Page 20 of The Duke is Wicked

“Nickname?” Lady Hazelton pulled the handkerchief through her cupped fist repeatedly as she mouthedKittysoftly to herself. “My mother would hate it. I can hear her now.Vulgar, Honoria, simply vulgar.”

“There was a Greek goddess that went by Kitty. She was powerful and determined. I can’t recall the specifics, but if you give me a moment—”

“I like it. I’m determined. And I’ve never believed I look like an Honoria.”

Delaney gave the young woman a thorough study. “Honoria is a maiden aunt who smells like peas.”

Kitty popped her gloved hand over her mouth and giggled.

Delaney laughed with her, the first time she’d done so since arriving on the desolate shores of England. The band around her chest lessened, letting in a soothing breath. “You don’t have to marry someone who doesn’t love you, someone you don’t love, unless it’s a financial concern. Even if you have a rather unusual talent. Life is hard enough without the supplementary distress, isn’t it?”

“We’re both rich as Queen Victoria. It’s not that.” She fluttered the handkerchief again, directing a lone symphony. “Maybe we’re not a good match. He’s stuffy. Condescending. A wry sense of humor, one I don’t share. He never laughs, not ever. But, oh, he’s handsome. I don’t say that just because he’s a duke, a title that would make a toad look good. Even if he were only a baron, Ashcroft would still be handsome. Nothing like Finn Alexander, of course, but who wants a husband more beautiful than they are? I can’t imagine the burden. His wife must avoid mirrors, and she’s extremely attractive herself.”

“Hmm.” A picture of Sebastian centered itself in Delaney’s mind. Violin tucked beneath his chin. Thick hair tumbling into his eyes. Long fingers curled around the bow. Shirt parted to reveal a rippling swath of muscle and sinew, a wondrously flat tummy. A narrow trail of hair angling into his waistband, an attribute her brother, the only man she’d ever seen in a similar state,didn’thave. If she were a proper miss, like the reluctant debutante sitting next to her, she’d have fainted dead away at the sight of the man. Instead, she’d tried to record as much of him as she could before he turned away.

A mental photograph. Another of her hidden talents.

Delaney exhaled and dropped her gaze to a weed growing through a crack in the stone beneath her feet, her cheeks heating.

Arrogant? Yes, in spades, but she’d never met someone less stuffy. The Duke of Ashcroft laughed often, and not dryly. Although part of that was him laughingather, notwithher. Also, in Delaney’s estimation, he wasmorehandsome than Finn Alexander. Moreinteresting. Like a book she wanted to absorb every line of. A treasure to lock in her attic.

Those long looks he gave her, his eyes hooded, searching.

What was he searching for?

He recognized her in some way she’d yet to do herself, which was absurd.

She’d never wondered what a man was thinking, never wanted to kiss the smile off his lips.

Never wanted to comfort.

She’d taken turns sitting by his bed for three nights, listening to air leave his lungs in shaky fits and starts. Swabbed his fevered brow and forced lukewarm tea down his throat. Murmured when he woke in a confused stupor. He’d said things about his father. Unbelievable cruelties from a boy’s mind reflected in a man’s voice.

They’d shared more than he understood. More than she wanted to admit. And then, to walk into that fantastic dungeon and hear haunting notes drifting from his violin…

“Kitty is a woman who can make the man she wants fall in love with her, isn’t she, Miss Temple?”

Delaney turned, marveling at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed monster she’d created. Marveling at the unwelcome feelings brewing inside her. She didn’t consider herself an expressive creature, but she felt caught in a passionate tumult. “Perhaps.”

“Then you’ll help me.” With a giggle, she threw her arms around Delaney. “I knew you would. American women aren’t afraid of anything.”

“Help you what?” Delaney asked against a crush of lilac satin, guessing it was not the best time to tell the newly branded Kitty that she was afraidallthe time. Of everything.

“Win the Duke of Ashcroft’s love, silly.”

Oh, this is not good,was all she could think.

Because, deep in her heart, she feared she might want him for herself.

Chapter 7

Delaney was late for breakfast.

She’d awoken the following morning before dawn, gone exploring, and stumbled on a parlor containing a chest of Regency-era watercolors, each canvas notated with meticulous historical detail about Adey Castle. So, she’d spent three hours digging through them and taking mental annotations.

Hence, her arrival to the breakfast room, covered in dust and slivers of dried paint, in a gown she wore when shegardened. To find the Duke of Ashcroft had invited every member of his mystical family to the meal. Her brother even sat there, looking uncomfortable butpresent.Delaney smoothed her hand down her bodice, temper and nerves doing a nimble dance along her skin.

A table that would seat thirty dominated a space overflowing with laugher and conversation, the piquant scent of sausage and kippers, broad bands of sunlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows to splash across the lush Aubusson carpet, over the paintings of landscapes and city scenes lining the walls.