Page 18 of A Virgin for the Duke of Thorns

Phoebe was right—she did not need to think too much about the music she was creating. She could simply pound away at the pianoforte and let out all the confusion and anxiety she felt.

She would drown out his intense stare, or the way his lips curled into a smile that was pure male arrogance. With the loud racket, she would overwhelm her own senses so that she did not have to dwell on how he made her feel with a mere touch.

She had already started to lose herself in the music—her own terribly warped version of it—when one of the maids politely cleared her throat, calling her wild performance to a screeching halt.

“My Ladies,” the maid stammered, “I apologize for interrupting, but we have callers.”

“Callers?”

Phoebe’s eyes lit up, but Alice could only narrow hers in suspicion even as her heart began to flutter in her chest. Her sister was yet to make her bow, and she herself had not had any callers. Not since the last Season, much to her mama’s unending despair.

She lifted her gaze from the keys and sucked in a deep breath when she saw precisely who their callers were.

Standing in the doorway to their parlor with a smug smile on his handsome face was none other than Colin Fitzroy, the Duke of Blackthorn.

And he had brought a companion with him.

CHAPTER 7

“It would seem that your betrothed is terrible at the pianoforte.”

That was an understatement. Lady Alice Barkley was not just “terrible” at the pianoforte, she should never have been allowed near one.

Colin merely smiled and tipped his head closer to his friend to whisper, “It is a good thing, then, that I am not really marrying her.”

He kept his voice low so that the maid who accompanied them to the parlor would not hear them both. He knew well enough how rumors spread all over London—the servants were the hidden eyes and ears in the walls.

Yet, in spite of her horrid playing, he could not tear his eyes away from the young lady seated before the pianoforte, her face a curious mix of irritation and surprise. The light of the afternoon sun streaming through the open windows made her seem as if she were painted in gold. Her eyes, brilliant as emeralds, were regarding him with wariness.

My little lamb appears to be feeling a little cross today.

“Your Graces!” he heard a woman gasp.

Colin turned his gaze to a handsome woman who appeared to be in her fifth decade. Her dark hair was very similar in shade and texture to Alice’s, save for several streaks of gray. They had the same lips, too, although he thought that her eldest daughter’s were simply more beautiful.

“Lady Brandon.” Ethan bowed, ever the picture of the perfect gentleman. He subtly nudged Colin with his elbow, who managed to hastily sketch a respectful bow before the lady of the house.

“Please, please… do come inside, and make yourselves comfortable.” The Marchioness happily ushered them into the parlor.

Both men allowed the flustered lady to guide them into the parlor. As he took his seat, Colin managed to catch Alice’s disapproving gaze and merely smiled at her in return.

“These are my daughters. The eldest one is Alice—” Lady Brandon gestured towards her eldest daughter. “And the youngest, Phoebe, who is to make her bow this Season.”

Alice regarded them both with a regal nod, while Phoebe curtsied politely.

“Dears, this is the Duke of Blackthorn and the Duke of Sinclair.”

Ethan’s smile grew wider, and Colin had to subtly nudge him in a silent reminder to not get any ideas with his betrothed or her sister.

“We apologize for calling on you unannounced, Lady Brandon,” Colin addressed her courteously. “It was not our intention to inconvenience you.”

“Oh, it is certainly no inconvenience, Your Grace.” Lady Brandon smiled pleasantly at him, pausing to shoot a pointed glare at her daughters to compose themselves at once.

The effect was almost immediate, with the younger girl immediately straightening up, adopting the demeanor of the perfect, gently bred young miss of the ton.

Her older sister, however, continued to simply glare at him.

“I do admit that we are caught by surprise at your visit,” the Marchioness continued. “You must forgive us.”

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