Page 18 of Doxy for the Ton (Misfits of the Ton #7)

F or a moment, Mimi thought Sawbridge might remain with her, but he clapped his friend on the back and they disappeared through a door at the opposite end of the ballroom, beyond which a cloud of blue smoke was already forming.

“Brandy and cigars!” Lady Portia huffed. “They think their propensity to consume ridiculous amounts of both places them on a pedestal. But I suppose it relieves us of their company for a while. We’d best take advantage—Lord Walton is famous for only keeping his card tables open for a short while. Lady Walton’s orders.”

Mimi glanced at their host, who paraded about the ballroom with his wife. “They seem very happy together,” she said. “When we danced just now, he spoke of nothing but his wife. A man ready to bore his dance partner with tales of his wife’s virtues must be in love.”

Lady Portia let out an unladylike snort. “Happiness in marriage is as unlikely as—as a doxy marrying a duke.”

Cold fingers caressed the back of Mimi’s neck. “A… what ?”

“Forgive me. Don’t tell my brother—he’d be angry if I spoke of doxies. He loves me, I’m sure, but he’s always so strict.”

“I won’t say anything,” Mimi said.

“Not that I care what he thinks.”

“You seem unusually frank, Lady Portia, compared to when we first met.”

“ Portia , please,” her companion said. “You were good enough to save me from my brother’s company tonight, so I consider you a friend and can therefore speak more freely. Do you have many friends in London?”

“There’s Eleanor—or, I should say, Duchess Whitcombe,” Mimi said, glancing about the room. “But she’s not here tonight. I thought she would be.”

“Eleanor rarely attends large parties,” Portia said. “She dislikes the company of strangers, and when the room gets too loud, she struggles to maintain her composure. Those who don’t understand her are wont to criticize her. Such as my brother. He thinks she’s soft in the head. But I think he’s an arse.”

She glanced about the room, as if she feared being overheard, then let out a nervous giggle and gestured across the dance floor.

“Just look at Sarah Francis! Staring at the men as if she’s anticipating a meal. I swear I saw her salivating as she watched your dancing with Sawbridge. I wonder if she’d be as desperate for male company if she knew what dreadful creatures men are.”

“You dislike the company of men?”

“There’s a few exceptions to the rule,” Portia said, glancing toward a group of men in the center of the room. “But for every happily married couple, I’ll wager there are twenty wives desperate to rid themselves of their husbands. I—Oh!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Lady Rex, forgive me. You must think me most insensitive with you recently out of mourning.”

“But I am out of mourning, Portia,” Mimi said, “and therefore you may give your opinion of the male sex freely. I’m less likely to be offended than most.”

“I’m glad to hear that. The Duke of Sawbridge has been unable to keep his eyes off you all night. I thought he was going to burst with rage when Lord Walton led you onto the dance floor.”

“I doubt that,” Mimi said.

“As for Miss Francis, I…” Portia’s voice trailed off, and she stiffened. “Miss Francis,” she said.

“What about her?” Mimi asked.

“What about me?” a sharp female voice said, and Mimi turned to see the subject of their conversation standing before them. “You seem very much in favor— Lady Rex ,” she said.

Mimi smiled. “That’s too kind of you, Miss Francis .”

“Tell me, for I’ve been unable to find any information,” Miss Francis said, “who was your husband? My acquaintance is extensive, and none have heard of him.”

“We did not spend our married life in England,” Mimi said. “And, as a mere knight, I wouldn’t expect you to know him, given your superior rank.”

Miss Francis inclined her head. “Quite so,” she said. “But I applaud your ambition, associating yourself with Lady Portia—not to mention Sawbridge. But then, I suppose the widow of a knight wishing to elevate her rank can be forgiven for taking such an interest in a duke.”

She smiled at Mimi, her eyes glittering with spite.

“Miss Francis,” Portia said, her voice tight, “I hardly think that’s—”

“Oh, Lady Portia, I’m touched by Miss Francis’s generosity,” Mimi said. “But, Miss Francis, you can rest assured that my interest in the duke will present no danger to you.”

