Page 114 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
Kit raised her chin, held her father’s gaze, and continued to play.
Good Christ,but she was magnificent.
Thorne had almost burst into laughter when he’d seen Kit’s defiant stare as she’d stepped onto the dais, challenging him to make a fuss about her choice of attire. As if he would! As if he would questionanyof her choices,ever!
Besides, it just made the performance all the more riveting.
How often would the people in this room be able to say they’d seen a virtuoso play? And if thatmaestrowas a gorgeous woman dressed impeccably as a man, but without any attemptto hide her femininity? This was like something from a burlesque show, only far more elegant.
He wished he could turn around and see the expressions behind him, but he had to be satisfied knowing the whispers had died away.
Aye, Kit’s talent was convincing Society she was magnificent, no matter what she wore.
“You know,” whispered the woman at his side, “if you continue to look at her like that, no one will doubt your relationship with Miss Pastorino.”
Grinning, Thorne glanced to his right. “I’ve asked the lass to marry me.” He kept his voice at barely above a breath, not wanting to distract from Kit’s performance…or allow her father to hear.
Beside him, Her Royal Highness, the Princess Louise, Marchioness of Lorne raised a surprised brow. “Really? You would marry someone who looks almost as good as you do in a pair of trousers?”
He fought a chuckle. “Only if I can convince her to agree.”
She kept her attention on the dais and Kit, but he saw her gaze turn speculative as she wondered why Kithadn’tagreed.
Thorne wondered if he would have to explain his folly to one of the Queen’s children before he’d had a chance to explain his reasoning toKit.
Princess Louise had demanded her involvement be kept a secret until this evening, so not even Thorne’s co-conspirators could know her identity. With her husband, heir to the Duke of Argyll, recently returned from his position as viceroy in Canada, most of Britain assumed she was busy reconnecting with her family and friends.
Thorne was one of the few who was aware of exactly howextensiveher list of friends actually was, and how she used them. The Princess Louise was an ardent feminist, a talented artist, and a powerful force for good when it came to her country.It was one of the reasons why—for the first time since the sixteenth century—a royal princess had been allowed to marry one of her subjects instead of a foreign prince.
The Queen knew what a benefit this particular daughter was to her country.
Her Royal Highness, the Princess Louise was a beautiful and formidable woman, and Thorne knew he was lucky to consider her a friend. Or, perhaps more accurately, she consideredhiman informant.
Tonight,shewould be the one to finally bring Blackrose to justice. With her presence as part of the trap, there’d be no doubt that the bastard was guilty.
Remembering the shocked looks on Rourke’s and Griffin’s faces as he’d introduced Her Royal Highness as their Crown contact, Thorne had to grin. It was rare Rourke showedanyemotion, but even that was less satisfying than the way Demon had scowled, spun on his heel, and stomped away, causing the princess to chuckle demurely.
“How disappointing,” she’d said delicately. “I had been so looking forward to being regaled by the Duke of Lickwick’s creative language in person.”
Aye, that moment alone had made the evening a success, as far as Thorne was concerned. But he was rather looking forward to introducing her to Blackrose, and watching the man squirm as he wondered if Thorne had already turned over the evidence.
“Can I assume, Stroken,” the Princess now murmured at his side, “that Miss Pastorino’s choice of attire has a purpose in tonight’s venture?”
Thorne leaned closer, just in case Blackrose was listening. “I’m hoping so, Your Highness. If nothing else it’ll keep her father angry, which is what we need.”
Princess Louise nodded once in understanding, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Aye, she was a handy person to know.
Thorne resisted the urge to lean forward and glance at Blackrose. It was tempting to stick out his tongue, or do something else childish, as if to sayNeener neener I’m still alive, ye arsehole.
His head pounded and his stomach churned, but Thorne felt morealivetonight than he ever had. He had a reason to feel that way: the music caressing his skin, wrapping him in its warmth and vitality…and the woman playing it.
Kit moved effortlessly between the pieces, not even allowing the audience a chance to applaud. Most of what she played were pieces she’d memorized, pieces she’d played for him. But her last selection was one of his favorites, one of the pieces from his folio he’d gifted her.
And Thorne felt as if she were playing just for him.
Aye, Kit was remarkable, and he loved her. She wasn’t who he’d imagined loving, not when he’d thought about his life…she was better. She was smart and funny and strong and brave, just like the honeysuckle flower.
