Page 5 of An Innocent Maid for the Duke
A sound of soft humming brought him to a halt outside the ladies’ dressing room. He frowned. The girls should all be gone by now. They were certainly not supposed to entertain gentlemen here. There were rooms on the top floor set aside for such frolics. Rooms equipped with costumes and toys for every taste.
He donned his mask and opened the door a fraction, enough to see in but not be seen until he could figure out what was going on.
A petite woman in a glittering red mask was singing to herself, her scarlet gown swirling around her shapely ankles as she twirled in front of the mirrors, each one giving a different reflection of a gown moulded to every curve of a sinuously lush body moving in time to her humming. The smile on her parted lips was not the forced smile of a courtesan, nor that of a jaded widow, or yet the hopeful smile of a debutante anxious to please a duke. This smile was pure delight. Enjoyment.
Her joy at the simple act of dancing spilled over with an infectious feeling of lightness that unaccountably lifted his spirits. He found his own lips curving upwards in response. Even more surprising, he found himself wanting to be the one to waltz her around the room.
* * *
A movement in the shadows caught the corner of Rose’s eye. She turned and gasped. It was him! The Duke. Though he was wearing his usual mask, she would know him anywhere by his height and breadth and commanding presence. By his dark stubbled jaw and firm chin. By his lovely mouth.
Too many times had she stopped to admire him as he passed her at her work. Of all the owners of the club he was the only one who had caught her attention in that way. He was impossibly handsome, but coldly unapproachable. A proper duke.
Or how one assumed a duke to be.
Not that she would ever mention that she knew who he was. No names were ever spoken. House rules.
Despite his lofty position, something about him had struck her as sad. As if some deep sorrow weighed him down and made her want to offer comfort. A foolish fancy. Someone of her lowly station had nothing to offer a man such as he.
But how often she had dreamed of feeling those strong arms curl around her while she laid her head on his chest. The very idea of it made her feel strangely weak.
Never before had she felt such a powerful attraction, despite knowing better than to get tangled up with a man. Fortunately, he was nothing more than a fantasy. A man who marched through her dreams like a knight in shining armour. As long as she kept him there, in her dreams, she was safe.
But this was no dream. The crushing realisation pressed down on her shoulders. She should not be here. It was against the rules. She glanced around for an escape route. But he was between her and the door and approaching slowly, his bright blue gaze fixed on her face.
His expression did not reflect anger. Indeed, the warmth of his smile, with a glimpse of white teeth, charmed her into remaining still. She released a breath she had not realised she was holding. A sigh really. Of appreciation.
His smile broadened and he bowed. ‘I beg your pardon, my lady. I did not mean to startle you.’
My lady? Her heart fluttered strangely. If only she were his lady. She placed her hand below her throat and shook her head. ‘Merely surprised.’
She’d responded with the careful diction she’d taught herself from listening to those of the upper classes as she moved unseen among them, cleaning grates and scrubbing floors.
‘I have interrupted you,’ he said, cocking his head to the side in question.
‘Foolishness,’ she said, peeping up at him. Heavens, he was taller than she had thought and broader. And so much more handsome close up. She could scarcely breathe and yet somehow the scent of his cologne filled her lungs and made her feel strangely dizzy. ‘I should go.’
‘Not before you give me the honour of a dance, surely?’ His voice had deepened. His eyes, which had always seemed coldly reserved as he went about the business of the club, were bright, sparkling with mischief.
Dance? With a duke? ‘I cannot,’ she choked out.
He chuckled, low and deep. ‘You certainly can. You waltz as beautifully as you hum.’
Heat rushed up from the neckline of the shocking gown, for now with his gaze upon her, she felt almost naked. Flirting. A duke was flirting with her and every particle in her body wanted to allow it. Nay, wanted to encourage it.
Wanton. Like your mother.
She must say no. But it would never happen again, this chance to dance with the man who haunted her dreams. When she was about her work, he never noticed her underfoot. None of the gentry did. They weren’t supposed to. She had long ago realised it saved both the served and the server embarrassment.
What harm would one dance do? This was the first time she had seen the man smile since she started working here. If it would bring him a measure of happiness, and her, too, why not? It would certainly be something for her to dream about for the rest of her life and perhaps tell her grandchildren at some long-distant time in the future.
The night their old granny danced with a duke. The idea of that dream of a family made her smile.
‘You know you want to,’ he said, holding out a hand.
A moment later, she was in his arms.
* * *
