Page 3 of A Virgin for the Rakish Duke (Romancing a Rake #3)

CHAPTER THREE

H arriet exchanged glances with Jane as they walked towards the open doors of the ballroom.

So far, Chelmsford Manor had proved a palace to Harriet's eyes.

She was conscious of the many well-dressed and sophisticated-seeming men and women around her, none of whom seemed to be paying any attention to the house.

I do not want to seem like a gawping debutante. But there is so much to see! And so beautiful. Everyone is beautiful. Bright and colorful! I feel quite drab by comparison...

Jane's costume was a yellow rose with the flower forming her mask. Her golden hair was an extra layer of petals. Harriet could not see many ladies wearing the dark colors that she had chosen. Jane squeezed her hand.

“Your costume is stunning. Very striking. You should not be self-conscious,” she whispered.

“That is easy to say,” Harriet whispered back.

“Pretend we are the only people here. There is no-one looking at you. Behave as we do when we are alone. I promise that when the young men see the Harriet I know, they will all come toppling over each other.”

“Again, easily said,” Harriet murmured, swallowing as they stepped into the ballroom.

She felt as though she were stepping into the middle of a hollowed-out precious stone.

A room made of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires.

Chandeliers glittered and threw off bright sparks of light that reflected from the jewelry of the gathered ladies.

Mirrors gave the large room a sense of being even larger, giving it the dimensions of a cathedral.

Lamps and candles cast a warm light that softened edges and picked out flattering highlights in hair and on skin.

Harriet forgot herself as she tried to take in everything, looking around with a smile of wonder on her face.

A movement above drew her eye, and she stopped dead.

A man was looking down from a balcony above.

He had the mask of a black wolf and was the only person Harriet had seen wearing dark colors.

He is staring at me! No, I must be mistaken. He is probably looking at someone just behind me, or at... no, he is looking at me!

She could not look away. Her breathing came in quick pants, and her mouth went dry.

A thrill ran through her body, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

That gaze was like a physical caress. Harriet could almost feel it.

A hand that stroked through her hair, down her neck and spine.

Her heart was attempting to break out of her chest, hammering.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Raven.”

The contact was broken. Harriet looked away to the man who had spoken to her. A crowd of ladies and gentlemen swept by, and when she looked back, she could not see the balcony.

“A pleasure to meet you, Master... Lion,” Harriet stammered.

The man was a little taller than her with a lion mask and a mane of brown hair to match.

“A bold choice, but fitting,” he remarked.

“Pardon?” Harriet replied without thinking before getting some measure of control, “I mean, what is a bold choice?”

“Black on such an occasion. It does rather draw the eye. But fitting for a raven.”

“It is purple, though I can forgive you for thinking it black in this light. The raven is a bird connected to my family,” Harriet managed to reply, “no boldness intended.”

She continued somehow through a few minutes of small talk, promising the Lion a dance when the time came. He moved on before she realized that he had not given her his name, nor had she.

Perhaps that is the way of a masked ball. It certainly adds a little spice. Why, I have just had a conversation, alone and unchaperoned with a gentleman. It would not have happened had Ralph been here. I would have been steered to the edge of the room and seated with the old spinsters.

A sense of liberation coursed through her, making her pulse race almost as much as the eyes of the Black Wolf had.

Now that she looked, she could see other men who had chosen the wolf mask.

All looked quite ordinary, the men fat or thin, short or tall.

None gave her the frisson of excitement that the gentleman atop the balcony had managed.

And with nothing but his eyes. Imagine what he could do with his lips. Oh my, what am I thinking?

She felt suddenly dizzy. Her senses were overwhelmed by light and dazzling color. She could not believe the brazen nature of her thoughts based on nothing but a pair of eyes.

I was not even close enough to detect their color. I must take care not to have any wine if this is how giddy I become after nothing more than a shared glance...

But it had been more than that. Something had passed between them, holding their eyes together.

Something had made her heart pound as it had never before.

Made wanton, reckless thoughts come into her head.

