Page 3 of A Virgin for the Duke of Depravity (Ton’s Beasts #2)
Margaret allowed herself to be dragged away by this man, who was so cold and imposing. The grip on her arm reminded her that she was in serious trouble for sneaking into a club where she did not belong, but she could not shake the sense that she would let this man touch her in any way he pleased.
What kind of sinful thought is that?
Margaret tried not to think about the man’s hands on her, but it was difficult as he marched her through the halls. She would have to confess her errant desire when she returned to the convent—something that she was not looking forward to.
If Mother Superior saw her now, surely there would be discipline on the horizon for her.
She stole a glance at him, her curiosity getting the better of her.
I should have learned my lesson about curiosity today.
As if it were not bad enough that the Earl had caught her visiting Theresa, she had somehow stumbled on this… party.
Could she truly call it a party? Whatever the driver had said, this was no book club!
Both times she had let curiosity best her, and both times, she had been caught. She supposed this was the Lord’s way of punishing her for the folly of seeing what she was not meant to see.
Margaret was destined to take her vows and become a nun.
Once she took those vows, there would be no more opportunities to see the Earl’s estate or to stumble upon book clubs.
She was to be cloistered in the convent, given over to a life of chores and prayer.
Trying to make herself content with endless rituals and soft-voiced sisters.
She could not think of a life that she wanted less.
Except perhaps a life where the Earl dictated what she would do with her days. Surely, that would be worse than anything she would endure in the convent. Her life might be dull, but she had no idea what ill fate she might suffer at the Earl’s hands.
She thought of the scars on her mother’s back, not so different from the ones that nuns left on her. That was a story from her childhood that her mother never wanted to discuss, but the dread on her face when the Earl of Riley came up in conversation was warning enough.
It was no surprise that she had been adamant that Margaret would have a better life. She had given her daughter every advantage she could—until it was no longer up to her.
Margaret had been on the run for a very long time.
She returned her attention to the situation at hand. The man who guided her through the halls opened another door and ushered her inside. It was a study, large and spacious. A fire roared in the hearth, casting minimal light and lots of shadow.
Margaret was tempted to run her fingers along the volumes on the shelves to see what kind of books this man kept. Were they full of the same pictures she had just seen?
The memory caused her to blush again, and she hoped she could pass it off as being flushed from the heat of the fire.
She looked back at the man and realized what set him apart from all the others.
“You do not wear a mask,” she said, studying him carefully.
She could see his perfectly chiseled features, as if he were made of stone.
His brow was strong, though furrowed as if she were a problem he needed to solve.
His cheekbones were perfectly sculpted, leading to a strong jaw.
Her eyes drifted to his full lips, to the strong chin that squared off the rest of his face.
Part of her wondered what it would be like to run her finger over his plump lips, but she shook the thought away.
God, what she had witnessed at that book club was clearly affecting her. She should pray.
But to do that, she would have to stop thinking of anything else. And she couldn’t. Not when his skin was so perfectly smooth that she wondered if it would feel as cool as the statues outside the Earl of Riley’s estate—yet another reminder of how she ended up in his presence.
Still, it was his eyes that drew her in.
They were the deepest shade of brown she had ever seen, so dark they were almost black.
In this lighting, they appeared larger than they had in the library.
While the color was warm, he fixed her with a cold stare that put the color at odds with his expression.
He took a seat behind the desk in the center of the room. With a sigh, he said, “I do not require one. And you will remove yours as well so that I might see who has happened upon my club without an invitation.”
Margaret sank into the chair across from the desk, her curiosity once more getting the better of her. Prolonging the time she could spend at this club was of the utmost importance. Was the Earl still searching for her? Would he find her if she departed so soon?
Every minute counted to keep her out of the Earl’s clutches. She was desperate to stay, if only for an hour or so.
“Why do you not require a mask?” she asked instead.
“Everyone here knows me already.” The man shrugged, leaning back in his chair as if she should know who he was.
Perhaps if she were a lady of the ton, she would know who he was. But Margaret was an outsider, and she never wanted to be one more than she did right now.
“I do not know who you are. Who are you?” she asked.
“The King of Olympus.” His voice was bold and commanding.
She had no idea what that was supposed to mean. How could he be the king of Olympus? Margaret knew only one person who was the King, and she said as much.
