Page 34 of My Dark Duke

“I have never seen so many people,” Lillian confessed. “The nearest thing I have experienced is the Hopper’s Fair in Maidstone, though it’s hardly comparable.”

The words had slipped carelessly off her tongue, though if Thorncastle had noticed her mistake, he gave no sign.

“Vauxhall is a little more refined,” he agreed, then winked. “Though only a little; the Dark Walk is something else entirely.”

Lillian did not have a chance to query what carry-on happened on the Dark Walk, for a stream of waiters arrived with their fare. The placed plates of cold meats, bread, fruit, and sweetmeats upon the table - a feast fit for twelve, rather than two.

They spent an hour supping wine and sampling the plates of food which, to Lillian’s disappointment, was rather poor.

“The chefs here are notorious for their parsimony,” Thorncastle commented, as he speared a slice of ham with his fork. He held it up to the light, so that Lillian could witness how thin it was.

“I expect most people don’t come for the food,” she conceded, as she set her wine glass down. She had drank more than she had thought, for her head felt fuzzy and her face warm.

“No,” Thorncastle agreed. “They attend for the music and the festivities. Come, we can not spend the whole evening wrapped up inside, let us go explore.”

He led the way, guiding her down enchanting paths, lit by coloured lanterns and decorated with sculptures and statues. As they walked, the sound of the orchestra grew louder, until they emerged at last into a brightly lit grove. At its centre stood a towering edifice of wood, painted white and bloom colour. It was at least three stories high and at its top was an organ, its gleaming pipes reaching high into the sky.

The orchestra was playing a country tune, much to the delight of the crowd, who were enthusiastically engaged in a set dance. Thorncastle led Lillian by the hand to the makeshift dance floor, where they joined in the festivities.

It was much like the assembly in Linton, Lillian thought, as she whirled from one partner to the next - with one exception, the duke.

Thorncastle glowered at each partner Lillian was joined with, his expression one of jealousy. It was only when she was returned to him, that his brow relaxed from frowning.

“You are not keen on dancing, Your Grace?” Lillian questioned, a little breathless from exertion.

“I am not keen on watching you dance with another,” he clarified. “Let’s explore a bit further, eh?”

He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, then led her away from the bright lights of the grove. They took a different direction this time, past The Rotunda and The Triumphal Arches, to the Grand South Walk. There were many couples and groups promenading, all dressed in fine fashions of silk and satin.

Lillian noted the eyes of the ladies followed Thorncastle with admiration, before slipping toward her with barely concealed curiosity. One woman even leveled her quizzing glasses Lillian’s way, and squinted, as she tried to assess just who she was.

“The tabbies are watching,” the duke commented, as he too noted the woman. “I’m afraid it goes with the territory. As a duke, I am an object of fascination to society, which renders you one too, by association.”

Lillian said a silent prayer of thanks to Polly, for adding the veil to her headpiece. Though she did not know anyone in London, she did not wish to gain recognition as Thorncastle’s mistress.

“This way,” the duke said, as he veered off the main walk.

This path was darker and less crowded, and - according to Thorncastle - named The Lover’s Walk.

“Not quite so nefarious as The Dark Walk, but it does allow for privacy,” he added, with a grin.

“Do you intend to ravage me in an alcove, Your Grace?” Lillian teased, lightly. “Or at all? You have not yet answered my earlier question, and I’m afraid I still do not know where I stand.”

The wine had loosened her tongue, emboldening her to voice things she otherwise might not have had the courage to say. Thorncastle paused his step, his hand dropping to her waist.

He spun her around to face him, his eyes bright, despite the darkness.

“I would like nothing more than to make love to you,” he growled, his voice tense with emotion. “But, I told the truth when I said I am not capable of love; I cannot bed you, unless you understand it. If you cannot accept that, then I will see you safely back to Kent. I will make certain you are provided for, safely, away from London.”

“You would happily let me go, to return home and, perhaps, marry another?” she replied, gratified to see the flash of jealousy which crossed his face.

His hand on her waist tightened, so that his fingers dug into her flesh. His expression was one of tightly controlled rage, which should have frightened her, but instead she found it thrilling.

“I want you to remain here with me,” he finally answered. “I want you in my bed, but I do not want you to make a decision which you later regret. I cannot offer you marriage, or a child. I am afraid too, that you are too innocent to understand, I see making love as separate from love itself. I am afraid of hurting you in more ways than one; I cannot feel anything for you, apart from fondness.”

She blinked, shocked to learn he could be so removed from human emotion. That he could claim her body, without feeling anything for her beyond a remote affection.

She took a step back, trying to comprehend it.

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