Page 14 of Taken By the Broken Duke
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Duke smiled, and Juliet felt certain he meant to comfort her. Guilt twisted in her chest. This man seemed every inch the gentleman. Holding himself with restraint despite countless opportunities to do otherwise. He seemed to go out of his way to keep a proper distance between them—a distance she found herself wishing he would abandon.
There was no doubt of his handsomeness now that he had removed the mask. Silken brown hair fell to his shoulders, swept back to frame high cheekbones and pale blue eyes, clear and luminous. A strong jaw and aquiline nose gave him the bearing of a nobleman, a figure worthy of ancient Rome. Juliet found herself aware of his rigid body in a way that she had not been before.
Sitting next to her, she felt dwarfed by him. It was frightening, his height and breadth. His sheer maleness—physical and inescapable. It reinforced to Juliet the power of self-control hewielded. Such a man could overpower her in a moment. She would be helpless before such strength.
But… he did not.
How could she ever have thought this man capable of assaulting a woman, of forcing himself on her? No sooner had she thought that than she reminded herself that she did not know him. Either now or then. His magnetism was such that she had to keep reminding herself to maintain her guard.
A knock came at the door and Juliet jumped. She realized that she had been staring into the Duke’s eyes, lost to reason and perfectly content. He, too, jumped, his startlement carrying him to his feet and a few steps away from Juliet.
“Come!” he said, loudly.
The door opened to admit a servant.
“A pot of tea with honey at once,” the Duke rapped out an order.
The maid curtsied and left the room, closing the door behind her.
“I am sorry to put you through such trouble,” Juliet said.
“Not at all. I am only sorry that you felt so unwell at my ball. It is important to me that my guests enjoy themselves.”
Juliet frowned, looking up at him. “Yet you leave them to their own devices,” she said before considering what she was saying.
The Duke smiled. “I admire and enjoy your directness, Miss Fothering. Yes, I want very much for the Ravenscourt Ball to be talked of positively, but have little stomach for the duty of socializing. I only wish I could delegate the task.”
Juliet pondered his words for a moment, then said, “Youcould. Employ a man to wear a mask and pretend to be you.”
The Duke opened his mouth to reply but stopped short. He sank back onto the settee beside her, his gaze fixed not on her, but somewhere beyond. Juliet studied the sharp, arresting planes of his face, illuminated solely by the flickering candlelight. Her pulse quickened, her breath shallow as she forced her hands to remain clasped in her lap, her knees pressed primly together—to appear demure and ladylike.
In reality, she felt wanton and wild. Whatever thought she had put into his head, he was now considering it and was quite taken with it. She had not been completely serious and wondered if he was giving it serious thought.
“Of course, it would have to be a man unknown to the ton,” the Duke said slowly.
His eyes met hers, and Juliet felt her heart stutter to a halt. She forced herself to breathe, praying the rapid cadence of her breaths wasn’t as loud to him as it seemed to her own ears. Heat crept up her neck as his icy gaze lingered, unrelenting,drawing her in. Though a few feet separated them, she could catch the faint trace of his cologne—warm and woodsy, with a subtle, musky edge. It was intoxicating, a perfect echo of him. Her fingers twitched in her lap as a dangerous desire unfurled within her.
For one reckless moment, she imagined herself leaning closer, breathing him in, her eyes drifting shut.
“You have given me much to think about, Miss Fothering. A manner to satisfy my obligations to my House and avoid mixing with those I would rather avoid.”
“I should be glad to show you the countryside around Wetherby then. It is rather wild but very beautiful. And replete with wildlife,” Juliet said out of character and somewhat breathlessly.
A faint smile tugged on the Duke’s lips. “As you may have noticed from my own home, I prefer the wilds to the horticulture of mankind. I should very much like that, I think.”
Juliet returned his smile shyly, tearing her eyes from his, feeling as though she had been staring into them for too long. This was a dream. No, a fairytale. A story such as her mother would tell her when she was a little girl. Stories of princesses rescued from wicked stepmothers by a handsome and noble prince.
She had not been rescued, not forever. Just for this evening. And he was not a prince. But a handsome Duke was as welcome.
For a fleeting moment, Juliet wondered if she might simply savor this man’s company and conversation for the rest of the evening. If no one noticed her absence or cared enough to seek her out, what harm could it cause? Her aunt and uncle surely hadn’t spared her a thought. Cousin Frances would be too preoccupied with dancing to notice her disappearance, and as for Cousin Edith—well, Edith might miss her, but she could be trusted to keep silent.
The tea arrived soon after, and the Duke made a cup for her, applying honey liberally. Juliet sipped at it and found it immediately reviving. Archie was safe and her symptoms were receding, the terrible weakness that swept over her for the moment vanquished. Despite her ruse, the night was progressing rather splendidly.
“Would you like to see something of the castle?” the Duke asked when she had finished her cup, “If you are well enough, of course.”
“I think so,” Juliet smiled. “Yes, I should love to see the castle. Truthfully, I might take a tour of Mayfair too if it delayed my returning to the ball. It is not an occasion at which I feel my best.”