“Oh?” Miss Francis tilted her head to point her sharp little nose upward.

“Yes,” Mimi said. “My interest in the Duke of Sawbridge is confined to his activities in the bedchamber.”

Miss Francis gasped, then her hand flew to her throat in a gesture of exaggerated indignation.

“I’m not skilled in the language of the gutter, Lady Rex,” she said. “I don’t understand your meaning.”

Amusement danced in Portia’s eyes, and her mouth twisted into a smile.

“Not only the bedchamber,” Mimi said, tilting her head to one side and holding her finger to her chin as if pondering something. “Hmm…there’s also the parlor—a chaise longue has its benefits. But I wouldn’t recommend a hearth rug. Too scratchy on the knees—at least, on the man’s knees.”

“The…?” Miss Francis stammered, her mouth opening and closing as red patches appeared on her cheeks.

“Then there’s up against the paneled walls in the hallway, and of course the dining room. Oh!” Mimi let out a cry, and Miss Francis jumped. “That reminds me, I must ask my butler to polish out the scratch on the dining table. The kitchen table is sturdier, but can you imagine the expression on my cook’s face if she caught us?”

Miss Francis crumpled. Her champagne glass slipped from her grip and shattered on the floor.

“Sweet Lord—she’s fainted!” a voice cried, and two gentlemen appeared. Lord Walton took her by the shoulders while Lord Thorpe fanned her face.

“Miss Francis—what’s happened?” Lord Walton asked.

Mimi cursed herself. She’d only meant to humiliate Miss Francis—not shock her into a fit of the vapors.

Lady Walton appeared brandishing a phial, which she unstoppered and held to Miss Francis’s nose. Miss Francis shuddered and her eyes snapped open, and Lord Walton helped her to her feet.

“Sarah—my dearest!” a high-pitched voice cried, and a woman approached in a whirlwind of silk and lace in eye-wateringly bright colors.

“Mama…” Sarah whispered. Then her eyes focused on Mimi. “You!”

“What happened, dearest girl?”

“I-it was her. Sh-she said…”

Mimi froze, awaiting the revelation that would assure her eviction.

“Lady Rex and I were discussing Miss Sarah’s gown, Lady Francis,” Portia said. “Then Lady Rex remarked on how pale Sarah looked, but before we could help her to a seat, she swooned. It must be the heat—or perhaps an overindulgence of champagne. That was your fourth glass, was it not, Sarah?”

“I…” Miss Francis blinked, and her gaze shifted between Portia and Mimi.

“Perhaps a turn on the terrace and some fresh air, Lady Francis?” their hostess said.

“Yes, yes,” the silk-clad matriarch said. “Come, dear girl, we mustn’t have you overexcited. My daughter has such a fragile constitution, you see, Lady Walton.”

“Mind the glass,” Lady Walton said. “Farnham—would you be so kind?”

A footman appeared and began clearing up the floor while Lady Francis led her daughter to the terrace doors.

The diversion over, the guests dispersed, while the musicians began retuning their instruments.

“Ah—the dancing is about to resume,” Portia said. “Sarah will be disappointed to miss it, though I doubt the gentleman she’s set her cap at would agree.”

“Why did you protect me just then?” Mimi asked.

Portia grinned. “You saved me from my brother’s company, therefore I owed you a debt. Though I must confess my astonishment at your turn of phrase. No doubt a result of married life on the Continent? I hear life’s more… liberal over there.”

“The life I led before coming here was a little unconventional,” Mimi said.

“How wonderful! I find convention so restricting, don’t you? What did you do? You must tell me about it!”

Mimi’s heart sank as Portia’s eyes glittered with eagerness. Deception had always been a natural part of her life—it was as natural as breathing to any woman in her profession. But she found herself liking Lady Portia, and disliking the thought of deceiving someone she was beginning to view as a friend.

