Page 17 of The Duke’s Guide to Fake Courtship (Daring Debutantes #1)

G race had never been the focus of so much flattery. At first it had given her a sweet flush of joy. She had never been called beautiful so many times. But before long the compliments had begun to get repetitive. Then they had become ridiculous. And then, when even the most overblown compliment had served only to tighten her lips in annoyance, gentlemen had begun calling her the Ice Queen, who destroyed their confidence with a single frown.

She should have been disgusted, but they were so ridiculous that she hadn’t been able to help laughing. And the moment she’d begun to laugh, they’d had her.

Everyone had gone to new heights of silliness for her smile. Gentlemen had pretended to fall prostrate at her feet with every giggle. And when even the most serious had declared they lived or died on her barest glance, she’d felt the attention go to her head.

How easily she fell as the flattery filled her to bursting. And why did it give her an extra measure of glee when every one of her laughs elicited a dark glower from the Duke? What cause had he to glare at her as men vied for her attention? Why did he cross his arms as if chastising a recalcitrant child when she was nothing of the sort?

She had survived on the streets of Canton and in the sometimes more frightening bowels of a merchant ship on the China Sea. This was fun. And he could go to Diyu if he would steal this evening’s entertainment from her.

So she danced and she laughed. And when even Lord Domac—despite his bruised face—found a way to be charming during the supper buffet, she felt herself lighten for the first time in years. She was safe, warm, and well fed. She had men bowing over her hand and making themselves pleasing to her. And if only her father would smile everything would be perfect in her world, no matter what the Duke thought.

But her father was not well. The supper buffet was closing when she saw him stumble. Several gentlemen helped him to a seat. Her father had been celebrated almost as much as she, but she saw his pallor and knew that he was too tired to remain at the ball past midnight.

Within moments, she had made it to his side. ‘Father, I think it is late enough,’ she said as she clasped his frail hand. ‘We should go home now.’

‘What? And miss your triumph? We couldn’t possibly.’

Did he truly think it was a triumph to have men vying for the chance to spend her dowry? Or did he think her too stupid to know why these grasping men were suddenly at her feet?

‘This is no triumph if you are ill.’

‘I am merely tired, my dear.’

He was more than tired, but she would not shame him by pointing that out.

Instead, Lord Domac offered a suggestion.

‘Pray seek your bed, my lord. I shall see your daughter safely home.’

‘You will do no such thing,’ said a cold voice. It was the Duke, of course. ‘She is not safe—’

‘Have a care, cousin,’ Lord Domac interrupted, his voice threatening.

The Duke looked as if he would argue, but then he swallowed. ‘Her reputation will not be safe without her father. Perhaps it would be best if they both went home.’

Grace agreed, but her father would not budge. ‘I will not cut short your fun,’ he said as he squeezed her hand. ‘The next set will begin soon. I shall simply wait—’

‘No, Father,’ Grace said. ‘I shall spend the night with Phoebe. She will want to discuss every aspect of the evening. My reputation will be safe and my...my fun will be extended with my dear friend.’

This was the only compromise her stubborn father might accept, and indeed he finally agreed, once Phoebe’s father was apprised of the situation.

With that matter handled, she watched as the Duke called for her father’s carriage and saw the elderly man safely away.

But all that took time, and while she trusted her father with the Duke, she did not trust Phoebe with all the attention being showered upon her. If Grace felt herself caught up in the flattery, how much harder would it be for a sheltered girl? Especially since Phoebe was considered an eligible heiress despite her lack of aristocratic heritage.

Where was the girl?

The musicians had begun tuning their instruments for the final set, and Phoebe was nowhere to be found.

‘Oh, no,’ she murmured. ‘Has anyone seen where Phoebe has gone?’

‘Likely the ladies’ retiring room,’ one gentleman said.

‘Goodness, no,’ said another. ‘She is probably taking some air outside. Shall we go and look?’

