Page 42 of Her Ruse with the Rakish Duke
The long corridor, lit by gas lamps hanging from high ceilings ended at a gorgeous mahogany double door. He stood aside for her to enter, thoroughly enjoying her playfully annoyed expression.
“This is beautiful…”
“Indeed,” Victor agreed.
Harry was not particularly lavish, but when it came to his private theater, the family had spared no expense. He knew that Harry had also spent a small fortune recently to renovate it, in expectation of this gathering.
It was an intimate luxurious space, with a small stage and an ornate proscenium arch. The walls were adorned with ruby velvet curtains, which were lined with a gold trim. The seats, arranged in a circular form, were cushioned and comfortable.
The arrangement of the gas lamps, along the walls and on the high ceiling, cast a warm, cozy glow on the guests as they took their seats. Victor felt an excited jump in his body as he led Daphne to a secluded booth, reserved for him.
She swept her dress aside to enter the narrow door, then stopped and asked, “Here?”
“Only the best for you. The best view in the house.”
The lighting could not hide the faint blush on her cheeks.
“Nonsense.”
She took the farthest seat and he sat beside her. The closest people to them were three seats away. There was a small wooden screen separating them from the crowd.
“He built this place for his parents and other executive guests that could come calling. There are others, but I reserved this one for us. The seats are newer, and the cushions are thicker.”
“All right, I appreciate it.” She brought her palms together and gave him an imploring look. “Thank you, Your Grace, for this great thoughtfulness; who else is like you in this world?”
Victor laughed at her comical expression and the sarcastic praise. The performance was yet to start and he was already entertained.
“Your parents and Melanie just arrived. There,” Victor pointed. “You can relax now.”
“Iwasrelaxed.”
“Then why do you keep looking toward the door?”
“Maybe I want an escape. I am next to a wolf. I should fear being devoured.”
Victor made his grin wolfish by widening his lips and narrowing his eyes, “You are in trouble, Lady Daphne,” he drawled, directing his gaze to her lips.
She covered her mouth and broke their gaze, facing the stage. “Look,” her voice came out as a rasp. “The troupe is here.”
He was drawn to the sharpness of her jawline. The elegance in her posture as she attempted to ignore him. Her hands were folded on her lap, the right resting on the left.
“Daphne, why have you not asked me about the past?” he asked softly.
It was as though time stopped between the time he blurted out that stupid question, and when she turned. His heart thudded, whether in regret or expectation, he did not know. However, he could not take another breath.
Her eyes widened for a few seconds, then she returned her attention to the small stage, “I do not understand.”
Victor exhaled. She was right. Like him, she was unwilling to revisit something that could not be resolved. She had probably heard stories about him. The lies and the truths. All of which culminated in this barely concealed scorn she bore for him.
In a way, now that he knew her more, he was riled by that scorn. He hated that she, along with the others, drew conclusions about his character based on his family.
His father had debased their name so much that even the title did not garner much respect. And a person like Farton could almost spit in his face. The little reputation he had managed to build back up would take years to be rooted in people’s hearts.
Then again, Percy was right. He could not guarantee that Daphne’s happiness would not be extinguished if she stayed with him.
He had heard stories about the early days of his parent’s marriage. His father had been besotted; his mother doting on him. The darkness seeped in through repressed resentments, scathing remarks, and finally, hands that sought to injure.
His father would often remark that he was not a caged animal and would never succumb to lying with only one woman. His mother’s insistence on making him good only resulted in episodes of black rage. He would then leave home for weeks at a time, gallivanting across the country.
