Page 24 of A Virgin for the Forbidden Duke

“All right,” Agnes said softly, her eyes scanning their peaceful surroundings, devoid of prying eyes. There were no other people around.

“Why don’t we sit down over there?” Matthew suggested.

She sat down on one of the benches, and Matthew joined her. “How did you know I wanted to leave that place?” she asked, despite being grateful that he had saved her from the boredom in the ballroom.

She knew he was watching her closely, but she still wanted to hear it from him.

“Well, you looked so terribly bored, standing there in your gown,” Matthew remarked, a hint of a smile gracing his face as he locked eyes with her.

Agnes chuckled, the honesty in his observation resonating with her. “You have a talent for reading people,” she remarked, a playful glint in her eyes.

Matthew’s smile widened. “Perhaps, but it’s only because I’ve spent my fair share of time navigating these social gatherings. I can tell when someone would rather be anywhere else.”

Their hands remained intertwined, and Agnes found comfort in the warmth of Matthew’s presence. The night seemed to stretch before them, a canvas for unspoken words and shared moments.

“So,” Matthew began, his tone turning more earnest. “Tell me, Miss Agnes, what do you wish for when you find yourself trapped in these elaborate affairs?”

Agnes pondered for a moment, the moonlight casting a gentle glow on her features. “Authenticity,” she replied, her voice carrying a depth of longing. “I wish for conversations that go beyond the superficial, connections that feel genuine.”

A thoughtful expression crossed Matthew’s face. “A desire for authenticity in a world that often thrives on artifice. I can understand that,” he mused. “And what brings you authenticity, Miss Agnes? What moments make you forget the rigidity of societal expectations?”

Agnes met Matthew’s gaze, her eyes reflecting a blend of sincerity and contemplation. “Authenticity, for me, resides in the moments where I can be true to myself and connect on a level beyond societal expectations,” she replied, her words measured and thoughtful.

A soft breeze rustled the leaves around them as she continued, “I find authenticity in genuine conversations, where words flow freely and hearts are open. It’s the laughter shared with kindred spirits, the feeling of being truly understood.” She paused, a faint smile gracing her lips. “And in those stolen moments, when societal norms fade away, and you can be present in the simplicity of a genuine connection.”

Agnes had always longed for something beyond what was supposed to be the norm. She had wanted that connection with anyone, like the ones she read about in books, and now it seemed to her that she had found this in Matthew. And it scared her a bit.

Agnes glanced at Matthew, her gaze unwavering. “These are the moments that make the rigidity of our world bearable, don’t you think?”

Matthew nodded, his eyes holding a depth of understanding. “Indeed, Miss Agnes. In a world filled with expectations, those moments of authenticity become like precious jewels—rare and invaluable.”

In the secluded corner of the moonlit garden, Agnes could feel the weight of the evening’s formality slowly lifting. Matthew’s presence, strong and enigmatic, seemed to cast a spell over their secret rendezvous. As Agnes looked into his eyes, a mixture of thrill and trepidation danced in her veins.

Matthew, ever the provocateur, flashed a mischievous grin. “Do you believe in the magic of the moonlight, Miss Agnes?” he asked, his voice a low whisper that stirred the air around them.

Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Agnes couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Magic, Your Grace? In moonlight? Isn’t that a bit whimsical for someone of your station?” she teased, her eyes sparkling with a newfound lightness.

Matthew’s laughter, deep and resonant, echoed in the quiet garden. “Whimsy, my dear Miss Agnes, is the spice of life. And tonight, under the watchful eye of the moon, anything is possible.”

“Your Grace, what is it that you seek in the moonlight’s magic?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the mysterious gleam in his.

Matthew’s gaze held a secret, a flicker of vulnerability that captivated Agnes. “Perhaps, Miss Agnes, I seek the same thing you do—a moment of respite from the expectations that bind us. A chance to be genuine in a world that thrives on facades.”

Agnes felt a resonance with his words, a shared yearning for authenticity.

Under the bewitching moonlight, Agnes found herself drawn into a captivating conversation with Matthew. She began to discern the man behind the polished facade of the Duke of Huntington.

Matthew’s laughter, like a melody in the night, resonated with a richness that hinted at hidden complexities. Agnes observed the way his eyes sparkled with intelligence, catching the moon’s shimmer. The lines etched on his face captivated her attention.

She couldn’t help but admire how Matthew navigated the delicate balance between wit and sincerity. His charm, though undeniable, held a genuine warmth that made her feel a growing connection.

Matthew, a twinkle in his eyes, began, “Miss Agnes, if you were to partake in a grand soirée, what would be your ideal diversion?”

Agnes considered the question, her gaze drifting toward the moonlit horizon. “I would envision a delightful game of whist, accompanied by the sweet melodies of a string quartet. The genteel atmosphere of a refined card game has a certain allure, don’t you think?”

Matthew chuckled. “Ah, the elegant dance of cards, a pastime favored by many. Yet, my dear Miss Agnes, I must confess, I find myself drawn to the thrill of a masquerade. The mystery concealed behind masks adds an enchanting layer to the festivities.”

Agnes’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “A masquerade, you say? How scandalous!” She chuckled.

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