Page 4 of Trapped with the Beastly Duke

She was trying to think of how to capitalize on the moment when a sudden hush followed by a rush of whispers swept across the ballroom. Even the orchestra seemed caught up in it, leaving a number of dancers caught in a discordant pause. Curious, she turned her head towards the cause of such a reaction.

Whatever can have caused such disturbance?

“Announcing Lady Olivia Rokesby, accompanied by Her Grace the Dowager Duchess of Emberly, and His Grace the Duke of Emberly,” a voice rang out into the ballroom.

Three figures entered the ballroom. A pretty girl who Rose guessed was around eighteen. She was tall, with striking black hair and brown eyes. She was the youthful version of the woman behind her. Both women had kind, warm smiles and wore elegant but simple dresses, yet Rose knew that few would spare a thought for them.

Everyone’s attention was on the even taller man who towered over everyone in the ballroom. He had midnight black hair that was swept away from his face and high cheekbones. His jaw was striking, so sharp that Rose thought one could cut glass with it.

He would be handsome if he were not so frightening.

His face seemed cold and distant, and the scar that split his right eyebrow in two ran across his face down to his upper lip, only adding to the severity of his countenance.

Only Lady Cotswalts’s coaching prevented Rose from gasping aloud. Beside her, Miss Carstairs sucked in a breath and whispered, “Oh thisisinteresting.”

“Indeed, it is,” Rose answered without thinking.

Has anyone seen the Duke since he inherited his title?

Miss Carstairs murmured, “I have always wanted to see the man who killed his father for his title.”

Rose swallowed. Of course, she had heard the rumors. Everyone had.

Eight years ago, the previous Duke of Emberly had died, and his son had inherited his title. It was common knowledge that the former Duke had not died of natural causes.

Could it be that I’m staring at a murderer?

And if she was, why couldn’t she look away?

Chapter Two

The Beast Of Emberly

Alexander Rokesby, the Duke of Emberly, was not the kind of man who was known to fall victim to persuasion, especially if the request went against his own wishes and better judgment. For most of his life, he sought to be as unbending and as unyielding as steel. Yet, even he had his weaknesses.

Such as an inability to refuse even the most foolish of requests from those I hold dear to me.

Balls and other such social engagements had never held any sort of appeal for him, even before his life had changed nearly eight years ago. Flashes of memory came to the forefront of his mind. The flash of steel. Someone screaming. Blood. So much blood.The cold, unseeing eyes of a dead man.

No, I will not think of that night. Not now.

He shook his head, forcing himself to return to the present moment.

Yet, there was little comfort to be found. As soon as he had entered the ballroom with his sister and mother, the whisperingand staring had started. Of course, some had the decency to not gape openly, but they were few. Most stared, whispering to their companions. A few were so ill-raised that they pointed at him.

I will not lose my temper. I will not. These people are of little importance. Their pettiness will not cow me. I have no need for their good opinion.

He glanced at his younger sister, Olivia, who was holding his arm. Of his four siblings, she was the closest to him both in age and in bond. She stared around the room, her head held high, smiling at the gossipmongers with such genuine warmth and affection that Alexander swore he could see some of their hearts thaw.

My little Olive, how like you to cut through the ice in a room. These people should only have eyes for you, yet their attention is focused on your monster of a brother.

Olivia caught his eye and squeezed his hand. “Thank you for coming with me, Brother dearest. I do not think I could have done this alone.”

“You would have had Mother. I’m sure that would have been sufficient.” Alexander inclined his head towards their mother.

Olivia had inherited her disarming smile from their mother, and Alexander could not help but think that if the two women had come alone, then there would be less whispering and pointing.

What kind of man am I that I cannot even protect them from such petty unpleasantness as this?