“Ladies,” a deep voice said, “you must permit me to ask how you managed to fell Miss Francis, thereby saving us from her company.”

A small group of gentlemen had approached, eyeing Mimi with curiosity and, in the case of some, the hunger of the predatory male.

The man who’d spoken bowed and offered his hand, fixing pale-blue eyes on her. “Sir Heath Moss.”

“And the rest of you are?” she asked, ignoring the proffered hand.

He frowned then gestured to the company. “Lord Thorpe—”

“We’ve already been introduced.”

“And the rest are Lord Greyford, Sir Beverley Grant, and”—his mouth curled into a sneer as he gestured toward the young man who’d been following Mimi about earlier—“ Mister Edward Drayton, the eldest son of the Duke of Westbury.”

The youth flinched at the address, and his cheeks turned scarlet—almost bright enough to match the shade of Lady Francis’s gown.

Sir Heath gave a smile of triumph, and Mimi gritted her teeth.

You bastard.

Or, rather, he’d just revealed the poor young man’s status as such—how else would the eldest son of a duke be a mere mister ?

Mimi nodded to each man in turn, then held out her hand to the youth. “Mr. Drayton, a pleasure,” she said. His eyes widened and he stared at her hand. Then he took it and bowed. Rather than withdraw before he could kiss it, she let him lift it to his lips. Their eyes met and she smiled.

His color deepened, and he opened and closed his mouth.

“Mr. Drayton, did you want to say something,” Mimi said, “or, perhaps, ask it?”

The young man shifted his gaze toward Sir Heath, who watched them with contempt in his eyes.

“I-I wondered if you might be engaged for the next dance, Lady Rex,” he said. “But, of course, your card will already be full.”

“I should be delighted, Mr. Drayton,” Mimi said. “I’m not an accomplished dancer. I prefer to listen to music from the comfort of my seat. But I’m happy to make an exception for you.”

His blush deepened.

“Well!” Sir Heath said. “Doubtless customs on the Continent differ to those in London. I rather think—”

“You are fond of music, Lady Rex?” Lord Thorpe interrupted, casting a frown in Sir Heath’s direction.

“Very, though I have few opportunities to enjoy it,” Mimi replied.

“Do you play, Lady Rex? Or perhaps sing?” Lord Greyford asked. “Our hostess would be happy to let you entertain us over supper.”

“Sadly not,” Mimi said. “I lack the aptitude, which is why I envy musicians so much. Not merely for their talent, but because they can take their music with them. It’s always at their fingertips because they can create it for themselves.”

“Very prettily put,” Sir Beverley said. “Do you have any favorite pieces?”

“I’ve always been fond of Bach,” Mimi said, allowing herself to indulge in a memory from her childhood.

“Bach, indeed?” Lord Thorpe said. “My late mother was partial to his works. She said that to master Bach, the musician needed a degree of technical prowess that surpassed all others. Though, to my untrained ear, I find it difficult to distinguish one composer from another.”

“What is it about Bach that you find to admire?” Mr. Drayton asked.

Mimi smiled. “Are you fond of Bach, Mr. Drayton?”

“M-my stepmother is an accomplished pianist,” he said. “B-but she’s not here tonight, otherwise I’d ask her to play for you.”

“You’re very kind,” Mimi said, smiling at the young man. “What I love about Bach is that his work is honest. It consists of a series of straightforward chords and progressions, brought together in various combinations to create a melody. Unlike the more expressive works such as those of Beethoven, for example, Bach’s works must be played with accuracy.”

“Surely all music must be played with accuracy?” Lord Thorpe asked. A ripple of discomfort threaded through Mimi as his eyes darkened, focusing on her.

Did he think she spoke nonsense? Or perhaps he considered himself an authority on Bach.

“Music must, of course, be played with accuracy,” she said. “But an artist can disguise their lack of technique with an excess of emotion in their playing when performing the work of artists such as Beethoven, and even Mozart. However, when a musician plays Bach, the slightest technical stumble is more easily spotted—even by the untrained ear.”

