The Duke of Greystone was the subject of polished admiration and mystery. He held his cards close to his chest and continually broke the hearts of all the eligible ladies each year he put off the search for a wife.
The lady turned her face away at Gwen’s sharp intake of breath. The purple diamond at her ear twinkled and then fell back into the shadow.
I’d know those purple diamonds anywhere.
It was Lady Lillard, the widow of the late Duke of Bradsburn. She wore those earrings at her husband’s wake, and the pop of color had been a topic of scandal that the Viscount had vastly disapproved of.
The Duke’s gaze rose, finding Gwen’s as if he had known she would be there all along.
“Well,” he drawled, his voice like fine brandy poured over ice, “good evening to our littlevoyeur, whoever she may be.”
Gwen’s heart did a little somersault. She had no business reacting to the sharp line of his jaw or the easy confidence he wore like a second skin. Still, something in her chest fluttered, reckless and new.
Oh, my…I should go!
Which was quite true, yet her feet refused to move.
The Duke’s mouth curved, though not kindly.
Lady Lillard made a soft, embarrassed sound, and Gwendoline watched her skirts disappear into the night.
“Have you enjoyed the performance?” the Duke asked conversationally.
Gwen lowered her fan and met his eyes through lace and darkness. “Immensely,” she replied, sweetness coated in steel. “Though I’m sorry that it had to end on my account.”
The Duke’s smile thinned, sharpening into interest. “How strangely considerate.”
“Hardly,” she returned. “I should hate to be accused of interrupting a… rehearsal.”
“Rehearsaldoesimply an audience.” His gaze flicked to her fan, the line of her shoulders, then back to her eyes. Calculating. Curious. “I haveone, it seems.”
“Only by happy accident.” She tilted her head.
“Is that what you prefer to call it? An accident?” he challenged.
“Sure.” She shrugged, though her stomach flipped.
He laughed. “Let’s be economical. You will tell me whom I have the honor of addressing.”
“And ruin the mystery?” She let her fan tap the underside of her wrist, a small reprimand. “I think not.”
The Duke clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment. “Mystery is a poor cloak for impertinence.”
“Impertinence is a poor word for curiosity.” Her mouth curved. “Though I will wear either if it pleases Your Grace.”
Something changed in his expression. It wasn’t anger, but not amusement either.
And Gwen, with the cool night on her skin and the wild game of it prickling at the nape of her neck, realized that for the first time in an age, she had stumbled upon a tool she had never expected to wield.
Scandal cuts both ways.
The thought slivered through her like delight.
“Docarry on, Your Grace,” she added. “I’m sure you’ll have no issue finding another…willingpartner.”
CHAPTER 2
Victor watched the lady’s curtsy like a general studying the first move of a mysterious opponent.