Go outside with them after the Duke had specifically warned her not to? Absolutely not.

‘Where is her mother?’

‘Never mind that,’ intoned another gentleman. ‘The set will form soon, and I have been waiting an eternity to have you in my arms.’

‘And you will be waiting a great deal longer if we do not find Phoebe.’

Thankfully Lord Domac understood her concerns. ‘I’ll go outside,’ he said quietly. ‘You look in the ladies’ retiring room.’

She nodded and headed to the ladies’ room. As it was late in the evening, the retiring room looked like a disaster. There were torn bits of fabric discarded in the corner, several tired maids stitching gowns or redoing hair, and a bevy of ladies talking in excited whispers. They all looked up when she came in, their expressions ranging from disdain to sweetness, depending on the woman.

Grace barely had time to acknowledge them all. Indeed, she’d only met them for ten seconds each in the receiving line.

‘Hello,’ she said calmly. ‘Has anyone seen Phoebe?’

None had an answer.

And then one girl’s head jerked up. ‘That’s the musicians! The last set is forming!’

With a gasp, everyone jumped from their places throughout the room and gave quick pats to their attire before scrambling out through the door. Grace had to leap sideways to avoid being trampled.

Once all the guests had departed, Grace took one last look around before turning to leave, but she was stopped by an older maid with a pinched expression.

‘Miss,’ the woman said in a low voice. ‘Miss...’ Then she pointed to a screen that shielded the room from the chamber pot.

Oh. But why would Phoebe need the chamber pot for so long? Unless... Oh, dear.

Grace carefully peered behind the screen. There stood Phoebe with a torn dress, a maid quietly stitching up her skirt and her face streaked with tears. Of all the things Grace had been imagining, this was the worst.

‘Phoebe,’ Grace whispered. ‘Are you all right?’

The girl’s head snapped up, her gaze sharpening from distracted to terrified. ‘Don’t let anyone see me,’ she rasped.

‘I am alone,’ Grace responded as she stepped fully behind the curtain. ‘What has happened?’

‘I didn’t want to go outside,’ Phoebe said. ‘I know better. I didn’t want to.’

Grace felt her blood go cold. She had experience with this. Not personal experience, but she had sat with other girls, not all of them biracial like her. She knew the best thing to do was to hold the girl’s hand and wait for the full story. Or enough of it that she would know what to do next.

Except Phoebe wasn’t speaking.

She gripped Grace’s hand and stared fixedly at the floor.

‘How badly are you hurt?’ Grace finally asked.

‘It’s nothing.’

‘It’s never nothing.’

Phoebe held up her arms. Her gloves were off, and her arms appeared scrubbed raw. Clearly she had tried to wash off the bruises that were dark on her pale skin.

‘I kicked him and ran. But he...’ She shook her head. ‘He’d already torn my dress, and now there are dirt stains on the back.’

She pointed to where a dark, wet spot showed. Grace didn’t see any dirt, but it didn’t matter. The girl’s absence from the ball and her torn dress would tell a tale to anyone who cared to look.

‘You are not hurt in...in any other way?’

Phoebe shook her head. ‘I don’t think he expected me to fight.’

‘I’m very glad you did. You should be proud of yourself.’

‘It doesn’t matter. My reputation is ruined,’ she said on a choked-off sob. ‘He said that I was ruined and that I would have to marry him now.’

‘Is your father that cruel? Does he have no care for your feelings?’

It was an honest question. Many girls had suffered more at the hands of their fathers than from any suitor.

‘What? No! My father will—’

‘Will be very pleased that you fought.’ Grace squeezed Pheobe’s hands. ‘Tell me who this man was.’

‘What? No! I—’ She dropped her face into her hands. ‘It’s over. I just want to forget it ever happened.’