Lord Thorpe tilted his head to one side, and Mimi’s skin tightened with apprehension as he regarded her thoughtfully.

“Yes—that’s it,” he said, as if to himself. “A friend of my late mother held just such a view. Is that not extraordinary?”

“Not really,” Mimi replied. “Doubtless each composer will have his own group of devotees. Bach’s works are extremely popular on the Continent.”

“Does your late mother’s friend play, Lord Thorpe?” Lady Portia asked.

“Sadly, she is no longer with us,” he replied. “I never met her, but Mother spoke of her once. She passed some years ago, when I was child—in a shipwreck, if I recall.”

A shipwreck…

“What extraordinary tales you tell, Thorpe!” Sir Heath said. “Are you trying to impress the ladies?”

“Not at all,” Thorpe replied. “Neither Lady Rex nor Lady Portia strike me as being susceptible to flattery or tales. And I hardly think Lady King’s passing is a subject for discussion when a man is trying to impress a woman with whom he wishes to dance. If a man wishes to partner a woman, then he ought to do as young Mr. Drayton has, and simply ask her. Is that not right, Lady Rex?”

Lady King…

Cold fingers clawed at Mimi’s gut, and her chest constricted.

“I…”

The world slipped sideways as she opened her mouth and gasped for breath. Then Lord Thorpe’s concerned face swam into view.

“Are you well, Lady Rex?”

Mimi swayed sideways, then she felt Lady Portia’s arm slip through hers.

“It must be the heat of the ballroom,” Lady Portia said. “Did you see poor Miss Francis swoon earlier? I felt a little unsteady myself just then.”

“Perhaps it comes from standing too long in one spot,” Mr. Drayton said. “I’m sure dancing would restore your spirits, Lady Rex.”

Mimi couldn’t help smiling at his eagerness.

“Drayton, I hardly think it’s seemly to drag a woman onto the dance floor when she’s unwell,” Sir Heath scoffed.

“I’m quite well,” Mimi said, “and I believe a dance with Mr. Drayton is just what I need.”

Lord Thorpe frowned, his gaze fixed on her, and opened his mouth to respond.

“I must say I admire the cut of our hostess’s gown,” Mimi said. “That color suits her complexion perfectly, do you not agree, Lord Thorpe?”

“All gowns look the same to me,” he said, a note of disdain in his voice. “Though I daresay the modistes and their patronesses would disagree, so eager are they to see men such as myself part with our cash.”

“Then I trust, for your wife’s sake, that she has simple tastes,” Mimi said.

“She has an eye for color, at least,” came the reply. “Which is more than can be said for many of the ladies tonight. Take Miss Francis, for example—I’m sure her modiste has assured her of the benefits of wearing that particular shade of pink, but against it, her face has paled into nothingness.”

Mimi let out a snort. “What do men care for a woman’s face when there are dowries and titles to be had?”

“You speak from experience?” Sir Beverley asked.

“Naturally,” Mimi said, gritting her teeth at the leer in his eyes.

“Ah, there’s nothing so alluring as an attractive widow with experience,” he said. “I’m beginning to regret not beating young Drayton here to the prize and securing the next dance with you.”

“I think you’ll find that the hungry suitors hereabouts still prefer a debutante to a widow,” Mimi said, “at least when it comes to marriage prospects. After all, a debutante possesses one invaluable quality that a widow does not.”

“Which is?”

“Malleability,” Mimi said. “A debutante has been schooled—by her governesses, her mama, and her rivals—that she must obey a man in all things, that she must relinquish her freedom, her dowry, and her soul. Whereas a widow has experienced being owned by a man, and she is therefore less willing to walk into the lair, because she is aware of the beast that resides within.”

She heard a sharp intake of breath, and glanced up to see Sawbridge had joined the party. He stared at her, his eyes filled with compassion and understanding, and she felt her cheeks smarting.

