Page 91 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
“Likely for the best,” Thorne muttered, turning away to pace once more.
“And Betty and Other Betty were delighted to help, despite having no experience as lady’s maids. I believe they were just pleased to be allowed out of the kitchen for the evening.” When Thorne glanced at him, Titsworth smiled. “I told you, Your Grace, the staff is loyal and glad you have found happiness.”
Thorne muttered, “Have I?” and resisted the urge to run his hand through his hair. After all, it had been difficult enough to get it to lay correctly without help. “I’ve never had to get dressed for a ball by myself.”
“And you did a splendid job, Your Grace.” Thorne shot his butler a suspicious glance, but Titsworth was beaming innocently.Tooinnocently. “I took the liberty of examining Your Grace’s buttons, and they all appear to be evenly matched, and your shoes are only a tad scuffed.”
Thorne was glancing at his feet before he realized the butler was teasing him. “I’m no’completelyuseless. I managed the fiddly bits myself.”
“Oh, bravo, Your Grace.”
“Look, does a man of yer age have anything better he could be doing? Soaking yer feet? Resting yer back? How’s yer lumbago?”
To Thorne’s surprise, Titsworth—despite his usual attempts to appear older—didn’t jump on the opportunity to complain about his age. Instead, his eyes softened a bit around the edges.
“You will do splendidly this evening, Thorne.”
Thorne blinked, his jaw dropping just slightly. Titsworth had been with him for years, and had rarely called him anything other thanMy Lord, up until he’d inherited Stroken. For the last six months, the butler haddelightedin tossing “Your Graces” in every other breath.
The way the man was smiling now, you’d think he was Thorne’s father, amused at a lad’s first time escorting a lady.
“Ye think I dinnae ken that?” Thorne straightened, yanking on his waistcoat once more. “Of course tonight will go splendidly.”
No matter if it was Kit’s first appearance in Society.
No matter if it was her first time confronting her father.
No matter if it was his first time seeing her dressed as a woman.
Any of those would be terrifying enough. But Thorne was afraid he was in very real danger of blurting something romantic and idiotic the moment he saw her.
Something likeI love ye, lass, orBe my wife.
Again.
Tonight he’d appear at a ball with aMystery Womanon his arm. He might introduce her as the daughter of the noted soprano Gloria Pastorino, but only three people present would know her true identity: Thorne, Kit, and Blackrose himself.
And the whispers would start. She would be lovely, she would be graceful, and she would be on a duke’s arm. None of the match-making mamas of Society would be able to look at her and think he couldpossiblybe interested in their daughters; not with the way he was looking at Kit.
Like a man in love.
She was going to save him, and he was using her.Again.
In the days since Kit had met her cousins and they’d decided on the plan to trap her father, the two of them had discussed the nuances at length. In between speaking of their pasts and—very carefully—their plans for the future, Thorne had found himself remembering all the foolish things he’d dreamed of as a child; a loving wife, a house filled with laughter…children.
She’d held him between her rather perfect breasts and assured him he’d have all those things, one day.
And then he’d spilled inside her, again and again, defying God tomake her the mother of those children.
He was playing with fire, and although he was terrifiedKitwould be the one to be burned, couldn’t seem to stop himself.
And now, worse of all, the scheme depended on Kit revealing her parentage, and so the carefully planned conversation Thorne had intended about what he had found—the marriage certificate, that her illegitimacy wasn’t true…that had to wait.
It burned within him, but he had to follow the plan. Griffin, Fawkes, Demon, Rourke, their wives and children…they were depending on him. On Kit. On the woman he loved.
“Your Grace, when one escorts a young lady to a ball, I believe it is customary to present her with a trinket of your affection.”
Thorne wheeled on Titsworth. “A what?”
