Page 5

O n the night of Miss Westfall’s debut, Nomansland surprised himself by arriving early at Abingdon House.

He rarely attended balls. Now that his two business partners were married, he used the excuse of being needed at Sutcliffe’s during the busy night hours.

Good business practices said at least one owner should be present to flatter the clients, to offer a free drink here or there, and to do anything in his power to encourage them to spend—or lose—more money.

As he joined the press of guests making their way up the staircase to the uppermost floor, he again questioned the sanity of his being there.

Yes, he was expected to dance with Miss Westfall, and he’d never disappoint a young lady, especially not the sister of a close friend.

But his presence implied a willingness to be social, to dance with other young ladies…

ones who might put more importance to being singled out by him.

He was not in the market for a wife.

Nor was he interested in entertaining himself with young ladies of the ton .

He enjoyed the company of several widows to meet his carnal needs, and could invite one of them should he wish to attend the theatre.

They had no expectations when it came to his time, his future.

They knew better than to imagine he’d choose one of them as his duchess, when he finally decided to procreate.

Given all that, he should dance with Miss Westfall and make his excuses, wish her well and be on his way.

She and her sister expected her to marry well, and likely sooner than later given her age.

Some of the young ladies making their debuts this Season were four or five years younger than Miss Westfall, and hoped to marry in the next year or two.

He never understood the haste, the urgency, but he couldn’t deny it existed.

When he finally squeezed through the doorway into the large, crowded room that had been cleared for dancing.

Nomansland looked for Abingdon or Dinah so he could make his presence known.

Instead, he saw Miss Westfall conversing with a pair of young ladies.

The two guests then left, leaving her momentarily unattended near a towering fern.

His gaze lingered on her as he approached, admiring how bright her delicate features appeared this evening.

“Miss Westfall,” he said, stepping into the small oasis of privacy the plant afforded them.

She turned, her eyes widening just a fraction before schooling her expression into one of polite interest. “Your Grace, thank you for coming.”

He hated how the proper look took the light from her eyes.

Where was the mischief he knew she enjoyed?

She should be glowing with excitement, with the promise of a wonderful night ahead.

He offered her a smile, one that he knew could set hearts aflutter yet hoped would put her at ease.

“You know, the other night when I was here for supper, I could not help but overhear you discussing… certain letters.”

He watched the play of emotions cross her countenance—interest piqued behind a veil of decorum. There was the dance of innocence and awakening curiosity that drew him like a moth to a flame. His hands fisted as he told himself to walk away now, while he could still face Abingdon without guilt.

His cock twitched at the notion he might enjoy a bit of pleasure with Miss Westfall.

“Indeed, those letters seemed to have left you with questions,” he continued, leaning in ever so slightly, his tone conspiratorial. “If you are interested, I find myself uniquely positioned to offer insight into the… activities they describe.”

The suggestion hung between them, bold and unchaste, yet delivered with a gentleman’s care not to overstep. He saw the momentary catch in Miss Westfall’s breath, the indecision that fluttered in her gaze before she masked it with a practiced social grace.

“Such an offer is most unconventional, Your Grace,” she said, though her words lacked conviction, her curiosity betrayed by the quickening pulse at her throat.

“Life is nothing if not an adventure, Miss Westfall,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers, inviting her to consider the possibilities. “And I assure you, I’m a very attentive guide.”

* * *

The realization hit Chrissy like a rush of cold air on a warm summer night. He had been privy to her most private musings. Her eyes shot up to meet his. A blush, fierce and unbidden, scorched her cheeks as though she’d been caught in an indecorous act rather than mere conversation.

“Your Grace,” she began, her voice trembling slightly under the weight of her conflicting emotions. “I—I must apologize. That discussion wasn’t meant for?—”

“Please,” he interrupted gently, his presence commanding yet comforting as he closed the distance between them, his stature seeming to shield her from the rest of the world. His voice was a low thrum that seemed to resonate within her. “There is nothing to apologize for.”

She bit her lower lip, the innate rebellion against the strictures she’d always known warring with the desire that sparked at his proximity.