How much had he heard?

Ye gods —had he heard Thorpe mention…

Lady King.

Her heart still ached from the pain of hearing that name on Thorpe’s lips. A name she had long since buried, together with her other self—the na?ve creature who had died five years ago.

“You lay down a fine gauntlet, Lady Rex,” Thorpe said, glancing at his companions. “I wonder which of my friends here is brave enough to accept it. Such a battle is to be relished.”

“Not if you are defeated,” Mimi said. “And I intend to be a victor, gentlemen.”

The musicians played a brief air, and the guests once more gathered into formation. Mimi extended her hand to Mr. Drayton, and he took it.

“I wish you luck, Drayton,” Thorpe said, a smile of wry amusement on his lips. “I daresay not only will you emerge defeated, but you’ll be ground into mincemeat.”

“Ah, but what a grinding!” Sir Beverley whispered, a lascivious glint in his eyes.

Thorpe clapped him on the back. “Not one you’d survive, old chap. We gentlemen may believe ourselves to be adept at this particular game, but I suspect Lady Rex is the true proficient. Your late husband was a fortunate man, Lady Rex—as is young Drayton here.”

“Do you prefer to dance with a gauche, unsophisticated young milksop, Lady Rex?” Sir Heath said.

Mr. Drayton’s eyes widened further, and Mimi hardened her voice as she met Sir Heath’s gaze.

“Quite so,” she said. “But you may find that women who possess free will and true discernment will always prefer Mr. Drayton’s gaucheness to your particular mode of sophistication.”

Confusion clouded Sir Heath’s eyes, and Lord Thorpe let out a bark of laughter. “I’d concede defeat before she bites your balls off.”

Mimi lowered her gaze to Sir Heath’s groin. “Oh, he’s quite safe from that, I assure you, Lord Thorpe—at least while I value my own personal health. And, of course, I’d have to find them first.”

Lord Greyford, who was sipping his drink, gave an explosive cough, spraying champagne over Sir Heath.

“Exactly so, Lord Greyford,” Mimi said, before turning her attention toward Mr. Drayton. “Shall we?”

The young man took her hand and smiled, revealing little indents in his cheeks, and led her onto the dance floor. Mimi glanced toward Sawbridge, and her gut twisted at the expression in his eyes, which was one of barely suppressed fury.

The dance began, and Mimi gave an inward sigh of relief that it was another formation dance, enabling her to observe the steps of the leading couple—this time, their host and hostess—before attempting them herself. When her turn came, she was able to steer her partner through the steps.

“Are you enjoying the dance, Mr. Drayton?” Mimi asked. “Careful!” she added, as he almost collided with Lady Walton.

He took her hands and pulled her close. “I-I feel unwell,” he said, drawing in a sharp breath.

“An overindulgence of champagne?” she suggested.

He blushed, then dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Look up!” she whispered, before he collided with another gentleman.

“How else will I follow the dance?” he asked. “I must watch your steps.”

“That’s where you’re going wrong—you should be taking the gentleman’s part, not the lady’s.”

“Gentleman— ha !” a voice said, and Mimi glared at the couple next to them. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Sawbridge, who seemed to be circling the room, watching her, his expression dark. Their gazes met and he set his mouth into a firm line.

Then she turned, in time to the music, but even with her back to him, she could sense his eyes on her.

The dance progressed and she moved past the gentleman who’d insulted poor Mr. Drayton. As the steps required them to turn, she caught the man’s heel with her toe, and he stumbled forward and collided with his partner. But by the time he whirled round to face the culprit, she’d taken Mr. Drayton toward the front of the line.

“Bugger,” Mimi’s partner muttered as he almost tripped again. “I can’t keep upright. Forgive me.”

“For your footwork, or your language, Mr. Drayton?” she asked, suppressing a smile at the stricken look on his face. At close quarters he looked even younger—barely more than eighteen and most likely fresh out of school. He was no match for the predators in the room.

