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Page 15 of Tantalizing the Duke

The footman nodded, and Dainsfield was glad he did not have to explain more, that he did not have to voice the confusion that ran deeper than even his desire.

He was alone again, the reality of it worse than he could have prepared himself for. Dainsfield sank into his chair, the physical weariness nothing compared to the emptiness he felt at her absence. His head fell into his hands, an uncharacteristic gesture that mirrored the resignation of his heart.

The scent of Milly, like the rest of her, refused to leave him. It lingered in the air, on his clothes, in every breath he took, a reminder of how completely she had consumed him and how completely he had managed to destroy what had always seemed so indestructible.

It was a desperate, cruel twist, that he should have achieved the very thing he never realized he feared—losing her—through the intensity of wanting her. The uncertainty of what would come next gnawed at him, but even worse was the certainty that she might never let him explain. It was an unbearable awareness, and he wondered if the rest of his life would feel as empty as this room.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Morning filtered softly through the curtains in Milly’s bedchamber, where she sat nursing a headache as severe as if she’d drunk too much wine last night, which she had not. Her tears had kept her awake, and the lack of sleep was painful.

“It’s hopeless,” Rose exclaimed, her pacing quick and urgent, her movements punctuating each word. Her curls quivered with indignation as she swept past Milly. “And all of London knows it.” Her voice rose to fill the space, vibrant and unrestrained.

Milly regarded her reflection with an air of detached serenity, but the thin façade wavered under Rose’s assault. She sat at her dressing table, pretending a composure she did not feel. “Have they nothing better to talk of? I thought they’d all forgotten about me.” Her voice held more than the suggestion of irony.

“They’re saying you’ve trapped the duke in a scandal. They’re placing bets on when he’ll come to his senses and abandon you to infamy,” Rose cried, her arms waving dramatically as she paced. She stopped abruptly and leveled an intent gaze at Milly, the concern in her eyes belying her playful words. “Tell me it’s not true. Tell me you’re not letting your heart go to that impossible man again.”

Milly turned the brush over in her hand, her fingers tracing the contours as if they held some secret wisdom. “Rose, darling, when did you become such an admirer of his?” The teasing note in her voice couldn’t quite hide the vulnerability beneath.

“It’s not Dainsfield I’m worried for!” Rose replied, her tone lightening even as her eyes searched Milly’s face. “It’s you. I hate to see you hurt. I’ve heard about the way he looks at you, Milly. Betty and Verity talk endlessly of it. But it can’t happen. It won’t happen. He won’t have you.”

Milly’s smile was fragile. “Perhaps I should pin my heart to my sleeve, as all the poets recommend, and have done with it.” She drew a steadying breath, feeling her carefully crafted defenses buckle.

“You think this is a jest?” Rose’s disbelief shimmered around her like an aura, filling the room with its persistence. She resumed her pacing, though slower now, her steps matching the cadence of her words. “I wonder if you even listen to me.”

“Oh, I do,” Milly assured her, “especially when you make such a splendid fuss.”

Rose halted and crossed her arms, leaning against the window frame with a sigh. “He’s a duke, Milly. He could never marry someone like us.”

Milly’s laughter was a small, bright thing in the midst of the heavy truth. “And how do you know he hasn’t a fancy for bastards and scandalous pasts?”

“I wouldn’t joke about it,” Rose said, serious now. “Not with how he’s been around you.”

Milly met Rose’s gaze in the glass, the unspoken acknowledgment passing between them like a sigh. “I thought I had hardened my heart. But then…”

“You can’t just stop loving him,” Rose said softly, sitting back on her heels with a frown. “He was your first—not in your bed, but in your heart.”

“I must. Or else break it again,” Milly insisted, her voice growing firmer as her resolve hardened. She looked at Rose, her eyes heavy with unshed tears. “And you know I don’t have the strength for that.”

They sat in silence, the weight of truth settling over them like dust in the morning light.

Milly sat in front of her window watching people stroll past, enjoying the afternoon sunshine. Her eyes widened in surprise when Lord Parham’s gleaming curricle approached, his figure a handsome silhouette against the town houses across the street. The courage of the man, to drive so openly to her door!

He sat with relaxed elegance, his smile bright. Seeing her in the window, he doffed his hat with a flourish and called, “Miss Nichols, will you make my drive a pleasant one and join me?”

Milly felt a flutter of nerves beneath her calm exterior. She’d never gone riding with a man, never strolled the paths at Hyde Park. If London wished for a spectacle, she thought with wry resolve, it should have a splendid one.

As she came outside, Parham leaped down and assisted her into the curricle with a bow, as if she were some lady of rare and unblemished pedigree. Milly settled beside him, smoothing her skirts with the air of a woman used to such attentions, despite the irregularity of it all.

“Your presence does me a great honor. And, if I may be so bold, all of London as well,” Parham said, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he regained his seat and took up the reins.

Milly allowed herself a glance around, observing the curtain-drawn windows and curious passersby. “Are you quite sure you wish to be seen with me?”

“Quite,” he assured her, setting the curricle in motion with an expert flick. “Now, do try to look more pleased about it.”

The warm air lifted the tendrils of hair around Milly’s face as they made their way to the park, her apprehension slowly unraveling into a sense of unexpected enjoyment. The very public nature of Parham’s invitation felt like an extravagant act of rebellion, and for the first time in recent memory, Milly felt herself complicit in her own small insurrection.

As they entered Hyde Park, the fashionable set promenaded in all its glory. Ladies twirled parasols in pastel clouds, gentlemen rode tall and proud on their gleaming mounts, and everywhere eyes turned toward the unlikely pair driving with such casual daring. Milly’s appearance at Parham’s side was enough to stop conversation mid-sentence, and whispers trailed behind them like the tails of so many scandalous comets.

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