“Dinner,” she found herself saying.
What would be the harm? One dinner with a handsome duke. Just one. Nothing more.
He smiled, but this time it did not reach his eyes. “Until then, Mademoiselle.”
Abruptly, he released her, stepping away before offering her a bow. She wondered at the hint of sadness she had seen in his gaze. Any why he had not pressed his advantage. Why he had not at least attempted to kiss her.
But then she told herself she should be grateful he had not. That she did not want his kiss.
“Until then,” she said, feeling the loss of his touch despite her determination to remain aloof and unaffected.
She watched him go, the door closing quietly on his departing back. It was only after he had gone that she discovered the gloves, with their beautifully embroidered roses, laid out on the table. She had not seen him place them there.
Against her better judgment, she slipped them into her reticule, telling herself she would return them to him tomorrow.
Chapter Three
Johanna arrived ata handsome townhouse late the next evening. True to Winchelsea’s word, a sleek black carriage had awaited her at the theater following her performance. Part of her had expected him to be within, but the conveyance had been mercifully empty.
She was not certain how she could withstand such proximity to him. In a confined space. With his handsome face and intense gaze and his deliciously masculine scent.
The ride to her destination had not been long. But she had fretted the entire way.
Wondering what she was doing.
Knowing she should never have accepted Winchelsea’s invitation.
As she descended from the vehicle, she took in her surroundings. The edifice was not nearly as large as she would have expected for a duke. At home in New York City, the mansions of the wealthiest were immense, taking up entire city blocks. More like castles than homes.
The coachman aided her down, and she noted he wore livery. Even the duke’s servants were impeccably dressed. She thanked him and went up the walk, a new bout of nerves assailing her as she lifted the brass knocker bearing a lion’s head and rapped.
An august-looking gentleman—the butler, she supposed—opened the door, greeting her with perfectly polite formality. “Good evening, Mademoiselle Beaumont.”
It was a reminder that she was expected.
But then, of course, she was. She had known that. Still, for some reason, theaide-mémoirenettled just a bit. The duke had been certain of her acquiescence. She allowed the butler to take her wrap, hat, and reticule, the knot inside her drawing up tighter with each passing second. A sense of excitement, along with a matching foreboding, had settled within her.
Accepting this invitation to dinner had been unwise and reckless. She had enough to worry her without adding a lover to the mix. Without adding a man who looked at her in the way Winchelsea did. A powerful man.
An enigmatic man who still remained so much a mystery.
The wall coverings were vibrant, she noted, shades of deep, bold emerald damask. A smattering of pictures adorned the hall in equally bold colors. There was an expensive-looking vase, and the heels of her boots clicked on the marble floor as the butler escorted her to the blue salon, where he informed her His Grace awaited her.
The butler announced her formally before bowing and taking his leave, closing the door behind him. The duke had been pacing the length of the chamber when she entered, and he moved toward her now in slow, purposeful strides.
“Mademoiselle,” he said softly, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips. “You are enchanting this evening.”
His elegant beauty struck her in the chest. Her pulse leapt. And the heat of his mouth, even through her gloves—not the embroidered gift he had given her, but her own serviceable pair—sent matching warmth to pool low in her belly.
“Your Grace,” she acknowledged. “Thank you for sending the carriage.”
“I promised I would.” A brief frown creased his forehead. “I would have accompanied the carriage, but I was detained. I hope you will forgive me?”
She wondered what had detained him, and realized just how little she knew of this man who was charming her with such ease. “There is nothing to forgive. I was pleased to pass the journey here in silence after another exhausting performance.”
The whirlwind of the stage never failed to amaze and delight her. No matter how many times she claimed the stage and took on a role, she was still in awe. The cast of players, the audience, the lights, the raw emotions a drama required an actress to harness and then bring to life, it was heady stuff. But taxing.
He lowered her hand but did not release it. “You must be quite tired after three performances in a row. It is fortunate you have a day of rest tomorrow evening.”