How many times had Grace heard those exact words? All sorts of people had come to the temple for help, for safety, for counsel. If they were injured, the half-Chinese girls were often sent in to tend them. And in that capacity Grace had heard many awful tales. Women who were hurt simply wanted it to be over, but that could never be.

‘You will never forget, Phoebe, as long as you live. Best face it now.’ She lifted the girl’s chin, being as delicate as possible but keeping her resolve clear. ‘What is the man’s name?’

‘I didn’t want to go outside with him. He was so much stronger than me, and I didn’t want to make a scene. Not at our come-out ball.’

‘Of course you didn’t. But I need to know—’

‘Lord Jasper, miss,’ said the maid. She was another older woman, with a worn face and tired eyes, but her chin lifted as she spoke in a clear voice. ‘I’ve already whispered it about to them that will listen. Stay away from him.’

‘Thank you,’ Grace said to the maid. ‘You will take care of her?’

‘Yes, miss. Ain’t the first time I’ve had to mend a gown at a ball for all the wrong reasons.’

Well, that was truly horrible. Fortunately, in this case, there was something Grace could do. Something that had burned in her soul from the very first moment she’d come upon a girl crying while hiding. Never before had she the strength to do anything about it. Never before had she been able to strike back at men who thought they were untouchable. But she was not a weak, sheltered girl like Phoebe. Neither was she a shunned biracial child in a temple. She was an adult woman now, and she had learned a few tricks of her own.

She pressed a kiss to Phoebe’s cheek. ‘It doesn’t feel like it now, but you’ll be all right. You’ll see. Your father loves you and would never see you hurt. You know it as well as I.’

There was fear in Phoebe’s eyes. Probably worry that she had disappointed her father. Hopefully, the man would be the parent Phoebe needed. If not... Well, then that too was something girls often had to live with.

But Lord Jasper was an entirely different matter.

Grace stepped out from behind the curtain, then boldly left the retiring room. A few steps took her back inside the ballroom, where the ball was continuing as if nothing had happened. And along the walls, loitering in clumps, were the men who had come without invitation to the party.

She scanned the room quickly, looking for the Duke or Lord Domac, but neither was in view. Very well, then. It was up to her. And by the fury growing in her blood this was something she longed to do.

She crossed to the musicians. ‘Stop playing. Now.’

It took a moment for them to comply. The music faltered and then stopped. And then the dancers stumbled to a halt, all looking to where she stood before the players.

She stepped forward, pleased when the guests separated before her.

‘Where is Lord Jasper?’ she called.

No one answered. No one, that was, except Phoebe’s mother, who rushed forward with a harsh whisper. ‘Grace, this is unseemly. You must stop this—’

‘Go to the retiring room. See to your daughter.’

The lady’s mouth dropped open, her eyes widening with shock. Without another word, she rushed away.

Meanwhile, Grace turned back to the room at large. ‘Come, come, Lord Jasper. I am the reason for this event. Myself and Phoebe. Surely you can present yourself to me, even though you had no invitation to attend.’

‘I was invited by another lady,’ drawled a man as he gestured vaguely to a bevy of girls in the corner. ‘And was most welcomed once I arrived.’

‘That is no true invitation, sir.’

‘Nevertheless, I am here.’ He grinned as he bowed before her. ‘Lord Jasper at your service.’

She looked him up and down, seeing in him a genial face, a body neither exceptionally strong nor overly fat. Truthfully, to her eye, he looked harmless, almost kind. But there was a cruel joy in his eyes that spoke of arrogance and privilege. And her blood boiled even hotter.

‘You have heard, have you not, that I meted out discipline on the ship where I served as navigator?’

‘I know nothing of your heathen ways, Miss Richards, but I can already see how unnatural you are as a woman.’

He called her unnatural? When he had forced a na?ve girl outside at her own ball?

‘Aboard ship, if there was a crime against a woman I was the one to administer justice. Do you claim that an English ballroom has less justice than a Chinese ship?’

