Page 46 of Duke of Wickedness

“Good God,” Ariadne said, alarmed. “I hadn’t thought about that last one.”

Miss Turner waved an airy hand. “Oh, the worst I’ve suffered is some ribald comments. Also, I carry a knife.”

“Aknife!”

“I’ve never had occasion to use it,” Miss Turner said, still apparently unconcerned.

And maybe it was the absurdity of discussing carrying secret knives while standing in the middle of a park. Maybe it was the insouciant twirl of her parasol that accompanied Miss Turner’s words.

Or maybe it was just the sheer, perfect joy of making a new friend. After all, when was the last time that Ariadne had made a new friend? Goodness, she wasn’t sure she hadevermade a new friend, if one didn’t count members of her family, whether they were related by blood or by marriage.

But whatever it was, Ariadne started to laugh.

And then Miss Turner started to laugh, too.

It was girlish and foolish and likely unbecoming at their age, but Ariadne couldn’t regret the helpless giggles that consumed them both.

“I really like you, Miss Turner,” Ariadne managed through her laughter.

“Phoebe,” her new friend corrected. “Please. Call me Phoebe.”

“Phoebe,” Ariadne agreed. “And you must call me Ariadne.”

Phoebe linked her arm through Ariadne’s.

“Happily,” she said brightly. They strolled, though none too quickly, in the direction where Catherine was still having what looked like an extremely stiff conversation with Lady Fitzhugh, who wore a purple feather in her hat so broad and tall that the elderly lady seemed at risk of taking accidental flight in a strong gust of wind.

“Now that we are such good friends,” Phoebe said in a quiet voice as they walked, “you must allow me to confide that your escort the other night?” She widened her eyes emphatically. “Very nice work, mademoiselle. Very nice work, indeed.”

Ariadne ducked her head. “He is rather handsome, isn’t he?” she said quietly, thrilling at the ability to gossip like this with someone.

“I have never found a man who is worth the effort, personally,” Phoebe said. “But I understand why you might have chosen differently, given those looks.”

Ariadne blushed. “Will you blame me for getting my head a bit turned?”

“Never,” her new friend promised. “So long as you promise that we can see one another intentionally, next time.”

It was an easy bargain to make.

“I would love that,” Ariadne said, feeling it in every part of herself.

CHAPTER 12

When Ariadne got home, there was a letter waiting for her.

Meet me tonight, little bird. Same place and time.

Ariadne read this several times, trying to decide if the brevity was a sign of David’s admirable sense of discretion or whether it was commanding in a way that made her blood heat inside her.

And, if she landed on the latter, was her blood heating in a way that thrilled her or in a way that annoyed her immensely?

Was there really any difference when it came to the way the Duke of Wilds made her feel?

She obviously stillwent. But she did, when the clock struck midnight, stick the note in her pocket.

“This,” she said, waving it in his face as she climbed into the unmarked carriage, which was once again parked around the corner from her house, waiting, “is not a useful document.”

Somewhere along the line, she realized as she thrust a scrap of parchment into a duke’s face in a dark carriage after midnight, she had let her mask drop entirely while she was around David. It had been slipping from the beginning, but now she didn’t even bother trying to hold it in place.