“It’s our turn to lead,” she said, taking his hands as they turned to face the line. “Follow me.”

He glanced at the line of dancers stretching before him. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly—all those people. I’ll disgrace you, Lady Rex.”

“Nonsense!” she said, smiling at the irony of the notion that the son of a duke would disgrace a doxy. “Just look into my eyes and take my lead, and you’ll not put a foot wrong.”

“I-I don’t know…”

She leaned close to whisper in his ear. “The trick, in dancing, and in life, is to smile and pretend that you’re a proficient—that you’re one of them, and not a misfit.”

“ You’re not a misfit, Lady Rex.”

“You may think so, Mr. Drayton, but that’s because I’ve perfected the art of deception. You may think, based on the incivility of others, that you don’t belong here—but you’ve more right to be here than I. Now, let us show the company that we’re better than them.”

His face split into the smile of an infatuated boy, and he lifted his gaze to her. Then, hand in hand, they moved along the line, stepping in time to the music. The fear in his eyes melted, replaced by confidence and pride, and finally pleasure, as they reached the end.

“There!” she said. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it?”

“I missed several of the steps—what will they think?”

“What do we care what they think?” He grinned, then swayed on his feet, and she caught his sleeve. “I think you ought to sit down. Perhaps I spun you round a little too much.”

He nodded.

“How much have you drunk tonight, Mr. Drayton?”

“Five glasses, no…” He shook his head. “ Seven . Sir Heath said I wasn’t a man if I couldn’t hold my…” He drew in a sharp breath then closed his mouth, and Mimi led him toward a chair. “What will my papa think of me?” he asked.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t,” Mimi said. “But I’m sure he’d say the same as I.”

“Which is?”

“That you don’t have to drink to excess to prove your manhood. Neither should you let yourself be influenced by others who may not be acting in your best interests. Instead, prove you’re more of a man than them.”

“Lady Rex, you don’t know how pleased I am to hear that. I…”

He leaned toward her, parting his lips for a kiss. She turned her head aside and pushed him back, laughing.

“Mr. Drayton, the champagne’s affecting your senses. You’ve no wish to do something you’ll regret when you’re sober.”

“I’ll not regret this .”

He pulled her close and pressed his mouth against hers. Before Mimi could protest, a pair of hands grasped Mr. Drayton’s shoulders and pulled him back.

Mimi turned to see Alexander haul Mr. Drayton across the floor and slam him against the wall. The dancers dispersed, and the music stopped as a ripple of voices threaded through the room.

The young man’s eyes glistened with tears. “F-forgive me, Your Grace, I-I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” Sawbridge roared. “Didn’t think? Didn’t behave like a gentleman? Or didn’t realize that you were taking advantage of a lady?”

Mr. Drayton’s mouth wobbled and a tear slid onto his cheek. Mimi placed a hand on Alexander’s arm.

“Leave him be, Your Grace,” she said. “He’s just a boy who’s taken too much champagne.”

“Do you hear that, young sir?” Alexander snarled. “You’re a mere boy , and Lady Rex isn’t the sort of woman to let herself be mauled by drunken adolescents. Perhaps you should retreat to your mama’s breast and only return when you’ve grown into a man and learned how to treat a lady.”

“ Alexander, ” Mimi said quietly. He froze at the use of his name, and her skin tightened at the raw, potent desire in his eyes, and the savage possessiveness that swelled until a single word entered her mind, uttered in a low growl.

Mine.

A fire of need ignited in her blood, and she caught her breath. His nostrils flared, as if he scented her desire, and she felt his body vibrate under her hand, with the barely suppressed strength of the superior male beast who had bested a lesser rival to claim his female.

For a moment, she let herself indulge in the thrill of his possessiveness. Then Mr. Drayton broke the spell.

“I am a man, Your Grace. Lady Rex accepted my hand for this dance.”

She caught a flare of fury in Alexander’s eyes.

“ What did you say, boy ?”

