Page 2 of A Bride for the Rakish Duke

“Jealous?” She laughed. “Not in the slightest. It would be your loss, not mine.”

Her nonchalance was fuel to the fire of his craving, her confidence and her lack of desperation utterly intoxicating. He fully believed that if he did not continue to pursue her, shewouldfind someone else, and that was something he could not permit.

“Is this what you do?” he said slyly. “Speak of things then disappear and never act on them?”

“Why not come to the library and find out?” she replied, pushing away from the garden door. “Twenty minutes, if you can bear to wait.”

He watched her walk by him but did not reply. They both knew he would go to the library in twenty minutes, as they both knew that she would be there waiting. They could have gone there right that moment, but that would do nothing to raise the anticipation and the mutual thrill of their eventual reward.

So, it came as something of a surprise when, not five minutes later, as he made his slow way through the maze of hallways to the meeting point, he saw a figure in that same shade of pink sneak into the library.

“You would not understand, dearest Lydia,” Joanna Bolt, the Duchess of Bruxton, said for at least the tenth time, her voice carrying a faint note of condescension.

Lydia Bennet stifled a yawn. “No, I suppose I would not. It all sounds very dull if you ask me.”

“I have no doubt, but whenyouare married, you will find interest in such things.” Joanna smiled, and Lydia tried to remind herself that the older woman likely meant well. She was never deliberately patronizing.

In truth, Lydia could not remember what it was that Joanna, her sister Nancy, their cousin Marina, and Lydia’s sister, Emma, had been talking about. Something to do with choosing governesses or taking regular walks with one’s husband to maintain a good relationship. Or that might have been the previous discussion; it all blended into one wheneverEliza’s Duchesses, as they were collectively known, were all together.

Lydia adored her sister, Emma, and all the friends they had made through their godmother, Eliza. In smaller divisions, Lydia reveled in their company, but something strange happened whenever all four gathered, plus her, that made the conversation so very boring. They transformed from interesting, amusing, vibrant women to just wives and mothers, forgetting the rest of their complex layers entirely.

“It is impossible to find good tutors,” Nancy said. “Adam has suggested sending Alexander to the Charterhouse School, to prepare him for Eton, but I do not know if I could bear to send him away so soon. I am more inclined to send him to the local grammar school or to have him educated at home.”

“If you lived closer, you could share Bernard and Angel’s tutors. They are all exceptional,” Joanna replied.

Emma shuddered. “I feel fortunate to only have daughters. I could not dream of sending my children away. It would break my heart.”

“Jasper says I am too soft-hearted,” Marina agreed, the women’s words becoming a low, unintelligible drone in Lydia’s ears as her attention wandered to the amusements of the ballroom.

In a trance, she watched couples in the midst of a country dance, lamenting that she had only caught a glimpse of the earlier waltzing. She had never seen waltzing before, considering how frowned upon it was. But being a masquerade ball, there were certain things that were moretolerated, for everyone was hidden behind their disguises.

She glanced over the dancers, her attention snared by two people on the far side of the ballroom. They were standing a polite distance apart, but it was obvious that they were whispering to one another; it was written on the sneaky smiles that graced their faces.

The lady had evidently fashioned her costume after the French aristocracy; the bodice tight, the skirts excessive, the sleeves edged with frilly lace, the bosom bordering on scandalous, the pink brocade fabric absolutely breathtaking. Then again, a reasonable majority of the ladies present were wearing something similar, using the ball as an excuse to show off their figures.

Lydia, herself, wore a more modest version.

The gentleman, however, was the one who held Lydia’s fascination, standing out like a diamond among coal. He was dressed like a swashbuckler in a flowing white shirt and no cravat, his collar daringly open to just below the notch at the base of his throat.

He wore a waistcoat, unbuttoned, and had a saber at his side and a leather tricorn hat on his head. Meanwhile, his trousers were astonishingly tight, a red sash around his waist drawing the eye downward, and his boots up to the knee in the military hessian style.

Silky, dark hair curled out from beneath the hat, but it was impossible to see the color of his eyes from that distance. Nevertheless, Lydia imagined that they might be a summer blue or a warm gold, matching one of her two favorite heroes from her most beloved—and most secret—novels.

A pirate or a fox? A fox pirate?

She could not quite tell what his mask was supposed to be.

Whatever he had come to the ball as, she found herself wishing that she might be in that other lady’s place, feeling the full measure of his attention. What manner of a smile would he coax on her face if he whispered sweet nothings to her? What would she do to hide the blush on her cheeks? How would she fan herself to appear mysterious yet tempting?

What is the matter with you?

She hurriedly shook away the notion, embarrassed by how wayward her imagination could be sometimes. Those were thoughts that needed to be kept in the library and in the pages of her most treasured books. They were not for real life.

Besides, the lady whohadcaptured the fox-pirate’s attention appeared to be everything that Lydia was not: she was confident, beautiful, at ease in the company of handsome gentlemen, and certainly not turning a worrisome shade of raspberry red because he had spoken to her.

Lydia knew she would have been purple by now if shewerein that lady’s place. And she would be utterly frozen, silent as a tomb, shyness locking her tongue and her personality up tight.

“Lydia had a very encouraging governess,” Emma said, the sound of her name bringing Lydia out of her daydreaming. “She was terribly quiet as a child. Mama and Father both worried she might be mute. That governess was a blessing, though I believe she got married and does not educate anymore.”

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