Page 3 of A Bride for the Rakish Duke

Lydia stared at her sister, smarting at the mild betrayal.

“Youwerequiet, dearest. You were positively a recluse until that governess came along,” Emma insisted, offering the kind of smile reserved for dimwitted children. “I am only saying it as an example. You are not like that now, of course.”

Joanna joined in with the condescending smile. “It must be so difficult to navigate Society these days. It is not as it was when we were searching for husbands. Everyone seems so much… younger, do they not?”

Lydia resisted the urge to roll her eyes, holding her tongue back from telling Joanna that she was behaving as if she were Eliza’s age, and not nearing thirty. This was another issue whenEliza’s Duchessesall got together—they treated Lydia as if she were an infant who knew nothing of the world, while she was certain that she had read about things they could not even begin to imagine.

“I am going to the powder room,” Lydia said brightly. “I will not be long. Might I bring anyone any refreshments on my way back?”

By rights, a chaperone should have gone with her, but she knew that the four women would not be separated while they were in the middle of such talk. They would allow her a morsel of freedom, so they could continue to discuss the merits and disadvantages of sending their own darlings away to be educated.

Emma hesitated. “Do you know the way?”

“Certainly, I do.”

Emma’s brow furrowed, clearly conflicted, but Lydia had accounted for that.

“I have just seen Lady Danielle and her mother heading in that direction. If I delay any longer, I shall miss them,” she urged.

Her older sister relaxed and waved a hand. “Hurry along, then. And hurry back.”

Lydia did not need to be told twice, slipping away from the Duchesses and into the heat of the crowd, hoping that her gown—so similar to everyone else’s—would be enough to give her a longer stretch of freedom.

If her sister and the others could not find her, they could not scold her, and when shedidreturn, she could simply say she got lost among all the near-identical masks.

Rabbits, peacocks, and deer seemed to be the most popular choices, and the Duchesses were following the fashion—two peacocks, one rabbit, one deer. Who wouldnotget lost trying to find their companions again?

Excitement bubbled like champagne in her chest as she weaved through the other guests, trying to avoid tripping on the trailing skirts of the ladies, lowering her gaze as she passed the gentlemen.

Shedidknow the way, but she was not joining Lady Danielle and her mother, nor was she going to the powder room. There was another room in the manor house that called to her, and she could not visit any unfamiliar house without investigating it thoroughly.

Libraries held secrets, and one could tell a lot about a person by what they had on their bookshelves.

She found it with ease and glanced around fleetingly before turning the handle, nudging the door with her shoulder and sneaking inside. Clicking the door back into place gave her a giddy thrill, intensified by the scent and sight of so many glorious books.

She was alone, the beautiful, expansive room empty and shrouded in partial darkness. The fireplace cast a faint glow on the first few bookcases while dim lanterns marked a pathway through the stacks, as if the Lord and Lady of this manor had only vaguely considered that some guests might want to look through the library.

Now and then in her library searches, she happened upon a fellow wallflower seeking a hideaway or something she should not have seen, but more often than not, she could investigate at her leisure.

“Let me get my paws on you,” she whispered delightedly, pushing her cat mask off her face.

She approached the first bookcases with a reverence that others reserved for cathedrals, tracing her fingertips along the spines, feeling the embossed lettering of every tome. She withdrew a few, blowing the fine layer of dust from their covers before restoring them to their places.

Not keen readers here,she judged, and moved down between the stacks, following that mystical path of lanterns. On rare occasions, in households where it was obvious no one bothered with their library, she wouldborrowa book as revenge for all those unloved pages. Tonight felt like one such occasion, as long as she could find the perfect book for her collection.

A red spine caught her eye, sticking out of a row. The gold lettering was muted and partially scratched away, as though someone had wanted to keep its identity a secret.

“What have we here?” she whispered, heart racing as she pulled the book from the shelf and opened it to the title page. “Oh… how naughty. How delicious.”

Banned since 1749, long before Lydia was born, it just happened to be a book that she had been desperate to get her hands on:Fanny Hill, or Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure,by John Cleland. And, by the looks of it, both installments were bound in one cover.

She was just wondering how on earth she was going to sneak it out of the library and the manor itself when she heard the door open. Fear snaked up through her feet, rooting her to the spot, her heart lurching into her throat. If she was caught with that book in her hand, she did not know how she would explain herself.

Slowly… slowly put it back… and hide until they are gone.

She achieved the first part, slotting the book back into place, when another sound chilled her to the bone—theclickof a key turning in the lock, trapping her inside. With whom? She prayed they were just lovers seeking some privacy.

But the footfalls that echoed in her ears were singular. Heavy. Male.

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