Page 19 of The Duke is Wicked

Delaney paused at the edge of the garden, having left the duke to wander his property, well aware a footman followed a short distance behind, letting her know she was to be a prisoner during her stay. A nightingale’s cry sounded as she crossed to the terrace, uncomfortable with the emotional display but unable to ignore it.

“May I?” Delaney asked, and settled next to the girl, who gasped and jerked her head up, scrubbing hard at her flushed cheeks.

The girl was a woman not much younger than Delaney. Pushing a hiccupping breath through her nose, she swiped a knuckle beneath each eye. “Who are you? And what are you doing at the Duke of Ashcroft’s home?”

Another rude Brit, Delaney deduced with a sigh. “Delaney Temple.” Then, because she knew the gesture wouldn’t be welcomed, she thrust out her hand.

The young woman glanced at Delaney’s hand like it would implode upon contact and sank back against the step, her mortification evident. “Lady Honoria Katherine Hazelton.”

Ah. Blowing a wisp of hair from her cheek, Delaney cast her frown into the darkness. What a trite happenstance. She’d come to England, on the run no less, and now found herself attracted to a duke. She would’ve laughed if she hadn’t received her body’s appalling warning in the dungeon. While she struggled to solve this puzzling dilemma, the nightingale called again. She pointed in the direction of the sound. “Do you hear that?”

Lady Hazelton tilted her head, flaxen curls tumbling over her shoulder. A classic portrait, a delicate English rose in need of love and care. “I think so.”

Delaney closed her eyes and slipped into her attic. Found Charles Johnson Maynard’sNaturalists' Guide, read two pages and slipped back. “Nightingales get their name from the Old English for night songstress. Only males can sing. Isn’t that unfair?” She grunted and tapped her bottom lip in consideration. “But it’s the way the world works. The male in the species has more vivid coloring and certainly morefreedom.”

“You’re the American,” Lady Hazelton whispered, as if it were not only a secret but also an affliction. “One of the Terrible Two. The one who kissed the duke in the park.”

Delaney shrugged, unable to compose a creative response to the use of that silly moniker, when it was said everyone in London must be saddled with one. Perversely, she rather liked it. After all, the day thetongave her a nickname was the only day she’d been noticed. “I didn’t kiss him,” she finally said, exasperated but unsurprised that the rumor was gaining traction. “I was saving hislife. Forcing air into his lungs after he passed out from an allergic reaction. It was science, nothing more.”

“My word, that sounds different than the scandal sheets had it.” She patted her ample chest with a breathy sigh, fresh femininity on display. Delaney was charmed and repelled. “Goodness. I realized the League was growing, but they’ve reached as far as thecolonies.”

“Oh, no, you misunderstand. I have no gift. I’m just very good at memorization. I’m only here to help with research.”And to ferret out information so my blackmailer doesn’t sell my secret to the highest bidder. She bumped back against the step with a muted sigh. Which she didn’t suppose would happen now that the Duke of Ashcroft knew shehada blackmailer.

“Yes, yes, this makes sense. Research. Julian, Viscount Beauchamp, is always researching our world.”

Delaney hummed without comment.

“It’s laughable that I worry about any woman who shows up at this estate, isn’t it? Although he hasn’t officially proposed, it’s more of anunderstanding. I mean, Ashcroft can’t possibly marry a commoner. He’s still a duke, no matter how supernatural his talent. And the duchess being in the League will be very beneficial. Everyone has told me this. And his wife must be aware, fully aware, of his…that is, I don’t know what may happen during…” She pressed her hands to her cheeks and cast her gaze to her slippers. “What if he started a fire during the, well, during”—she glanced over her shoulder, then continued in a softer tone—“the act? What if I pull my ghosting trick? How do we make babies fromthat?”

Delaney gestured to the handkerchief Lady Hazelton had twisted in her fist, willing to go down any conversational path that ended this one. The act.Dear God. “Would you like to talk about why you were crying?”

Lady Hazelton flushed, a lovely sweep of rose across her décolletage. It was a neat trick; few women could make embarrassment look enticing. “Oh, it’s nothing. A paltry matter of humble concern. I’m foolish, or so my father tells me. And my brother. My mother. Juliette, my companion.” She fluttered the handkerchief like she was signaling the start of a race, her gaze shooting to the sky. “But you see, I want my husband toadoreme. Not only a compulsory arrangement, a suitable match. A woman who can provide an heir for the offer of security and a home. I’ve always dreamed of a man who loses thought when he sees me, like Mr. Darcy did when he met Elizabeth. Even if I have thisability, does that mean I can’t have love, too?”

What to say…?Delaney opened her mouth, then pressed her lips together, because her advice, when she’d run it quickly through her mind, was judicious but harsh, inviting the possibility of more tears. Because Lady Hazelton expected a response, she made do with another low hum.

“It’s not what I anticipated, you see. Darcy never started fires, except in Elizabeth’s heart. Why, Ashcroft shows more interest in his hounds. Darcy never left Elizabeth for adog.” This said, she dropped her head to her knees, and even without Delaney’s sound advice, embarked on a renewed bout of sobbing.

Hounds? Delaney perked up at this, as she quite liked dogs. Although the conversation hadn’t gone down a pleasant route. At all. What would this poor girl do when she found out the duke preferred to hide in a dungeon and play his violin? Forget about his hounds. “Instead of focusing on your family’s wishes, focus on your own. Better to ask yourself what you want, Honoria Hazelton.”

Lady Hazelton sniffed, lifting her head. “What?”

“What doyouwant?”

“I’ve never…” Lady Hazelton’s brows lowered in another attractive display, this one of confusion and displeasure. “Is this a trick? You ask me a privileged question, then disparage my answer? Lady Montague did that to me at a musicale at the Pembroke’s last year. Cut me to the bone in front of all of society. Who cares whatIwant?” She tossed her handkerchief to the step with a huff. “No one, that’s who. Certainly not an arrogant duke!”

Delaney blinked, the air leaving her lungs as Lady Hazelton’s image began to flicker, like a watery image viewed through a leaded pane.

“Look away,” Lady Hazelton moaned. “The display is quite ghastly!”

Delaney grasped her hand, and with mental effort, kept Lady Hazelton from floating away. Until she was once again sitting on the terrace step, looking stunned but undeniably lovely.

“How can Ieverbe a duchess? I’ll go poof, into the air at a ball, and then my life will be over. This gift is worse than any old fire-making!”

“Oh, no, my lady, you would make a fine duchess.” This was true. From everything Delaney had seen, except for the disappearing act and the propensity to break into tears at any moment, Honoria Hazelton would be precisely what society wanted for the Duke of Ashcroft. The only woman sitting on an Oxfordshire terrace who would, she thought with a pang she wished she didn’t feel. “Don’t be upset, Kitty. I’ve seen worse.”

“Being from the colonies, I’m sure you have,” Lady Hazelton murmured, and reached for her discarded handkerchief. Then she halted, her mind seeming to go back five seconds. “Kitty?”

“It’s a common diminutive of Katherine. Doesn’t thetonlove nicknames?”