He arched a brow. ‘Again, miss .’ He sneered that last word as if her very sex were suspect. ‘I know nothing of your heathen ways.’

‘Then let me enlighten you.’

She slammed a hand against his throat, cutting off his breath. And while he reeled from that she kicked him as hard as she could straight between his thighs. He could not scream. She had cut off his breath. But he could crumple to the ground, his eyes bulging and his body twitching in agony.

Good .

‘I thought Englishmen were different,’ she hissed. ‘I thought that with your fancy clothes and your smooth manners I could expect more from you. How disgusted I was to learn that you are worse than a common sailor.’

She reared back and kicked him again, straight in the groin. She did not examine the fury that built inside her. She didn’t restrain it. Instead, she let all the hatred flow from her as she kicked and kicked, until she prayed that organ he cherished so much was crushed to oblivion.

She had not meant to lose control. She had not meant to become ruled by her fury. But once she had begun hitting the man, she had not been able to stop. She saw Pheobe and so many other girls in her mind’s eye. She saw their tears, felt their agony, and she knew the terror that had dogged her from her earliest memory. Women were often vicious to one another, but men were casual brutes. Men took their strength and their power, and they hurt women. This man—and so many others—deserved to die.

So she kicked him again, until strong arms wrapped around her. A powerful body lifted her up, dragged her away, and held her aloft as if she was a child.

She screamed her fury. She bellowed like an animal. But she was not released.

‘Enough. Grace... Enough!’

It was the Duke’s voice and the Duke’s arms. It was his body that she railed against, and his arms that held her away. No, she belatedly realised. He held her safe. Safe from the man on the floor. And safe from descending into the mindless disaster of her fury.

It took her some time. Still she kicked the air and heard the Duke’s grunt when her feet found him.

‘Grace!’ came another voice. Phoebe’s. ‘Grace, I’m all right. He only bruised me.’

That did not make it right, but it was enough to quiet her. Enough to make reason push to the fore. Enough for her to realise that she flailed like a wildcat in the Duke’s arms.

‘Are you all right?’ the Duke asked her, his voice strong in her ear. ‘Are you calm now?’

‘He hurt her!’ she rasped.

‘And you have delivered justice.’

She doubted it. She suspected that Lord Jasper had abused many more innocents than Phoebe. But the message was delivered. She needed to gain control of herself.

And while she was quieting her pounding heart, the Duke turned to the people surrounding them. ‘Isn’t that right?’ the Duke asked everyone, his voice raised to carry throughout the ballroom. ‘Miss Richards did exactly what was needed, and Lord Jasper got exactly what he deserved.’

Silence greeted his words. Silence and an uncomfortable shifting of feet.

‘If I hear one word different,’ the Duke continued. ‘If any whisper against these ladies reaches my ears, I will destroy the speaker. Do you understand me? Lord Jasper...’ He paused to glower at the wheezing man. ‘Got exactly what he deserved.’

Again there was no answer, just the gaping, dumbfounded looks of stunned people. No one spoke against the Duke. But then again, no one spoke to agree with him.

‘Do I make myself clear?’ he all but shouted.

As a group, every soul nodded his or her head. Every soul looked not at Lord Jasper but at the Duke. And every soul began to murmur.

‘Yes, of course, Your Grace.’

‘Completely agree, Your Grace.’

‘Quite right.’

And there Grace saw true power. The Duke had not raised a fist. He had not beaten anyone bloody and he’d barely raised his voice. But the entire assemblage bowed to his wishes.

‘You may put me down now,’ she whispered, ashamed of her outburst but not regretting it. ‘I am calm.’

‘Are you hurt?’ he asked her.

‘Only because I could not save Phoebe beforehand.’

‘Tonight or another night, it would have happened eventually. Her dowry is too large to prevent such things.’

