Page 5 of A Virgin for the Duke of Depravity (Ton’s Beasts #2)

Could the Duke truly mean that? Would he offer his protection at the cost of her virtue? Margaret could not help but gasp at his offer. Before she could even process it, she had involuntarily stepped away from him. If he noticed, he did not let on.

Her virtue mattered. She was to be a woman of the cloth. This would not tarnish her reputation; it would blot it beyond recovery.

Did it truly matter to her? She was drawn by the Duke’s good looks, the confident way he claimed her. Part of her wondered if she would have even noticed him on the street if they had never happened upon one another in a book club.

She could not help but think that she would.

His dark eyes beckoned to her, hinting at secrets that she could not fathom. How could he be so brazen as to request this of her? Although that was part of the allure for her. His confidence swept her away.

Still, she was unsure what it was about him that made her consider his offer. Surely, that strong jawline and those full lips with their cupid’s bow would do it.

But if she were to take her vows in a week, cloistered in a convent where only Theresa knew she existed, who would ever be the wiser about her time in London?

Theresa would never betray her. She had already been in one precarious situation during her trip to London.

Surely, this could not be any worse. The nuns had scolded her over her mischief for years, and now, suddenly, someone needed it?

The Duke wanted help with his nieces, and who better than a woman who was so mischievous?

She opened her mouth to speak, but it snapped shut again. There was not enough time to consider how the arrangement might work or what she might be giving up to belong to the Duke, even for a short period.

Before she could form a response, the Duke held up a hand.

“Think about it,” he urged. “My driver will take you back to your friend. Tomorrow, I will visit you to announce a house party here at Devishire Mansion. Your reputation will be perfectly safe, and so will you.”

Safe. The word struck her heart.

Had she ever truly been safe? The convent sheltered her from physical harm, but not from the nuns’ prying eyes or judgmental whispers.

The last time she felt safe was on the carriage ride away from her father, just her and the servants arriving at the convent.

She had known then that she was headed somewhere safe, and she relished the feeling.

It had been too late for her mother, but not too late for her.

It had been years since she had last seen her father. Since she had left the company of the judgmental nuns. Yet, somehow, Leo had managed to decipher her deepest desire: to be safe from the danger that lurked in the ton.

She had a future at the convent, which was more than her mother had gotten at the hands of the Earl of Riley. But it was not the future she would have chosen for herself.

She was not sure that she would even choose it, given the chance to live a different life. Leo was offering a different future. A future she could choose for herself.

“I require no answer tonight,” he said. “Though I expect one soon. You will not be able to avoid the ton for long. Not if you continue to stumble upon my book clubs uninvited.”

This time, he smiled, but it looked almost unnatural on his face. She did not think he had much practice at being friendly. All evening, he had been quite cold to her with his frustration.

He wouldn’t even give me time to explain before trying to throw me back on the streets for the Earl to find me!

Only after he thought she might be useful to him did he reconsider his position on whether she should be cast out of the party.

He took a step closer to her, closing the gap between them. Her breath hitched in her throat. He was so close, just a hair’s breadth away. Was he watching her? Threatening her somehow?

Would he try to kiss her?

Would she let him?

She almost closed her eyes to better absorb the feeling of his sudden nearness. Desire overwhelmed her, and she thought for certain that he would reach out to her and touch her as the men and women had done at the party.

Margaret had no idea how to respond to a touch like that.

She had never been with a man, not the way those couples were with each other.

But the Duke had made it clear that he was well-known at those parties.

Surely all that practice had… well, made him the kind of man who could open her eyes and show her things she had never dreamed of.

However, he did not touch her. Instead, he opened the door behind her and motioned to the footman who stood nearby as if he had not heard their conversation.

Damn that book club.

Disappointment flooded her at being deprived of his touch while still rejoicing that she had somehow retained her purity in the face of such great temptation. She wanted to feel his hands on her body, to feel his lips trail down her jaw to her neck.

The nuns had taught her that any kind of stirring like this was wrong. That she needed to repent and pray for forgiveness.