She looked around for Jane but could not see her.

The shock of realizing she was alone made her suddenly nervous.

It seemed as though the room were spinning around her, the masked faces crowding towards her.

All staring. All judging. Suddenly panicked, Harriet started blindly across the room.

She tried not to bump anyone while she moved as quickly as the crowd allowed her to.

Some gentlemen tried to speak to her, and she did not remember what she said to disengage from them, only that she managed it.

Then a door opened, elegantly paneled to resemble the rest of the wall. A servant slipped in carrying a tray of drinks. Harriet stepped through and closed the door behind her.

The sense of relief was immediate. The hallway beyond the door was quiet and shadowed, lit by lamps arranged along its length in alcoves.

“ Oh my, I did not expect a reaction like that. Perhaps Ralph was right in not allowing me to come here without him. Perhaps I am not ready...”

The very notion angered her. It smacked of cowardice, and she berated herself for squandering this rare opportunity for freedom. Realizing that she was standing with her back to the door, she forced herself to stand upright and walk.

“I will take the chance of some peace and quiet to explore this house...” she spoke out into the silence with conviction. “I will not shy away, and in a moment or two, I will return to the ballroom and... and mingle.”

The thought frightened her, but she embraced the fear, knowing that it came from stepping into the unknown. Stepping beyond her brother's protective shadow. She quickened her step, taking in the paintings on the wall and evaluating them based on her father's work and what he had taught her of art.

The hallway led to a larger passage, decorated with statues and busts under a high, ornately decorated ceiling.

The figure of a lone gentleman standing before the statue of a woman caught her eye because of his dark costume.

But on closer inspection, it was not the Black Wolf but a dark shade of green.

As he began to turn in her direction, she slipped through a nearby door, suddenly unwilling to be engaged in conversation.

Now that was an odd decision. I came here to experience something of life, and that must include talking to people. Just because he was not the Wolf does not mean that I should avoid him. He might be a very nice gentleman.

She had decided to go back and speak to him when she fully registered the room in which she stood. It was a library. Immediately, she felt at home.

Mama would have loved this. So many books. How many happy hours we spent in the library at home, I looking for stories of adventure and she for poetry.

The shelves were two or three times her height, with the highest rows accessed by wheeled ladders.

It was a veritable forest of books, lit by the flickering light of lamps suspended by wrought iron from the ceiling, which was painted in a scene worthy of Florence.

Harriet found herself smiling in delight.

“Your Grace, how nice to see you again. I trust you are well?”

The male voice made her jump, coming as it did from just beyond the door that she had just stepped through.

“Waverton, nice to see you again, too. Quite well. Are you enjoying Chelmsford's obvious largess?”

The replying voice sounded familiar to her. She could not quite place it, partially disguised as it was by the door. Harriet found herself stepping closer to it, listening.

“It is certainly very grand. A statement of wealth.”

“When one has wealth, there should be no need to make a statement of it, do you not think?”

The reply carried a barb, and again Harriet felt the tug of familiarity.

Not only the sound of the voice, but the attitude displayed by the tone.

It had been mocking, sarcastic even. The voices were muffled by the sound of footsteps passing by, servants or other guests. Then the door handle was turning.

Harriet jumped and picked up her skirts, running to the nearest bookshelf and taking refuge behind it.

Why am I running and hiding? This is nonsense. I have done nothing wrong. I am reacting from pure panic, and I do not know why!

She heard the door open and stood for a moment, screened from sight by the bookshelf, breathing hard and fighting to control her racing heart.

“Ah, my woman in black at last,” came the second voice she had heard.

Harriet realized that the skirts of her dress were still visible, just beyond the edge of the bookcase. She snatched them close, out of sight. Now that it was undisguised by the closed door, she fully recognized the voice.

It belonged to a friend of her brother's, Jeremy Cavendish, the Duke of Penhaligon. She pressed her hands to her chest as though to quell the racing of her pulse.