Meanwhile, Phoebe’s father stepped forward. ‘I believe that is the end of this evening’s entertainment.’ He pointed to Lord Jasper’s nearest compatriots. ‘Take that rubbish away. And be sure that your names will be remembered. Bankers are in close community with barristers,’ he drawled. ‘Your families will find credit hard to come by. Not to mention legal assistance.’

Grace had no understanding of what that meant, but she could see satisfaction cross the Duke’s face. Also a flinch as he looked at Phoebe and her mother.

‘You should take her home,’ the Duke said to Mrs Gray. ‘I will see that the ballroom is managed.’

The lady agreed and started ushering Phoebe to the door. But then she stopped, turning back to face him. ‘Grace is supposed to stay with us tonight.’

‘I will see her safely home,’ the Duke said.

Lord Domac stepped to her opposite side. ‘That will not help her reputation any more than this has.’

‘A maid,’ Grace said, looking at the woman who had helped Phoebe. The woman stood at the edge of the ballroom with a satisfied smile on her lips. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Not at all, miss.’

And so it was decided. While Phoebe’s parents took her home, the servants and the Duke supervised the clearing of the ballroom. Grace didn’t see what became of Lord Jasper. Honestly, some part of her hoped he’d die from his injuries, though she feared that would bring further harm to her. The death of a nobleman, whether English or Chinese, always drew a penalty.

But she had no time to worry about that now. All her attention was occupied with learning how to end a ball. And once that was accomplished she settled beside the maid into a dark, intimate carriage with the Duke. She stretched out her feet and sighed. How lovely to finally sit.

But all too soon the darkness closed in, and she was deeply aware of the Duke seated across from her. Especially when he spoke gently into the darkness.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘I was not hurt at all.’

‘Was Miss Gray badly injured?’

Meaning was she raped?

‘No. She was frightened, and it was a great disappointment for her come-out ball. She was so excited when the night began.’

‘Large dowries always bring out the worst. Truly, I am ashamed of my fellow men.’

‘I expect she will be better prepared in the future.’

He was silent for a long moment, and then he spoke again, his voice rough. ‘I have never seen anyone fight as you did.’

She all but rolled her eyes. ‘Your women need to learn how to defend themselves.’

‘We have women who fight. Bare-knuckle punching, even, and people bet on the outcome.’ He shook his head. ‘What you did was different. That style of fighting...’ There was awe in his voice. ‘I have never seen the like before.’

That was not surprising. It was a style taught only by the monks to other monks. Except at her temple, where the children were allowed to learn it as a means of self-defence.

‘The monk who taught me is the same one who believes a mixed-race child deserves a full life as much as anyone else. He said I was not worthless, but that I would need to defend my worth often.’

‘That is a wise man.’

Did he sound surprised? ‘Do you believe the Chinese are all savages?’ Her face twisted into a grimace. ‘I would not blame you. They believe you whites are all apes.’

‘I believe that men do terrible things. We allow our worst impulses to rule. Lord Jasper is one terrible example, and Cedric gambles with people, using blackmail to meet his needs. And I have such feelings,’ he said, his tone achingly hollow. ‘It seems that every moment in my life is aimed at controlling my temper. Every choice, every breath, is governed by that need.’

She frowned. ‘But I was the one who lost control tonight. You stopped me.’

He nodded. ‘Righteous fury is understandable. And he deserved everything he got.’

Grace took a moment to think, seeing something she had not understood before. The Duke obviously damned himself for every display of temper, but he forgave her.

‘How is what I did different from your fight with Cedric?’ she asked. ‘You thought he was hurting me.’

The Duke turned away, his gaze focused somewhere outside the carriage. ‘I could have killed Cedric.’

‘I could have killed Lord Jasper. We both needed each other to stop.’

He looked back at her, and when he spoke his voice was barely audible. ‘You are astounding,’ he said. ‘How can you forgive me? I was a beast against Cedric.’

‘How can you forgive me ?’

