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S he could have kissed him into the night.

The heady feeling of initiating the intimate contact flooded her with little tickling butterfly wings in her belly and a warmth she could only imagine was desire.

But desire wasn’t a commitment. It wasn’t love.

It wasn’t even friendship, although she did feel as if she and the duke were friends.

During the week that followed, Arlington called on her twice for a walk in the park.

He asked her to dance at a ball where Miss Rutledge stood on the sidelines with a stiff countenance, her mouth drawn into an unattractive sneer and her women-at-arms surrounding her self-regarding opinions.

Popularity often worked that way. Even those close wouldn’t dare upset someone like Genevieve Rutledge unless they were aching for a tongue lashing or a tribute to them in the gossip rags, which is precisely what happened to Truly.

Just as she prepared to accompany the duke to the theater, dragging Mrs. Spenser in tow for good measure, she caught the sight of newsprint carelessly shoved into a rubbish can.

She pulled it out, catching her name instantly at the bottom of the local scandal sheets.

At least it wasn’t in the Times . She was bent over the words when the butler opened the door, and the duke strolled into the foyer.

“I see you’re ready. Nothing like being seen at the theater.”

“At the theater, you say?” Truly, shook the paper as her fist tightened around it. “We’ve made the sheets.”

“I’ve seen it.” He didn’t look upset or shaken in the least; he just put his arm out for her as he smiled and winked at Mrs. Spencer. “I am thrilled to be hosting two of the loveliest ladies this evening.”

A woman in her forties, a hint of gray showing through her nut-brown hair, Mrs. Spencer blushed and giggled under her breath like a woman half her age. It brought a positive, festive joy to the outing.

Truly didn’t speak a word until they were seated in the duke’s box, and since Mrs. Spencer was privy to everything, she didn’t see the need to mince words.

“You haven’t said a word about the column,” she said as the duke smiled and nodded at someone in the gallery. “Arlington,” she pleaded.

The charming smile he turned on her only irritated her. “Yes, Truly?”

“The column.”

“Yes?”

“We’re not going to speak of it?”

He sighed, taking her hand. “I saw it. I read it. I thought it was brilliant.”

“It makes innuendo about my whereabouts and what sort of ties we have. It all but announces an engagement forthcoming.”

“And it dares to ask when the beautiful sister of the Duke of Justamere will be jilted.”

She reached behind her, fanning her hand in the direction of poor Mrs. Spencer.

The housekeeper handed her the paper. Truly scanned it and read.

“One would generally suspect the family had blessed the couple, except for one small detail. The Duke of Justamere is the only legitimate child in the brood. No one is quite certain how many children the late duke and duchess bore, but we have it on good authority that Miss Truly Hancock is the bastard daughter of the late duke and his mistress.” She looked up, expecting what?

That he would appear as appalled as she?

If so, she was disappointed because he simply beamed with pleasure.

“As I said, it is brilliant. It has us practically engaged.”

“And announces me a bastard.”

“I believe that is not a secret.”

She let out a loud sigh, her shoulders defeated by what was true.

It was a matter of time before her identity and the subject of her birth became the Season’s self-indulgent recreation.

She simply had not expected to see it so soon in the papers, or, more to the point, she had not expected to care so much.

“I’m looking for a husband, not a benefactor.

You do understand the difference, don’t you? ”

“No one faults you for your birth.”

“You’re an idiot if you think that’s true.”

“Correction. No eligible male faults you for your birth.”

“No, but now they’ll be dreaming of the kind of proposal I’m not looking for.”

He took the paper from her, folded it neatly, and quietly handed it back to Mrs. Spencer. “Try to enjoy the evening. If you must look angry, then turn it toward me. It’s liable to help our cause.”

When the red velvet curtain fell at the first intermission, Truly didn’t wait for Dalliance; she sprang up and headed for the foyer, hoping for a gust of cool air every time the lobby doors opened and closed.

“If the papers are correct, then you’re already engaged.” The jealous, grating sound came from her right. “How can that be?”

“Genevieve,” Truly said, her throat raw like she’d swallowed sandpaper.

“So, is it true?”

“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.” Truly did a poor job of lying. It was a game she never mastered. Miss Rutledge arched a brow. “Oh, you mean the gossip sheets?”

“What else.”

“I believe it’s called gossip for a reason. So much of it is rarely true.”

“Except that I’ve seen with my own eyes how he attends you. How he looks at you. I know that look, my dear. Quite intimately.”

“How could the duke have proposed to me when he was on the verge of offering for you but a week ago?”

“I’m not sure what your game is, but I admit that I’m a bit impressed with your daring. Everyone expects you to succumb to him. Not as a bride, of course, but as his paramour. Or less. He tires easily.”

“I doubt that.” Truly would not take the bait.

One thing she had learned early was the wisdom of remaining quiet, aloof, without opinion.

It made people uncomfortable. She needed Genevieve Rutledge to be too uncomfortable to make a scene.

She counted on the woman’s selfish ambition to distract her from spewing venom in such a public arena.

Truly returned to the duke’s box. Without a word, she allowed Dalliance to seat her.

With eyes only on the stage, she reached beside her and grabbed his gloved hand.

The action was not meant to be seen. Her hand trembled in his, and she had to admit that the encounter with Genevieve shook her.

He didn’t allow a glance at her. The man seemed to understand her, and that was something Truly had not considered.

She liked him more than she should. More than was safe or wise.