“Do you mean that you are Zeus?” She furrowed her brow.
A convent education might be thorough, but it had never touched on dangerous-looking men with commanding voices.
“That would not turn out well for you.” The man smirked at her, but she did not know what he could possibly mean by that. “Remove your mask, My Lady. It is time to see who thought she could intrude on a private club. You cannot remain hidden from me forever.”
Margaret tried to think of an excuse to keep her mask on. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she had been caught fairly. There would be no getting out of this without revealing she had no invitation.
The flush crept back into her cheeks, but she carefully untied the mask from around her face.
As the mask dropped from her face, she tried to be brave and look the man in the eye. If she could pretend well enough, maybe he would allow her to stay in this study until the need to escape had passed.
“What is your name?” he asked. His gaze lingered on her face as he tried to place her, furrowing his brow in confusion.
“You first,” Margaret said.
She dared to look him right in the eyes and straightened her spine, shoulders squared so that she had a perfect posture. Even if she could not be brave, she could at least appear confident.
“Leonard Hunton, the Duke of Devishire.”
“Oh, so you are one of the Beasts?”
Margaret was starting to gain some clarity into the situation. This man must be friends with Theresa’s husband. Surely that meant he could not be all bad, even if that was how he wanted to portray himself.
“Excuse me?”
“You know, the ton’s Beasts. The Queen issued an edict for you. Like my best friend’s husband, Aaron. But he is not so beastly after you get to know—”
“You are Theresa’s friend?” the Duke interrupted, suddenly looking more interested in her instead of being intent on kicking her out of the club. He leaned over the desk, his elbows propped up on the surface.
“Yes. She has been my best friend for years.”
“But Theresa grew up in a convent.”
He must have known Theresa well.
Margaret felt relief sweep from the crown of her head to her toes, along with something else. A heat, a tingling—something like a fire that lit her up from the inside out. It pooled in her core, but she tried not to think about it as she considered her response to the Duke.
“I am aware that Theresa grew up in a convent,” she said confidently.
“Please do not tell me a little nun snuck into my private party,” he said with exasperation.
He dropped his head in his hands for a moment before shaking it, as if trying to make this situation disappear. He raked a hand roughly through his dark brown hair.
“Almost a nun,” Margaret corrected him. “And in my defense, I did not know I needed an invitation. I just… I needed to leave, and your driver was kind enough to bring me here. I thought it was about books, and I do love to read.”
“What is your name again?”
“Margaret.”
“Well, Margaret, I must ask you to leave.” The Duke rose from the desk and crossed to the door.
Margaret panicked, certain that she could say or do something that would convince him to let her stay. She would do just about anything to avoid running into the Earl again.
Before he could make it to the door, Margaret realized that she would have to beg him to allow her to stay.
“No! Please, I can’t go out there! I just…” She tried to think of how she could explain her situation, but she did not have enough time. “Can I just stay at your club? I want to know all about those books!”
Truthfully, the books did intrigue Margaret. The actions of the couples in the room intrigued her less, but she could not deny their allure.
She forced down her budding curiosity. Just because it would have been forbidden at the convent did not mean she had to investigate such… activities.
“Please, let me stay. Y-You could even read the books to me. Aren’t you a member?”
She blushed from just making the offer to the Duke. Her own body was betraying her. She wanted to feel his warm breath tickling her ear as he whispered the words to her.
Part of her lit up at the thought of his hands on her, his lips on hers. She shook her head, trying to redirect her thoughts to more chaste directions.
Despite her desperate offer, the Duke shook his head. “A nun should not walk into the Devil’s den. Leave.”
Margaret did not move for a moment, her eyes fixed on the man in front of her. That confident bearing, the unyielding gaze—she had a sense that he was a man used to getting what he wanted from the world. Surely, that was part of the reason why he was one of the Beasts she had heard so much about.
Her gaze trailed from the crown of his head down to his rigid shoulders until it landed on his hands. They were clenched into fists, and she finally understood that he was not only frustrated with her but also angry with her.
She stood up to leave, as he had bid her to. Determined that she would go with dignity if she had to be escorted out of the club, she rolled her shoulders back and stood as straight as she could. The sisters had taught her to have a proper posture.
But before they could make it to the door, someone knocked.
Could this be her savior?