She should not be having this conversation, certainly not with a man whose reputation preceded him—a man who was, by all accounts, as experienced as she was na?ve.

“Miss Westfall, I don’t intend to discompose you. I merely wish to offer you the opportunity to seek answers to the questions those letters have undoubtedly stirred within you.”

His words were a balm, soothing the turmoil that churned inside her. He hinted at desires, the kind she’d only dared think about in the dead of night, and Chrissy felt the pull of something daring and wholly improper.

“Answers?” Her voice was a breathless echo of the tempest inside her. “But such things are not discussed so openly, sir. And to experience them…”

“Is to understand them,” he finished for her, his smile softening the edges of his chiseled jawline. “Life is too fleeting to be left wondering ‘what if.’ And I assure you, I’m not seeking a mere dalliance. My interest lies in unlocking the passions you’ve yet to discover.”

Her heart raced, each beat an affirmation of her burgeoning curiosity. Here stood a man, a duke no less, offering her the key to a world she had only dreamed of. Could she dare step beyond the line drawn by her upbringing?

His hand lifted, and the brush of his fingers against her cheek was like the softest velvet. A stray lock of her hair yielded to his touch as he tucked it behind her ear with a deliberate gentleness that belied his strength.

A shiver cascaded down her spine, unbidden yet impossible to ignore. There was a raw honesty to his gesture that transcended the mere physical. It was as though he sought to connect with her very soul, to lay bare the secrets they were both poised to share.

“Your curiosity,” he continued, his voice now a husky whisper that only she could hear, “it’s a flame that begs to burn brighter. I see it in your eyes, and it calls to me.”

Her breath hitched, caught on the precipice of a desire she couldn’t name. His words wound around her, a siren’s call promising a world of sensation she had never known, yet suddenly yearned to explore.

“Let me be the one to guide you through this discovery. To honor your courage with my own,” he said in low, hypnotic tones.

Chrissy’s resolve wavered, danced on the edge of propriety and passion. In his eyes, she saw not just the flames of desire but the embers of something deeper, something that spoke to the part of her that wanted more than the sheltered existence she had always known.

She glanced at the room beyond their little cove where her sister’s guests continued to arrive.

This ball was being held in her honor. She couldn’t simply vanish.

Dinah would kill her. How long would this instruction that the duke promised take?

Maybe he could explain just one or two things, and she could be back before anyone looked for her.

“Yes,” she breathed out, the word a fragile vessel carrying the weight of her decision. “But only for a moment or two.”

Nomansland’s expression transformed, his smile blooming like the dawn after a night of shadows.

He exuded a confidence that was both thrilling and terrifying, for it spoke of things She had only dared to dream of in the privacy of her chamber.

With a nod that sealed her choice, she placed her trembling hand in his.

His fingers closed around hers with a gentleness that belied the strength of his boxer’s physique. It was a touch that offered not just guidance but partnership, a silent vow to navigate the waters of passion together.

Glancing first at the crowded doorway, Nomansland instead motioned toward a door leading to a balcony outside. “Come. Pleasure awaits us.”

They were trying, as best as possible, to remain unnoticed as they moved toward the door on the other side of the room.

It was a fool’s errand. There was no version of this world in which a duke and his young companion could blend in at the season’s most anticipated assembly.

The string quartet tuning in the corner was like a ticking clock.

“Do you think we’ll make our escape?” she whispered.

He leaned in, his voice low and velvet-rich. “If we do, I suspect the penalty will be dire.”

“I would rather face a firing squad than a receiving line.”

He smiled, slow and predatory. “Perhaps you’ll be shot with compliments. Or, if you prefer, I could absorb them on your behalf.”

Chrissy was about to reply when Dinah materialized, an apparition in lavender silk and pearls, her smile bright enough to strip the lacquer off a sideboard. “There you are! Hiding will not do. The first dance is imminent, and you are the star of the evening. Everyone is waiting.”

“I’m certain everyone is waiting for the supper announcement,” Nomansland said, but Dinah ignored him.