Page 9 of A Virgin for the Forbidden Duke

Just as she was about to take her first step, an older woman’s voice called out from the entrance of the garden, “Agnes! Agnes, where are you, my dear? I told you not to wander off during outings such as this, you mischievous girl!”

Agnes, who had been about to leave, froze in her tracks, her heart racing as she contemplated her next move.

No, no, not now, she had not gotten herself together, she could not meet her mother yet!

Before she could think twice, she turned back to Matthew, her blue eyes wide with a mixture of fear and urgency. In a hushed tone, she rushed back toward him, gathering her gown at her ankles.

She pressed a delicate finger to her lips as she shushed him. “Hush, please, Sir.”

Huh?

Matthew couldn’t help but be intrigued and concerned for the lady as he watched her reaction to the older woman’s call.

Who was the woman to her? Why was she so scared?

He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned down to her. “What is it, Madam? Why the sudden urgency?”

The lady only continued to motion for silence, her eyes darting around as she assessed their surroundings. “My mother is looking for me. I dare not let her find me here with you. Please, Sir, hide me.”

His curiosity piqued, he decided to comply with her request. He really was having so much unexpected fun.

He guided her toward a nearby shrubbery, gently parting the leaves to provide her with a concealed spot. “You are safe here. I shall do my best to divert your mother’s attention, should she approach.”

With a grateful nod, the lady hurriedly hid herself among the leaves, and Matthew took a step away from the shrubbery, ready to face the older woman who had called for her.

He stood guard and innocent, waiting for the woman to approach him. And when she finally turned the corner, Matthew froze.

CHAPTER3

Agnes’s heart raced as she sprinted away, her breath coming in quick gasps. “Oh, heavens,”she muttered under her breath as she darted behind a trellis adorned with ivy. Her body had reacted before her mind could fully comprehend the situation.

She knew that her mother was on the hunt, likely searching for her. The thought of being discovered with a man, alone, was enough to make her stomach churn.

Agnes crouched down, hidden from view, and prayed that she wouldn’t be found. Her mother’s voice echoed through the garden, calling her name, and she could feel the urgency in those calls.

As the footsteps approached, Agnes couldn’t help but wonder how she had ended up in this predicament. She had never imagined that a chance encounter with a stranger in the garden would lead to such a desperate escape. Her mind raced, contemplating the consequences if she were caught.

Amid the rustling leaves and the distant hum of the ballroom, Agnes waited in anxious silence, hoping to evade her mother’s relentless search. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, and she mentally berated herself for letting curiosity lead her to this clandestine encounter.

For a moment, her mother’s voice stopped nearby, and Agnes strained to listen, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Well, Your Grace, have you seen a young lady around here?” Mary inquired, addressing the man with the deference his title deserved. Her tone was laced with anger, not politeness, and held a hint of impatience.

Your Grace? No wonder he felt so intimidating.

The man responded, his voice like a crisp, biting wind, “No lady has come outside, Lady Young. Perhaps she is still within the manor.”

Agnes was taken aback, both shocked and impressed by his audacity. It was a stark contrast to her mother’s usual interactions with the ton, and she couldn’t help but wonder about the nature of their conversation. She felt a strange sense of intrigue and curiosity about the man who had dared to challenge her mother.

As Mary finally departed, her steps receding into the distance, Agnes remained in her crouched position, trying to calm her racing heart. The encounter had left her both intrigued and bewildered, and she knew she needed to find out more about this daring individual.

Agnes tried to steal another glance through the leaves, determined to catch a glimpse of what transpired. But just as she did, the foliage suddenly parted, and her eyes met those of the man from earlier. He was taller and more imposing up close, his gaze penetrating, and she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of embarrassment.

“Are you okay down there, Miss…” the man inquired, still staring down at her.

“Agnes Pilton.”

The man’s lips curled into a half-smile, and he replied, “Matthew Fitzroy, the Duke of Huntington.”

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