Page 113 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
And she owed it to Thorne.
Hell. This line of thinking is making it difficult to stay mad at him.
Bull left her at the door when he popped through to signal to Thorne that they were ready. Kit heard him step onto the small dais and begin to speak.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank ye for joining us this evening. Your Highness, ye honor our small gathering, and I ken ye’ll fall in love with the music as I have. Bonkinbone, I’m delighted to have ye here to see yer beloved daughter’s talent.”
Kit closed her eyes on a silent groan. So her father was out there, as they’d hoped. And Thorne, who’d narrowly cheated death last night, was almost certainly wearing a small bandage, a charming grin, and not nearly enough armor.
You can do this. Hold Father’s attention, and he won’t expect the trap.
Yes.
Yes, she could do this.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the door to applause, the sound sweeping over her the way it always did when she performed with Mother.
Of course, as Kit stepped head held high onto the dais, the applause faded, replaced by confused whispers and pointed stares at her attire. She ignored them all and settled her violin under her chin.
She closed her eyes, centered herself, and dragged the bow across the strings.
The music…the music was everything.
She’d chosen an old favorite to begin, Mozart’sAdagio in E. She didn’t require sheet music for this, which allowed her the freedom to justfeel. But after a few minutes, the whispers quieted, Kit opened her eyes.
The audience watched her, rapt.
Kitknewshe was good, but it was…gratifyingto see their expressions of surprise and wonder.
There was Bull and his father, standing along the back.Griffin was scowling, which Kit had learned was normal for him, but Bull beamed, the lamplight catching on whatever it was he twiddled in his fingers down by his side.
Georgia was gorgeous in a dark pink gown, hair piled atop her head in an elegant manner. She was smiling proudly at Kit, her hand clasped by her husband, who slunk low in his seat with a fierce frown. Demon occasionally tugged at his neckcloth, leaving no doubt what caused his disgruntled attitude.
Beside Georgia sat a lovely blonde woman, who would occasionally lean over to whisper something. The man at her side wore a haughty and imperious expression, as if he rarely smiled—or even scowled. But his arm was thrown over the blonde’s chair possessively. This, then, must be Rourke and Sophia, the Duke and Duchess of Exingham.
Fawkes and Ellie sat a few rows up, with Ellie occasionally sending Kit a little wave of her fingers when Kit glanced at her. The vote of confidence—despite her outrageous appearance—warmed Kit’s heart.
At her side sat a woman in purple, whose curves were enhanced by the fact she was at least six months pregnant. Her eyes sparkled happily as she clutched the hand of the man beside her. He was tremendous—tall and broad—and despite her occasional whisper, he didn’t respond at all. Kit recognized them by description as Olivia and Alistair, the Duke and Duchess of Effinghell.
There were others present, of course, people she didn’t know and couldn’t recognize. Her gaze traveled across them all, searching faces. Thorne had addressed one of the princes, hadn’t he? Or another representative of the Crown?
Thorne himself was seated in the front row. His reaction to her choice in clothing had been surprise which had quickly turned to a grin. Yes, he was wearing a bandage as ordered—starkly white against his golden hair—but smaller than the oneshe’d unwrapped this afternoon. And he wore it like a badge of honor, a fashion accessory.
Kit wouldn’t be surprised if all of London’s dandies began to accessorize with bandages soon.
Besides the bandage, he wore an easy grin as he sat a few seats from the man who’d tried to kill him last night, an elegantly dressed lady in her late thirties at his side.
The woman wore jewels worth a small country’s annual potato budget and a politely disinterested expression. Father, on the other hand…
Kit’s father glared at her, his anger evident to anyone who cared to see it. No, not anger…hatred. That was hate spitting from Father’s eyes, hate and disgust.
He thinks you foiled his plans at marrying the Stallings girl. He thinks you were one step ahead of him, forcing him to attend tonight.
Yes, well, let him think that.
It was better for everyone, better forThorne, if her father thought her responsible. Thought her a mastermind like him, who’d just outthought him.
Even if the truth was far less flattering.
