Page 56 of The Duke's Stolen Heart
Chapter 20
She hadn’t dared to darken the Duke of Havencrest’s door. No matter that she had left behind her winnings at the Dowager Duchess of Summervale’s. Having been caught lying about her identity to the most powerful women in England, Antonia had run to the one place she knew she would be safe. Her cold bolt-hole. She had used a bit of coin to send him a message via an errand boy. Waiting for his response gave her time to prepare. A tight hard knot had formed beneath her solar plexus.
For the first time since her day in the pillory, Antonia felt humiliated.
Now everyone she had spent months befriending knew she had been a fraud all along.
It had been one thing to pretend she was above the frosty stares and social climbing when she was in the midst. Having lost it, though, Antonia realized that what she had most enjoyed about her time with the aristocracy was the feeling of belonging. It would take her years to rebuild that—if she ever could. After tonight, she was leaving. The pieces were in place for her to adopt a man’s identity. Forget ever sitting in a friend’s room exchanging innocuous secrets. Antonia thought of Margaret. Her eyes stung as she packed her gowns into a small trunk to be tossed into the river. Such a waste of fabric. What a misuse of her life.
There was no going back now.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Somberly, still garbed in the gown she had worn to play cards, Antonia answered it. “Welcome, Malcolm.”
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Hot tears threatened to fall. Antonia blinked them back. “I have delivered everything we agreed upon.” She held up the glinting halves of the necklace for which she had risked so much. Low lamp light reflected from the winking red gems seared her eyes, even when their image blurred with the salt of unshed tears. “The money.”
Theirs had always been a nakedly economic relationship. More the fool, she, to pretend for even a moment that it could have been anything more.
No, the Heart’s Cry curse remained intact. They had not broken it.
Havencrest cradled the heart-shaped gem in his palms. It must be a trick of the light, but Antonia imagined for the briefest moment that it pulsed with life. He explored the back, finding the cleverly hidden catches that joined the heart-shaped top half to the teardrop lower section. Together, they spanned five full inches of wealth and heartache.
“Your money is here. I have one final request.” Havencrest’s voice cracked on the last word. He swallowed visibly before continuing. “Would you wear the Heart’s Cry for a few minutes?”
Unbidden, Antonia’s chin bobbed assent. “Yes,” she whispered. Why was she granting him this one final favor? Every second she remained in London put her further at risk.
“I wish… I need to make a sketch. I had hoped to have the miniature repaired, but without a model and the original necklace, there was no way…” Havencrest trailed off. By now, Antonia recognized his embarrassment when she saw it.
“This was never about owning the gem, was it?” she asked softly. Probing wounds to find their depth was a delicate endeavor, and one she had little practice with.
“No.” Havencrest’s breath puffed as he held it out to her.
Silently, Antonia accepted the gift. Havencrest rose in a fluid motion and moved to her back. She lifted her hair with one hand to let him latch the clasp of the first necklace about her neck. It took him two tries. The tremble of his hands against her nape sent a strange feeling along her nerves that became a somber ache in the pit of her stomach. The slide of rough hair and blunt fingers beneath her palms made Antonia shiver. Cold metal grazed her neck. It warmed quickly against her skin. Antonia dropped her hair.
“Beautiful,” Havencrest whispered.
Antonia felt it. A second later, he offered matching earrings. Antonia carefully plucked them from their velvet-lined box. “My ears are not pierced,” she said apologetically.
“It’s all right. These are not the originals anyway. I can add the detail later. The necklace is all I need,” Havencrest replied quickly as if trying to dust away the awkwardness of this strange ritual.
“Let me have the bracelet.”
He held it out, and Antonia slid the bauble over her wrist.
She rose up, channeling her mother’s weary dignity. Though it was for an audience of one, this felt like the most important role Antonia had ever performed.
“I need you to sit. There.” Havencrest’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Antonia obeyed. She settled into the chair Havencrest indicated. Her silk skirts whispered secrets. Soon they would be replaced with woolen trousers. With deception. A woman with money was suspect. A man with money was wealthy and powerful. Antonia had no delusions as to which future held better prospects. She could pass through the world as herself, and all it would cost her was her femininity. Her womanhood. Although her body would be the same beneath the layers of linen and wool she would use to hide her form, the thought that this was the last time in her life when a man would look on her body with worship in his eyes cracked her heart.
His pencils scribbled over paper as she sat in silence.
Look at me,Antonia begged. A glance up. He sighed and made a modest adjustment to a line. Havencrest’s eyebrows knit and furrowed up and down. He sighed, cast the paper aside, and started afresh. Antonia remained rigid. Her back ached, but she dared not stretch or shift position. A painful itch began to throb above her right ear. Havencrest’s intent gaze flickered between her and the paper, so Antonia quelled the urge to scratch until the feeling faded.
But as hard as he looked at her form, Havencrest’s focus was on the past. Antonia permitted herself a sigh of frustration.
“One more minute,” he muttered. “I am almost done.” Lead scratched furiously over paper. Antonia’s back screamed for release.
