladies and gentlemen were equals in all things, where she could waltz with him at her leisure and no one would bat an eyelid, where she could make business endeavors in order to save her family, instead of relying on marriage to save her.

He pulled her to him as he continued to hum, the sound rich and mellifluous, soothing her nerves as she rested her hand on his chest; the other in his hand.

They whirled around the makeshift ballroom like they were part of a grand fairytale, her feet not missing a step, guided by his fluid grace. They moved together as if they were one, sweeping and gliding and turning in smooth circles, until she was breathless with the exhilaration. Indeed, she wondered if this was what it felt like to fly, as she twirled around and around in his arms.

He hummed all the while, his gaze fixed on hers, none of the spins powerful enough to break that connection between them. And when he smiled, she smiled, understanding perfectly well how someone could fall helplessly in love with him. Not that she would dare to, of course, but she could pretend for a moment.

All of a sudden, he stopped to spin her outward. She twirled gracefully, her arm outstretched to the air, as elegant as a ballerina, but as he pulled her back to him, her feet tangled somehow.

One moment, she was soaring. The next, she felt herself tipping, unable to snatch her balance back, her legs locked.

Duncan surged forward, his arm catching her about the waist, holding her so close to his chest that there was nothing between them. No gap of safety to maintain propriety. And she, in turn, grabbed fistfuls of his lapels as she gasped in latent fright, holding onto him as if she might still fall to the floor if she let go.

His other arm slipped around her, holding her in a tight embrace—the kind she had only dreamed about. She felt the frantic rise and fall of his chest, and heard the ragged breaths of her own, as she raised her gaze to him.

His brow had furrowed, etched with that peculiar expression of pain. Yet, she did not think she had stepped on his foot again, nor had she bumped into him too hard when he had caught her. Considering his stature and physique, she did not think there was much that could hurt him. He was the kind of man to shake off a fall from his horse with ease, laughing about it moments later.

As she looked more intently, she doubted it was pain at all, but something adjacent: some kind of restraint, as if it ached to hold her so close to him.

His gaze flitted to her lips, his teeth grazing his lower lip.

He means to kiss me. Her heart pounded wildly. He is… waiting for my permission.

She was not particularly good at hearing things that were not said, but the anguish on his face shouted loudly, that bite of his lip a waving sign of his desired intention.

Her breath caught in her throat as, wide-eyed, she peered up at him. Was she supposed to nod? Was she supposed to make the first move? Was he waiting for her to kiss him first, as permission? At five-and-twenty, how could she still be as clueless as a debutante? This was something she should have prepared herself for, and now that the moment had come, she needed his guidance more than ever.

Teach me… she wanted to say, but the words would not come.

As if hearing her anyway, his hand came up to cradle her fiery cheek, and his head dipped, bringing his tempting lips closer. A whisper away from the kiss that her heart and mind were suddenly yearning for, silently screaming at him to give, regardless of society’s opinion. After all, there was no one there but them.

Heart thundering, blood rushing in her ears, her face so flushed that she was surprised she was not burning his fingertips, she did the only thing she could do: she closed her eyes, and hoped it was permission enough.

Kiss me, Duncan. Kiss me, so that I might know what it feels like. Kiss me, so that I will know what it is to be kissed by a man I… favor, even if I am never kissed by such a man again. With a memory like that, to dwell on in lonesome moments, she imagined it would be much easier to marry a gentleman who was not everything she had hoped for.

She waited. In delicious torment, she waited to feel the press of his lips. But as the moments passed, the torment grew less pleasant, receding to a hollow scrape of uncertainty that allowed her nerves to pour back in.

She knew he was looking at her, she could feel the sear of his eyes on her, and he had not moved his hand away from her cheek… so what was he doing? Was he waiting for her to speak her permission instead? She did not know why, but she had not expected him to be so honorable in that regard.

Her eyelids fluttered open.

The instant they did, Duncan’s hand fell away from her face, his arm withdrawing from her waist, as he took a step back and bowed his head.

“I trust you are not at further risk of falling over?” he asked, his chin to his chest.

Breathless and bewildered, Valeria shook her head. “I am… balanced.”

“Excellent. I confess, your stumble was my fault, that time,” he said, turning sharply and making his way to the side-table. He poured just one glass of port and took a sip, the angle of his body hiding his face from her.

What is it that you do not want me to see? She frowned, watching his throat bob, feeling as if she had been cast adrift.

When he finally turned to face her, there was a cheery smile upon his face, as if nothing had happened. His mask of mischief and rakish amusements had been donned again, denying her the chance to see the truth of the man beneath it.

At any other moment, it would have annoyed her, but this was a tease too far for her fragile sensibilities. Where before there had only been disappointment and many a swell of exasperated anger, now there was a new feeling, deep in her core: hurt.

“I mean to arrange a house party,” he said blithely, taking another, longer sip of his drink. “There is nowhere better to find a wife than at one’s own residence, so the future duchess might see the townhouse for herself. Of course, I plan to invite a host of eligible bachelors for your delectation and delight. It is only fair.”

She stared at him, her expression hardening as her heart sank like a stone, striking the fresh wound he had inflicted so casually, so cruelly. He was no fool; he knew what she had been waiting for, and knew he had been the one to encourage it. He had given every indication that he wished to kiss her, yet he had not. To add insult to injury, he was acting as if he had done nothing wrong.

“This will be the last time I ask you here,” he said in a softer tone, swirling the port in his glass. “You have proven tonight that you do not need me anymore. I hope you will agree, but I believe that my debt is now settled.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. “I could not agree more. Thank you, Duncan, for the education. I shall not forget it in a hurry.” She headed for the door, pausing on the threshold. “I look forward to your invitation. Please, do make sure that you invite Lord Campbell and Lord Tarporley. I should hate for either of them to miss it.”

She did not stop to see his reaction, striding out with all the dignity and nonchalance she could muster.

You have done me a great favor, Duncan. Now, she had no more reason to hesitate. Indeed, she would marry the very next man who showed an interest. Hoping for more than convenience and companionship was a foolish luxury she could no longer afford, and she would not let her mistake cost her.