The Duke was beyond handsome. She remembered his tall, broad-shouldered frame with a muscular chest that his shirt and waistcoat could not disguise. The flowing blonde hair and those piercing blue eyes. She and Jane had both swooned over him once.

Not a man I should be alone with, though. He has never struck me as a gentleman. No man with such hunger in his eyes can possibly be someone with whom a respectable woman is safe. He always reminded me of the old stories of Viking ravishers…

Her cheeks flamed at the thought. His footsteps were coming closer, slow and measured. It made her think of a predator stalking its prey. She picked up her skirts again and ran on light feet to the end of the row and around the next standing shelf.

There came a low chuckle. “I see the bird has flown. You were not so demure in your letters to me, Mademoiselle.”

That voice was silky smooth. It was refined and educated, deep and mellifluous. But the words he spoke conjured images in Harriet's mind that she felt ashamed of.

No respectable woman should think such things! What did this Mademoiselle say in her letters? It is none of my business. I should speak up and tell him he has the wrong person…

But then there was the small matter of her brother. If she was recognized, there was little uncertainty in the fact that her midnight adventure would be relayed to Ralph, who would never let her take a step outside of Oaksgrove Manor, let alone the lands!

He was walking the length of the bookcase, following in her footsteps.

In moments, he would round the corner and be standing before her.

Harriet ran again, racing to the far end and into the next row.

As she rounded the end of the next bookcase, her hand caught a book that was projecting out from the rest. It tumbled to the floor with a loud slap.

“I do enjoy a chase… That, at least, is consistent with your last letter. Chasing and being caught, wasn't it? I think the word you used was… restrained .”

He chuckled again, and Harriet felt a tingling somewhere deep down in response.

Her stomach fluttered, and her heart skipped a beat.

The sound of something metallic reached her, like the jangling of keys.

Lamps stood in alcoves at the far end of each bookcase.

Harriet saw his shadow preceding him. He was not following her this time but walking along the end of the bookcases, cutting across and about to step out in front of her.

She whirled, but her foot landed on the fallen book.

It slid across the polished stone floor, and her foot went with it.

She stumbled and fell to hands and knees.

There was a twinge of pain in her left ankle, and she cried out in surprise.

A shadow fell across her, and she looked back over her shoulder.

He was as large as she remembered... His blonde hair showed in glorious disarray around the black wolf mask.

“I fear the chase is ended prematurely. And this book is the cause,” he picked up the offending volume and then laughed, “an ecclesiastical treatise on the proper behavior of men and women prior to and after marriage. Why, I had no idea you were so concerned with moral behavior. Let me help you.”

Before she could speak, the Duke had stooped and picked her up in his arms. Harriet found that her voice was frozen in her throat. She wanted to tell him who she was, that he was mistaken, but part of her didn't want the game to come to an end, nor the consequences that might come after.

The recklessness of her behavior took her breath away.

Her heart hammered like that of a galloping horse.

Her scalp tingled. She had never felt such an overwhelming, wanton thrill.

The Duke's eyes bored into hers through the eye-holes of his mask.

They were cold and hard but also brimming with barely controlled passion and desire.

“Your choice of costume is… inspired. It stands out so from the humdrum of the rest. I saw you the moment you entered the room.” His eyes roamed down her body, and Harriet found herself breathing deeper, her bosom heaving as she realized he was staring at her breasts.

His hands, where they held her, became the center of her senses.

One hand was around her back and mere inches from her left breast. The other was beneath her legs.

It is the first time a man has touched me, except for hugs from my father and brother. Oh my, if I feel this way for a mere touch on my leg, how will it be if he touches me elsewhere?

“Try not to blush, your skin is wonderfully pale and feminine. If you blush, I might think you less innocent than you appear,” the Duke murmured, his voice a seductive rumble that sent shivers of anticipation through Harriet’s entire being.

She bit her lower lip and saw his eyes widen slightly, his own lips part, and realized that he found the gesture alluring.

He finds me desirable. Heavens, I must speak or... or I do not know what will happen!