Page 26 of A Deviant Spinster for the Duke
He offered out his hand, and when she placed hers in his, he raised it to his lips. The soft kiss startled her, making her realize that she was not wearing her gloves. The brush of his lips against her bare skin was the shock and delight of leaping into a cold lake in the height of summer.
He peered up at her, his lips still pressed to her skin. “As for your wit and charm—I look forward to finding it as magnificent as your beauty.” He slowly released her hand. “I am Duncan Lock, Duke of Thornhill.”
“Miss Valeria Maxwell,” she half-gasped, suddenly dizzy.
“Valeria… A name as resplendent as the lady it belongs to. I knew it would be divine,” he said in a silky voice that made her feel unmoored for a moment. “I am glad it is no longer a mystery, for I would not be able to do this if I was not introduced.”
Her breath caught. “Do what, Your Grace?”
“Ask you if you would do me the singular honor of dancing the next set with me?”
She wished she had something to fan her face with, almost forgetting that they were not really at a ball, and his flirtations were not real. They were an exercise, a lesson to help her find a husband. Yet, for an instant, she longed to dance with him. It had been so long since she had danced with anyone, and she hadneverdanced with a gentleman so… interesting.
“I would be delighted,” she hurried to say.
But instead of taking her hand and leading her into a dance, Duncan clapped his hands together, a grin spreading across his unfairly handsome face. “I do believe you now stand a chance, Miss Maxwell. That was faultless.”
He wandered away to the drinks table, pouring out two glasses of something dark. In the glow of the firelight, it shone ruby red.
“You have earned this,” he said, walking back to her, offering one of the glasses.
She pulled a face. “I told you; I do not want to imbibe.”
“Pretend I am someone you like,” he replied, irreverence dancing in his eyes as he put the glass into her hand… and moved on to the end of the room, stepping out onto the terrace.
Valeria sniffed the drink. Port. Heady and rich with a scent that reminded her of winter and far-off shores she had only visited in her wildest daydreams.
Uncertain of what to do, she made her hesitant approach to the French doors, closing her eyes as the cool breeze caressed feverish cheeks.
“You see,” Duncan said, his back to her, “this is so much better than a mere list. That would have taken no effort at all.”
She frowned at the back of his head, where his wavy hair curled at the nape of his neck. “Is it better, though?”
“What do you mean?” He glanced over his shoulder, his dark blue eyes inviting her to come closer.
“Whilst I appreciate the lesson, and Ihavelearned some things, I am still not certain I like the purpose,” she replied, staying put. To be near him was to become breathless and disoriented again, blurring the border between imagination and reality.
He laughed softly. “Marriage, you mean?”
“Not explicitly,” she countered, skirting around behind him to reach a stone bench a short distance away. “Rather, that I must do so much to attract gentlemen I am unlikely to respect, that I must do so much to separate the wheat from the chaff.”
When all I have encountered across seven years is chaff,she neglected to add, suddenly disheartened despite the success of the past few hours.
Duncan tilted his head up to the night sky. “It is like anything in life—the toil and preparation that guarantees triumph. If you want to be married, that is the cost. Unless, of course, you choose an arrangement, but that comes with its own share of difficulties. Marrying a stranger, unsure of character, temperament, etcetera.”
She eyed him, wondering what he knew of toil and preparation. As far as she could tell, he lived life like someone who had never heard of the word ‘difficulty.’ He did as he pleased, exploiting the title of ‘Duke’ however he saw fit, applying no seriousness to his behavior. What did someone who had been handed everything understand about sacrifice?
“I have not had the charmed existence you might think,” he said with a half-smile, as if he could read her mind. “That iswhyI am the way I am, but no more…”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He turned to look at her, raising his glass to his lips to sip before he spoke. “I will most likely be attending the events that you must attend to find your husband, so you shall have me close by if you need a reminder of your lessons.” He took another, deeper sip. “You see, I am also coming to the end of my liberty. Henceforth, I shall be searching for a bride.”
It was not the answer to the question she had intended; more curious about why he had apparentlynothad a charmed existence, and why that had made him the way he was. But all additional questions faded at his declaration, swept away by a bizarre sensation that sat like a rock in the center of her chest.
A pang of something she had felt before, year on year, for a very different reason: a wrench of disappointment.
She shook her head to dislodge the feeling, clearing her throat and her mind of that unwelcome clog. “May the best flirt win,” she said, a note too brightly, raising her glass.
