“By the time I realized I truly did not care for society’s opinion, I was no longer intrigued by the frivolities of the ton. There was no need for me to seek a duchess. There was no need for me to speak in the House of Lords when my letters have proven to be just as powerful. And my sister needed me; that became my source…of everything.”
Until now lingered unspoken in the air. But there was an inescapable implied awareness of it.
Until now.
Her lips curved. “Thank you for sharing with me, Your Grace.”
He stared at her. “You have a beautiful smile, Miss Danvers.”
A breath caught in her chest at the husky timbre of his voice. “I…thank you.”
“Are Kitty and Katherine the same, I wonder? Have you always been this bold and determined?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Then why has society missed you all these years? It is impossible to hide fire.”
Her throat worked on a swallow. “To be your fiancée and entice the ton, I chose to stop hiding. As young ladies, we are taught to suppress our sincere hearts lest we offend.”
“Ahh.”
His soft exhalation of satisfaction had an odd ripple of delight coursing through her.
“So you do not regret riding astride…twice, daring to attend Lady Appleby’s ball without a corset, and rescuing a cat in a tree for a little lady?”
Shock parted her lips. “So you’ve read all the scandal sheets.”
He reached for her, skimming the back of his fingers over the soft swell of her cheek, lingering at the curve of her jaw, his thumb smoothing against her lips.
A startled laugh escaped before she choked back the sound. Her heart pounded, and her mouth went dry. “Your Grace?”
For the briefest moment, he, too, looked startled. As if he’d not planned to touch her. As if he’d been compelled to lay his hand against her skin. Her entire body warmed.
She turned her face into his palm and brushed her lips briefly over his wrist. Oh dear. No, no, no. They froze, and mortification burned through her. She had acted without thought, driven by a need she hardly understood.
Their eyes met. Again, that shock of want and need long denied welled inside her heart. For no apparent reason, she suddenly recalled the brief press of his lips against hers when they’d first met. He’d tasted like coffee, whiskey, and desire.
Birds took flight in her stomach and a slow, languorous ache rolled through Kitty, scaring her with its intensity.
Not wanting to face the consequences of her impulsive actions, she lurched to her feet and hurried away, conscious of his gaze burning a hole in her back. At the edge of the iron gate, he spoke.
“Miss Danvers?”
She froze. One…two…three…four…five… That was a useless exercise. Her heart pounded more instead of lessening. “Your Grace?” she said in a shaky, breathless voice.
He waited…and waited. Kitty stepped forward.
“We leave for Scotland in a few days,” he murmured, yet his voice reached her, arresting her movements.
It was an extraordinary sensation. This mix of fear and anticipation.
“Very well, Your Grace. We leave for Scotland.”
Chapter Eight
A week after Lady Carnforth’s ball, Kitty and the duke set out for Scotland, and now they had been traveling for three days. Before they left town, she had attended the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane with the duke to the rabid curiosity of the ton.
The black and gold half mask of the duke had rendered him aloof and unapproachable as he sat beside Kitty in the plush private box situated above the rest of the auditorium. He had seemed immersed in the rousing tale of unrequited love and revenge and had paid her little regard, and she had been too uncertain to attempt any conversation. They had been the recipients of many quizzing glasses, as the lords and ladies of society had presumably thought her and the duke a better performance to observe. It had taken several minutes before Kitty had ignored it all and relaxed into a world of greasepaint and artifice.