Page 25 of My Dark Duke

“My hair is not yet dry,” Lillian replied, tugging at it nervously. “Do you think His Grace will mind me with wet hair?”

“His Grace can wait,” Polly said, firmly. “I’ll not have you developing an ear ache on his behalf. Keep brushing it out and I shall go and tell his highness that he may wait.”

Lillian did as she was bid and by the time Polly had returned her hair was almost dry.

“We’ll dress you first,” Polly decided, “then brush it out a bit more when we’re done.”

In the dressing room, Polly kept up a stream of chatter as she helped Lillian into the evening gown they had purchased earlier. She then brushed out Lillian’s hair several more times, until it was bone-dry, before arranging it into a loose bun.

“You’re pretty as a picture,” Polly assured her, as she pulled a few tendrils of hair out, in order to frame Lillian’s face.

“Thank you,” she answered, surprised her voice did not crack, for she was filled with nerves.

“He’s in the drawing room,” Polly added, as she cleaned the dresser. “Maud left a tray of tea.”

Lillian nodded, whispered her thanks again, then slipped from the room.

As she made her way downstairs, a strange urge to flee overcame her.

Would Thorncastle expect to claim her maidenhead this very evening? As enjoyable as last night had been, she was not certain she was ready to lie with the duke. Though, when she thought on it some more, she was even less certain she had a choice in the matter.

He said he would not force you, Lillian reminded herself, as she hesitated outside the door to the drawing room. The duke was many things - intimidating, demanding, and overbearing - but she did not think him a liar.

Her nerves slightly settled, she rapped her knuckles upon the door, and was greeted by an amused bid to enter.

“You do not need to knock in your own house, my dear,” Thorncastle called.

He sat in the Queen Ann chair by the fireplace, his long legs crossed, and a glass of what she assumed to be brandy in his hand. As she entered, he rose to stand, and caught a glimpse of her in her new attire.

“What have we here?” he asked, his eyes traversing her from top to toe.

“Do you not like it?” she asked, for his expression was rather troubled.

There was a moment of silence, before he broke into a rueful smile.

“You would not be out of place at Almack’s with the season’s debutantes,” he replied. “Tell me again your age?”

It was Lillian’s turn now to hesitate, as she struggled to recall what age she had given at their disastrous first meeting.

“Five and twenty,” she replied, after a pause, her tone sounding more like she was trying to hazard a guess, rather than state a fact.

“Indeed.”

Thorncastle’s dark eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, though he made no further comment. He gestured to the Queen Ann he had stood from - the most comfortable chair in the room - and bid her sit.

“Polly tells me you visited Bond Street,” he said, as he took the seat opposite.

“We did.” Lillian nodded her head. “Thank you for your generosity, it is too much.”

Thorncastle frowned, obviously annoyed.

“I do not wish for your thanks, Miss Smith,” he replied, his expression troubled. He was clearly agitated, for he sprang from his seat and began to pace the room.

Lillian remained in her seat, her eyes unable to resist following his tall form. She had glimpsed something of his body last night - his strong shoulders, broad chest, and gently muscled abdomen - and she was struck by a wish to see him again in that state of undress.

“Do you play the pianoforte, Miss Smith?” the duke questioned, spinning around on his heel to face her.

“A little,” Lillian admitted. “Though I am far from accomplished.”

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