Page 183 of Desires of a Duke Collection

Sophie returned to the music recital and slipped through the door, grateful that no one took heed of her when she sat at the back of the room where several chairs remained vacant.

Her lips tingled from the kiss she had just shared. One that she knew she wanted to do again, curse her wayward soul. How could she have allowed him to kiss her so passionately?

Because you are passionate about him, Sophie.

The music rose to a crescendo, and with the last notes from Maria Dickons, the room fell into applause as the music came to a delightful end. Sophie moved toward Harlow, needing her presence and support more than anyone right at this moment. Her mind jumped from thought to thought. Mocking her for the errors of her past to longing for a better future. Sophie did not know what to believe within herself or how to trust her judgment.

"Ah, there you are, Sophie. I lost sight of you when you excused yourself," Harlow said, linking their arms.

"There were quite a few ladies in the retiring room," she lied. "When I returned, the recital had already begun. I sat at the back of the hall, so as not to interrupt anyone's pleasure," she explained before Harlow started toward the door, Lord Kemsley on their heels.

"Tomorrow, we have the Craig’s ball. An event not to be missed, so this evening concluding early will suit us, I think. We shall be well rested for tomorrow night."

Sophie nodded just as Holland entered the foyer from the direction of the picture gallery they had ambled through. His hair was askew as if he had run his hand through it several times, leaving him to appear even more handsome than he had before.

How could that be? But it was as true as her standing in the Jenkins's foyer. Or maybe she had run her hands through his dark locks. She tried to remember what had happened between them. The kiss so passionate, so consuming, and far too scorching for her to even now think straight. He had muddled her mind, and she could not calm the beating of her heart, no matter how much she tried.

She caught Holland's eye across the sea of heads, and hunger twisted in her belly. This was wrong. She could not seduce a duke. Could not give herself so easily to a man who would not offer any more than a dalliance.

Holland may say he was honorable, but past events told her men of his ilk were rarely so.

He may be, Sophie. Do not throw him aside so quickly.

She focused steadfastly on the door and the numerous carriages pulling up to the front of the house, hoping theirs soon would be one of them.

"Thank you for the evening, Harlow. It was my first time hearing such pretty music accompanied by an operatic singer. I will never forget it," Sophie said, knowing there was another reason she would not forget this night and the cause for that truth standing but feet away.

"Kemsley," she heard Holland call out, his deep voice making her want things she should not. They stopped and moved to the side of the walkway to allow others to leave. Sophie swallowed the nerves that threatened to choke her ability to breathe and watched with unhealthy fascination as Holland made his way over to them.

"I merely wanted to wish you a happy evening," the duke said, his gaze landing on her. Sophie was transported back into the picture gallery and fought not to give away her thoughts and the emotions that rioted within her. She schooled her features and offered a timid smile she had seen so many other ladies use in the past.

"Thank you," Kemsley said. "We're heading home, but I should think we shall see you at the Craig’s ball tomorrow evening?"

"Of course," Holland said, nodding. "I would not miss it." His gaze flicked to her yet again, and Sophie looked to Harlow and found her friend, too, watching their interaction with interest.

"I hope you'll attend with the determination to dance, Your Grace," Harlow said, smiling at both the duke and Sophie.

Sophie inwardly cringed. Was her friend trying to matchmake them? The duke could make up his mind well enough without her friend's help, even if it were kindly meant. But she did not want to look desperate. Shame washed through her that she had allowed him to kiss her. Pull her against him in a shameful, fast way that no debutante ought to permit.

You kissed him back ...

Heat burned her cheeks, and she clamped her mouth shut.

"Of course," he replied. "And if Miss York is not otherwise engaged, perhaps she would do me the honor of granting me the first set?" Holland asked, picking up her hand and lifting it to his lips.

The moment his mouth touched the back of her gloved hand, Sophie felt her mouth grow lax. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. This was too much. He was too sweet and handsome and everything she wanted but could not have. Not if she wanted to keep her feet firmly grounded in reality.

But oh, how could she not want to dance with him? Steal away to a darkened room and kiss him until her lips were numb and her body the opposite.

"I'm not engaged, Your Grace," she mumbled. "I will save the first set for you, of course," she heard herself reply, as if from another world.

She was not so uncertain that she was not floating away into space as it was, especially if the Duke of Holland kept looking at her as if she were the only thing that kept him on Earth.

***

Henry spent the remainder of the night at Whites. The betting book lured his gaze several times before he stood and went to study the tome. A good many gentlemen's names had been added to the bet regarding Miss York, and he picked up the quill, wanting to remove his name from such antics.

"You know that's against the rules," Lord Bankes said, coming up to his side and picking the quill out of his hand.

Henry ground his teeth, not in the mood to remain in a bet that he should never have signed up for to begin with. "The bet against Miss York isn't honorable, and I should never have put my name to it. Let me do what is right and remove the absurd stake entirely."

"Oh no, no, no," Lord Bankes said, slipping the quill into his coat pocket. "A bet is a bet, and as you're a gentleman, I would not think you'd go against your peers and act the coward. And in any case, you're doing better than anyone else regarding Miss York. You seem to be quite taken with the chit, more so than anyone else," Lord Bankes stated, much to Henry's shock.

Was that what people were saying about him.? Had they taken such an interest in the bet and those who had put their name to parchment that they were watching who was doing better than others? Who was courting the lady more than anyone else?

Henry frowned, not liking to be the latest on dit within the ton. "Miss York is friends with Lady Kemsley, and I'm friends with Lord Kemsley, as you well know. I'm not being overly friendly toward Miss York because of the bet. In fact, until this evening, I had forgotten that I had signed such a foolish bet," he lied.

"But we have not," Lord Bankes said with a smirk. "The young miss will not learn of it, so do not worry so."

"You're still here," the familiar sound of Lord Kemsley's voice said from behind Holland, and without thinking, he slammed the betting book closed and turned as if the devil himself were about to stab him in the back.

"Kemsley, I thought you were for home?" Holland said, stepping away from the book and placing his hand around Kemsley's shoulder, leading him to two empty wingback chairs and away from Lord Bankes, who could not be trusted not to say something about what he had put his name to.

"My darling wife and Miss York have ensconced themselves in Miss York's room, and they're going over the gown she is to wear tomorrow evening. I stated that I did not think it signified what either of them wore as they were lovely as they are, but my opinion was overridden," Kemsley said with a wry laugh.

His friend's words brought a grin to Holland's lips. He liked the image that came to mind of Miss York, excited for the night to come and what it could entail for her.

For you both, if you steal her away again ...

He would not. Tomorrow evening he would keep his head and not kiss her as he had this evening. But oh, what a kiss it had been. Of course, his reputation touted him to be a great lover, a rogue for all time, but he was not. No virgin could be. He rarely kissed indiscriminately and certainly not unmarried maids. But with Miss York, he could not have denied himself. Them both, if truth be told.

But he would tomorrow night. He had to.

Didn't he?