Page 17 of Not the Duke's Virgin

When the Duke spoke again, his tone was lethal in its softness. “I know not what sort of viper Oliver has become. But if you think to assist in his schemes and come out unscathed, you are gravely mistaken.”

CHAPTER5

The strains of the orchestra faded as Victoria slipped through the French doors and onto the moonlit veranda, desperate for a respite from the cloying heat and scrutiny of the ballroom. Wrapping her arms around herself against the slight chill, she moved to lean heavily against the balustrade, head bowed as she tried to calm her rioting emotions.

The Duke’s cruel insinuations during their dance still rang in her ears. He was utterly convinced of her duplicity and sinister motives. And though she told herself his poor opinion ought not to matter, in truth it cut deeply.

“Get a hold of yourself,” she muttered, dashing away the tears pricking her eyes.

Crying would help nothing. She had no choice but to bear the Duke’s disdain for now, until she could find a way to reveal the real truth. If she could but make him understand why she allowed Oliver to put her in this compromising position…

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her roiling thoughts. Alarm ripped through her as she caught sight of a large, masculine figure striding purposefully toward her across the veranda. It could only be the Duke.

In a panic, Victoria darted behind a topiary planter, pressing herself into the shadows. She was in no fit state for another confrontation. Heart pounding, she watched from her hiding spot as the Duke halted at the railing, withdrawing a thin cheroot from his coat pocket.

Shielding the end with one broad hand, he struck a match and breathed the cheroot to life in a bloom of fragrant smoke. He seemed oblivious to her presence. But as Victoria cautiously shifted to retreat inside, his deep voice broke the silence.

“I know you are there. Come out where I can see you.”

Victoria froze, cursing inwardly. How on earth had he sensed her? Stiffening her spine, she stepped out from behind the topiary planter, head held high in a show of bravado she did not feel.

The Duke’s piercing gaze fixed unerringly on her. “Lady Victoria,” he said blandly, as though her hiding from him was the most natural thing in the world. “I thought I detected a hint of jasmine perfume.”

He glanced pointedly at the delicate blossoms wound through her coiffure. Victoria barely resisted the urge to rip them out of her hair. Drat it all, she should have realized they would give her away!

Clearing her throat, she approached the railing, taking care not to stray too close to the Duke. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I did not mean to… intrude upon your solitude.”

He regarded her silently through a veil of smoke. “Think nothing of it,” he said at last, tone bored. “I was merely… admiring the moonlight.”

Victoria got the distinct feeling he was mocking her. She bristled, forgetting her caution. “As was I. It is rather warmer in the ballroom than I prefer.”

“Hmm.” The Duke leaned casually back against the railing. “Well, do carry on admiring. Don’t let my presence disturb you.”

Victoria eyed him warily. Was this some ploy to goad her into another reckless outburst? She remained stubbornly silent.

After a moment, the Duke spoke again, his voice deceptively idle. “Tell me, does my brother know you are out here, unchaperoned with another gentleman?”

Victoria stiffened. “I fail to see how that is any concern of yours.”

The Duke shrugged. “Merely an observation. Some men can be rather… possessive… of their betrotheds’ attentions.” He shot her an assessing glance. “But then again, perhaps decorum is irrelevant in a match made because of mutual greed.”

Victoria sucked in an outraged breath. Even knowing it was likely calculated to provoke a response, the insult still stung.

“I see you have made up your mind to despise me, Your Grace,” she said sharply. “I imagine nothing I say could change your opinion, so I won’t waste my breath trying.”

She made to sweep past him in a huff, but quicker than a snake, his hand shot out to grasp her wrist, halting her retreat. Victoria froze, pulse leaping.

“Let go of me,” she hissed, trying vainly to pull free. But his grip was strong.

“Not just yet.” The Duke studied her coldly, all pretense of indifference gone. “I find myself curious, Lady Victoria. Why do you persist in this farce with my brother when you so clearly detest his attentions?”

Victoria faltered. “I never said?—”

“You did not have to.” The Duke’s eyes bored into hers. “I am no fool. I saw your poorly veiled dislike of Oliver’s fawning tonight. It rather contradicts your claim of affection for him.” His lip curled derisively. “So I ask again, what is your purpose in this scheme of his?”

When she remained mulishly silent, he leaned closer, until she could feel the heat of his breath on her upturned face. “Come now. We both know you are no lovesick ingénue. What is Oliver blackmailing you with?”

Victoria froze. He did not know—could not know—and yet his words came dangerously, perilously close to the truth. Too close.

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