“Upon my word, what made her consent to marry such a man?”
“His fortune, of course, why else?”
He was bound to a wheelchair.
And his face…
She could hardly breathe. A smooth white mask covered half his face like white porcelain. The effect was eerie and powerful.
Dear God, this could not be the duke.
Broad shoulders moved as his hands turned the wheels of his contraption, which took him to the very top of the stairs.
The champagne glass slipped from Kitty’s nerveless fingers and crashed onto the parquet floor. The horrifying sound reverberated through the stillness of the ballroom and, as if by some unseen command, the crowd parted. Her loyal friends pressed closer, and Kitty could feel their alarm. They knew the intimate details of her sinful plan and correctly perceived how calamitous the duke’s presence was to her. A few ladies lifted their fans to their faces, and sly whispers reached her.
“Look how pale she is!”
“Oh dear, why is she so shocked to see her fiancé?”
“Well, look at him!”
It struck her forcibly how momentous this occasion was. All her research indicated he had not stepped foot into a ballroom in years.
“You must go to him,” Ophelia said softly. “You must do everything to persuade him against ruin. Please, Kitty, do not run. The scandal would be unceasing if you do.”
Panic closed her throat, and fear threatened to steal her sanity. Her feet, as if they had a will of their own, crept forward, then faltered. Of course he could not descend. Instead, his gaze scanned the massive ballroom, his expression impossible to read even with the flawless male beauty not hidden by the white mask.
He was a king, surveying his domain, and she had the inexplicable awareness she had unwittingly invited a most dangerous man into society’s limelight.
Why else would he resurface now, after years of shunning the glittering world of society? Never in her wildest fantasy had she dreamed her outlandish prank would succeed on such a monumental level. For she’d had real success, if she had dragged him from the cave where he had buried himself for so long.
Dear God, what am I to do?
Taking a few bracing breaths, she squared her shoulders. There was only one thing she could do. Face him…this, whatever this was…head-on and never allow him to see how she quaked. Surely he could have her arrested and charged with fraud. Ruination and a far worse fate for her and her sisters danced into her vision.
Weaving through the still-paralyzed crowd who seemed trapped by the sheer magnetism pouring from the man on the landing, Kitty walked to the bottom of the steps, then made her way up on trembling legs. He watched her, that half mask making it impossible to ascertain the emotions that painted his expression.
The elegantly dressed manservant who stood behind the duke, his hand on the edges of the wheeled contraption the duke was sitting up straight in, seemed just as fascinated with her ascent.
She reached the top of the stairs, and the dreadful, ogling eyes of the ton were upon them.
The gaze behind the mask was dark, cold, and steady. His eyes were a brilliant, striking blue, and she couldn’t break the power of his stare. She felt like a terrified field mouse beneath the piercing regard of a hawk. Kitty’s heart pounded, and her knees trembled. She managed to dip into an elegant curtsy without pitching onto her face.
“Your Grace,” she said. “How delightful that you made it. How…pleased I am to see you.”
Surprise flared in his eyes, then curiosity…then admiration. Before his gaze was once more rendered inscrutable.
In the stillness of the ballroom, her voice carried, and a ripple of whispers began as her words were passed in a chain to those who did not hear. Kitty desperately prayed he did not publicly repudiate her. Certainly that could not be his purpose at Lady Sanderson’s ball?
She chose her words carefully. “Should we take a turn in the gardens?” she asked softly, needing privacy to explain her madness.
She could feel the kiss of his eyes as they traced over her features, her décolletage, her hollows and curves. The intensity of his stare encompassed her entire body. Anxiety cramped her gut. Being the sole recipient of his unflinching regard was thrilling and frightening at once. Though she feared his words, she began to wish he would speak, for the silence was dreadful.
Power and arrogance radiated from the duke, and Kitty fought against a wave of pure panic. She was out of her depth in every way, and she had no notion of how to deal with the man before her. Wings of indecision fluttered in her stomach, her thoughts frantically skipping along the avenues of escape, discarding one idea after the other.
The silence felt thick, charged. Then finally, he stirred.
“Miss Katherine Danvers, I presume?”