He had no answer, and neither did she. It would seem they both had the same fault in an explosive temper. That might be disastrous. Or else they could be good checks, one upon the other, keeping each other in line.

‘I think,’ she said finally, ‘that we are just people. Arrogant and small, powerful and weak, all thrown together in a very large world where we manage to hurt one another.’

‘That is a very dark statement.’

‘But,’ she continued, ‘we can choose to help each other. Stop the worst, encourage the best.’

‘Some of us do. Some of us try very hard to be better.’

He was referring to himself, and she respected him for it.

‘Have you taught your women to fight?’ she asked.

He snorted. ‘My mother doesn’t need any more weapons. She’s dangerous enough. And the others have never asked.’

She let that hang in the silence, uncertain how to respond until the maid sitting beside her spoke up.

‘I should like to learn, miss. Unless I’m too old.’

Grace turned to her. ‘All ages can learn.’

‘I saw what you did to him. We all did. And I have a daughter, miss. A right pretty one. She needs to learn.’

‘Yes,’ Grace agreed. ‘She does.’

But before she could say more, they had arrived at her father’s home. The carriage stopped and the Duke’s servant quickly opened the door, leaving no time to plan.

‘I give you leave to contact me,’ she said to the maid. ‘My sister can teach you as well. If your daughter is pretty, then there is no time to waste.’ She squeezed the woman’s hand. ‘And even if she is not.’

Then she allowed the Duke to help her out of the carriage. He walked her to the door, his steps slow.

‘That is kind of you,’ he said quietly. ‘But it will not endear you to the ton .’

‘Do you think that was ever a possibility? Even before tonight’s events?’

He sighed. ‘Probably not. But you are notorious now.’

She wondered what that meant, but there was no time to ask.

He squeezed her hand. ‘Which room is yours?’

‘What?’

‘What bedroom is yours? Light a candle in it so that I know you are safely within.’

‘Do you fear I will be attacked in my own home?’

‘No, but I wish to be sure.’

It made no sense. She was safe in her father’s home. And yet she appreciated the sweetness of his worry.

‘My room is at the back. You will not see it from the street. But I will light a candle in the parlour there, before I see my father.’ She pointed to the parlour window.

He nodded, then lifted her hand to his lips. It was a courtly gesture, one that was foreign to her eyes, and yet it thrilled her nonetheless. That glow was in his eyes, luminescent in the moonlight as he bent over her hand. He did not look down even as he kissed her glove.

She gazed at him, feeling a tightness in her belly. Was that yearning? Desire? She didn’t have a word for this feeling. In a life dominated by fear, this was something altogether different and she relished it.

He straightened from his bow, but he did not break the connection of their gazes. And so they looked at one another, saying nothing, and yet she felt so much. A tingle in her breasts. A dryness on her lips. An ache between her thighs.

This was desire, and it felt wonderful. Sharp, hungry, and so exciting. She understood now why people sought it so fiercely. And when he straightened up she abruptly twisted her hand, gripping his wrist.

He froze, his eyes dark in the shadow, but the air was filled with need. Hers? His? She didn’t know. But her heart was fluttering, and her body ached for him.

‘Grace,’ he whispered.

‘Yes.’

She didn’t say it as a question. It was an answer to the question he hadn’t asked and the desire she couldn’t voice.

He leaned closer, without touching her, his body large and the shadows dark. He was shielding her from view while his breath grew short.

‘A kiss?’ he asked.

She could barely hear him over the beating of her heart.

‘Yes, please.’

How bold she was. She had run all her life from sex, knowing it was dangerous. And yet here she was, begging him for it. She was begging him. And he was not going to refuse.

He didn’t take the kiss. Instead, he touched her cheek, his glove warm and soft as he caressed her. A finger slipped below her jaw, and she lifted her face to his. Already her lips were parted. Already they tingled with awareness.

His thumb brushed across her lower lip and she felt heat in its wake. Was it always like this? Did his body tingle as hers did? Did he feel as if he would die if their mouths didn’t touch?

