Page 70 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
“It’s a line fromTwelfth Night.Shakespeare?” Kit absentmindedly ran her fingers over the delicate teal embroidery of the waistcoat, which did nothing to help calm her nerves. “It just means sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.”
“Darling, there’s a bit of truth in all fiction,” Bull drawled, fluttering his fan, “and a bit of fiction in all truths. That’s what makes life exciting. And stop fussing.” He snapped the fan closed, smacked her shoulder, and lowered his voice. “Ye look magnificent, and ye cannae afford to stand out as uncomfortable inour natural surroundings.”
The last was a reminder that they were supposed to be apair of siblings from the same level of Society as the guests around them. To be fair, Kit and Bullwerechildren of an earl and a duke, respectively…just from the wrong side of the blanket, as it were.
And if the people attending the Bonkinbone betrothal ball discovered that, or that they were planning to rob their host, they’d be in trouble.
Kit swallowed and lowered her hand from the silk waistcoat, which admittedlywasmagnificent. In a short amount of time, Bull had managed a full set of evening dress for her, subtle and beautifully made, with only a hint of the threatened teal in the embroidery of the waistcoat.
But forhimself…
To be fair, she’d seen the outrageous way Bull preferred to dress normally, and tonight he was far more subdued. He was, however, dressed rather differently than he did on a daily basis.
He was, not to beat about the bush, wearing a gown.
Granted, it was a beautiful gown, in a shade of pale aqua which went well with his coloring, his figure maintained and partially created by elaborate corsetry Kit herself had never worn. Bull went in where he normally went out, and rather moreoutin the bust region than the lad had ever expected in his life.
Kit wondered if he knew someone like Evie to ask for help in this department, because while it was common to see men dressed as women on stage, Kit had never seen a costume quite so effective.
She herself had visited the theater district to acquire the false hair braided into Bull’s natural auburn hair, agreeing that the two of them had hair a similar enough color to pass as siblings. Years of helping Mother with her hair meant that Kit had been the obvious choice to sit with Bull for almost two hours today, styling and pinning his elegant coiffure into place.
“Titsworth, I dinnae ken how ladies can stand such torture,”the lad had groused, as the stone-faced butler delivered them tea. “Have ye ever seen anything so ridiculous?”
To Kit’s surprise, the butler had stepped back and seemed to truly examine Bull in the mirror. Then Titsworth’s gaze traveled to Kit’s hair—the curls waving free around her shoulders the way Thorne liked them, signaling her femininity to the world.
Then the older man had sighed and gently patted his own hair, releasing a cloud of the powder he wore to make himself look older. “I suppose, young master Bull, that we must all be comfortable in how we look, no matter how uncomfortable it makes us.”
Bull had gaped at the butler’s reflection. “That is surprisingly insightful, and rather helpful, Titsworth, thank ye.”
Kit’s smile had been genuine. “Do you need help making it down the stairs, Titsworth? I worry about your aged bones.”
The older man had bowed stiffly, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Thank you, my lady, for your concern for my infirmities. I shall endeavor to persevere.” His hobble was more pronounced on the way out than the way in.
But thatmy ladyhad stuck in Kit’s mind as she returned to wrestling Bull’s disguise into place.
Thorne’s butler had been the one to hire her, albeit as a footman. There’d been no formal announcement after Thorne discovered her gender.
After all, what was there to say?“Och, by the by, inform the staff my valet actually owns a magnificent—if smallish—pair of tits, and I’m boinking her nightly. Sometimes afternoonly. Thrice on Sundays.”
It lacked a bit of panache.
But clearly Thorne’s staff had figured out Kit was a woman. A woman who had free run of the Duke’s bedchambers and study, and spent her hours in private company with the man. She called himThorneand teased him and knew his secrets.
Surely they suspected Kit was his mistress.
But Titsworth had called hermy lady. As if Kit was…morethan a half-American bastard bedmate to the Duke.
The realization made her feel both proudandlike an imposter.
It had been a disturbing realization, and she’d been in a subdued mood all afternoon. Luckily Bull had taken it as nerves, and had talked more than usual in either an attempt to reassure her or calm hisownworries.
“Ye’re going to have to do the talking,” the lad now hissed at her from behind his fan.
Kit glanced over at him. A lovely thick choker—sparkling subtly with paste jewels—cleverly hid Bull’s adam apple, but the lad was being careful to stay hidden behind his fan. The oppressive heat on the staircase as the crowd shuffled upwards helped with that.
“Why?” she murmured in return, tilting her head toward her “sister” as if Bull was particularly shy.
“My accent sounds nothing like yers.”