As much as she despised the nuns who taught her, she could not help but realize that their lessons were ingrained within her. How could she even consider his offer?

“He will take you back to Theresa,” he said, walking closer to the door. “I will see you tomorrow. By then, you must be sure of whether you want to make this deal with the Devil, little nun.”

He leaned in and put a hand on her lower back.

“But remember—for as long as you belong to me, you play by my rules.”

Then, he pushed her outside and closed the door behind him, leaving her and the footman to return to Blackwell Manor without so much as a second thought—or a touch that would leave her tingling in anticipation of more.

Margaret woke up in her chambers the following morning, unsure whether the previous night had been nothing more than a fever dream. Yet, she found herself more exhausted than she would have been with a good night’s sleep. The events of the evening—the Duke’s offer—had to be real.

Theresa had insisted that Margaret rely on her maids to get ready for the day, but Margaret felt more comfortable doing it herself. Servants were a rarity at the convent, never mind a lady’s maid. She’d need to be turned out in perfect ton style.

She changed out of the threadbare nightgown she had brought from the convent and into one of Theresa’s gowns. The bodice was tight around her ample bosom, but it was remarkably nicer than anything in her trunk, the silky fabric sliding temptingly over her skin.

She supposed that she could borrow it and indulge in vanity for a few more days before she took her vows. Then, it would be austerity and modesty for her forevermore.

Would she even be able to come visit her friend, or would she be tethered to the convent forever?

She had just managed to get into the gown and was trying to figure out how she would do up the back when the maid knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Margaret called, grateful for Emma’s presence.

While she did not want to rely on the assistance of someone else merely to look like a gently bred lady, the elaborate gowns were beyond her experience. She had never had an issue putting on her gown at St. Agatha’s.

Perhaps she could accept just a bit of help.

“Should I braid your hair, My Lady?” Emma gestured to the stool in front of the mirror.

Margaret stooped down to look at her reflection in the glass, a luxury she was not afforded in the convent. There was a price to pay for vanity, or so she was told.

“If it would not be too much trouble for you,” she said, sitting stiffly on the stool.

As Emma braided her hair with expert fingers, making quick work of the knots with a silver-handled brush, Margaret thought of the night she had spent with the Duke of Devishire and his promise to see her today.

Was that why she was willing to accept help to look her best?

No. She simply did not want to embarrass Theresa with her lack of sophistication.

How Theresa had managed to learn all of this and to adjust to life in London was beyond what Margaret could fathom.

“How do you enjoy life here in London, Emma?” she asked.

“It is wonderful, My Lady,” Emma said quietly.

Emma was always so soft-spoken. Margaret wondered if it was the way she was trained to speak to her masters or if the girl’s mild manners were part of her personality.

“What is the best part?” Margaret pressed.

“Oh, probably the parties. Everyone attends them, and even the servants enjoy the music.” A dreamy look crossed Emma’s face at the mention of parties.

It reminded Margaret of her own dilemma. She would be invited to a house party today as well, and her answer should be ready on her lips. But it was not. Not yet.

Emma pinned the braid around the crown of Margaret’s head and told her it was finished.

Margaret took one last look in the mirror.

There was nothing about her appearance that reminded her of the meek girl at the convent, who would now be scrambling to scrub the floors.

She felt like she did not fit in London, in the life Theresa had made for herself.

Maybe it would be better for her to return to the convent now, before she had the opportunity to see more of life here in the city.

But perhaps she could make a life here for herself in time. Perhaps the Duke could show her how to make a life here, protect her from the Earl and his advances.

Margaret tore her gaze away from her reflection and followed the maid out of her chambers and to the breakfast room.

“Margaret,” Theresa greeted with a smile. She was the only one seated at the breakfast table this morning, a rare treat for the girls to have only one another for company. “Wherever did you go yesterday? I gave you the map, but you were not here for dinner.”

“I am starving,” Margaret deflected, taking a seat at Theresa’s left side.