“Sh-she was willing.”

“ Willing? ” Alexander roared. “I ought to rip your throat out!” He tightened his grip on Mr. Drayton’s lapels and slammed him against the wall again. The young man let out a moan of pain. “Not so much of a man now, are you?”

“Please!” Mimi cried. “The other guests are watching.”

“Then let them watch while I pummel this reprobate into the ground,” Alexander said. “I ought to call you out, Drayton, but I make it a rule never to duel with babes .”

“I’d be delighted to—” the young man began, but Mimi interrupted.

“Please!” she cried. “Your Grace, let him go. I’m experienced enough to tell the difference between a drunken, infatuated boy and a predatory man.”

“Yes,” Alexander said. “I suspect you are.”

Guilt flared in his eyes, but it was too late. His arrow had hit home.

“L-Lady Rex, f-forgive me,” the young man said. “I-I don’t know what came over me.”

“An excess of champagne, that’s all,” Mimi said. “But I’d advise you, for your own safety”—she glanced toward Alexander—“to sit out the remainder of the dancing tonight and take a little water. Or, perhaps, go home. Your Grace, please let Mr. Drayton go.”

Alexander released his grip and glanced about the ballroom, where a small crowd had formed. Mr. Drayton smoothed his collar, and his lip trembled as he spotted the onlookers.

Then Alexander let out a sigh and offered his hand. Drayton stared at it.

“I’d advise you to take it, young man.” The youth nodded, then took it. Alexander pulled him close. “Leave her be,” he said, his voice a low whisper. “She is not for you.”

“Not until Lady Rex assures me that she’ll be safe.”

Mimi couldn’t help admire the young man’s bravery when faced with a bigger, stronger opponent.

“Very well,” Alexander said. He slipped Mimi’s hand into his, and before she could stop him, he lifted it to his mouth, brushing his lips against it. Even through the fabric of her gloves, the sensation sent a ripple of raw need across her skin, and she closed her eyes, willing her body to resist the flare of desire pooling in her center.

“You have my word, Mr. Drayton, that Lady Rex is safe with me—that she will always be safe with me.”

Mimi lifted her gaze to Alexander’s, and she saw a desire to match her own.

He lifted her hand to his lips once more, and his warm breath penetrated her gloves, bleeding into her soul.

“You have my word, Mr. Drayton,” he whispered, “as a gentleman and a suitor.”

A suitor…

Gripped by fear, she stepped back.

No—that was not supposed to happen. Even if it were part of their charade, he was not supposed to claim her as such, to give her even the tiniest glimpse of what life might be like were she to remain by his side.

He wasn’t supposed to be gallant, or kind.

A soulless duke—that’s what he was. A wastrel who’d frittered away his life and reputation by indulging in drink and debauchery—the perfect customer for a doxy wishing to earn a sizeable enough lump sum to free her from him and others just like him.

But if he gave her a glimpse of a different man—a man of honor, who wanted her for herself—then he placed her in the greatest danger of all.

The danger that she might not have the strength to leave when the time came.

Lady Walton approached, frowning. “Lady Rex, are you well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Mimi said. “But I have a megrim. Would you excuse me? It’s my first ball after coming out of mourning, and I fear I may have overtaxed myself.”

“I can escort you…” Alexander began, but she raised her hand.

“Please, do not trouble yourself,” she said, “and I believe you promised yourself to Lady Portia for the next dance. I wouldn’t wish to see her disappointed.”

“Let me escort you out,” Lady Walton said, before Alexander could respond.

Mimi let her hostess lead her across the ballroom and through the double doors, where she glanced over her shoulder to see Alexander watching her, a mixture of confusion and disappointment in his eyes.

Oh, Alexander—you don’t know how much I’d rather stay and hear, once more, your promise to keep me safe.

But if she could walk away from him now, in a ballroom full of people where he’d declared his claim on her, she could harbor the hope that, at the end of their arrangement, she could survive their parting with her heart unscathed.