He leaned forward, the air between them narrowing until their breath mingled. His was sweet. Hers was hot.

Then it happened. He touched his lips to hers.

They were clever as they moved across hers. That was what she thought. What a clever mouth he had, teasing hers as she stretched for him, nipping against her flesh before soothing it with his tongue. How clever of him to delight so easily. Just his mouth and his tongue, and she was desperate for more.

She stepped forward, pushed up against his chest and angled her head. She wanted more. She needed to feel more. He matched her, wrapping an arm around her back as he tugged her high against him. She arched her back and he thrust his tongue inside.

The dance they shared now was overwhelming. Tongues parrying as they stroked across and around each other. And all the while he thrust in and out of her mouth while she clutched at his coat. She wanted to climb higher on his body, she wanted to surrender completely to his kiss, but she knew that it was too dangerous to continue.

Too much! Too fast! And altogether too exciting for her to stop.

Thank Heaven that he did. Thank the Divine that he ended it with a slow withdrawal. She had not the strength. Indeed, as he set her back onto her feet she wondered if her knees would support her.

‘This is dangerous,’ he whispered.

‘I know.’

‘I do not regret it,’ he confessed.

‘Neither do I.’

They stood there, slowly disentangling their bodies. They were on her front step. It might be in shadow, but it was not safe.

She stepped back, banging into the front door. He stepped back too, a proper gentleman once again. And then they heard footsteps.

By the time the door was opened they stood in proper distance from one another.

‘Miss Grace!’ the footman said. Then his eyes widened. ‘Your Grace!’ he said as he fumbled with a bow.

‘Good evening, Samuel,’ she said as she turned away from the Duke. ‘How is my father?’

‘Resting comfortably, miss.’

‘Thank you.’

She didn’t look back, though her whole body tingled with awareness of where the Duke stood. She entered the house, taking the candle from the footman’s hand. And then, finally, she turned around.

‘Goodnight, Your Grace.’ She kept her tone level, or she tried to, but there was a hesitancy in her voice. Or perhaps it was a yearning that seemed to echo in his gaze. ‘Thank you for escorting me home.’

‘It was my pleasure,’ he said as he bowed.

How could words be felt physically? As if he were caressing her with his voice? Madness... And yet she relished every sensation even as she dipped into a shallow curtsey and firmly shut the door.

Meanwhile, Samuel stifled a yawn. ‘The house is abed, miss. Your father said you wouldn’t come back tonight.’

‘There was an incident at the ball,’ she said as she crossed into the parlour. ‘I had to come home.’

She set a candle in the window, pausing as she watched the Duke return to his carriage. Such a large man. Normally, she disliked men of such imposing size. She was often frightened of someone so physically powerful. But not of him. Instead of fear, she felt longing. She wanted to be surrounded by him, protected by him, and...and more.

She waited there at the parlour window until the Duke’s carriage pulled away. It was as though her body strained to be with him, lingered over the thought of him, wanted...

Well, what she wanted was obvious. She understood carnal desire. There had been a time when she had been fascinated by it, talking to older girls about what they did and why. She’d even spent time with the prostitutes who had come to the temple. She’d wanted to understand, and they had wanted to explain.

But it hadn’t been long before she’d decided to forego that nonsense, to learn navigation from the old sailor with milky white eyes. She’d thought the whole business of copulation something too fraught with danger for her to pursue. Even when she’d developed breasts and begun to feel attraction, she’d ruthlessly suppressed the urge.

Too dangerous. Too tricky. She would not risk her survival on something as unmanageable as passion.

Until now, when her place in her father’s affection was secure, and when an English mandarin—of all people—spoke to her with respect while hunger burned in his eyes. Now she thought about it. Now she yearned for it.

Could she risk it? What folly! And yet as she headed for her bed he remained in her thoughts and in the tingles that still teased her body.