“Mother, I-”
A young man, polished, charming, and yet alarming, came close and took the Duchess’s arm. Then saw Prim and he feigned surprise. Every little hair on Prim’s neck stood in fear. Therewas nothing obviously threatening about the man, and yet Prim pulled her guard up.
“Oh, Miss Jenkins,” the man bowed. “Lovely to meet you.”
“It seems my reputation precedes me,” Prim clipped as she curtsied.
“I just happened to be at the charity event. Aaron Fletcher,” he bowed.
And I would be thrilled to subtly insult you before the first act, Prim mentally added.
“Miss Jenkins and I were just discussing her exciting new circumstances.”
“Ah,” the young man said, smiling as if he’d discovered a secret. “I imagine they are overwhelming.”
Prim’s stomach dropped. It was as if wolves were circling her.
“I am merely watching to watch The Barber of Seville. I am not expecting to be overwhelmed. I would be disappointed in anything less than amused.”
“And the Duke,” the Duchess started.
But she never finished her sentence. Prim felt it way before her ears and eyes confirmed it. He was here. The gravity of the room shifted, and somehow, the world stilled in the filled-to-the-brim foyer. A predator was approaching, and everyone’s instinct flared. Leo.
“Good evening,” his voice startled her.
Prim had witnessed the Duke’s authority in full force at the charity event, but this was a whole new beast entirely. His voice dropped the temperature in the room and suffocated everyone around him. The Duchess’s and her son’s smiles froze on their startled faces.
“Miss Jenkins,” he demanded her attention.
When Prim looked up, she had to hold back from an intense reaction. The Duke looked positively menacing. Not in a loud, chest-pounding way. No, he looked lethal. He blinked slowly, his eyes fixed on the younger lord. His breaths came slowly, almost non-existent, and the way he moved to place his hand on her waist had a controlled, liquid grace.
“Our box is ready,” he rumbled and led her away.
Prim didn’t even dare to disagree. She didn’t even blink, something warning her that if she blinked, she would miss the attack that was for sure coming.
“I need to learn that trick, too,” Prim dared.
“Which one?” The Duke bit down his jaw.
“Appearing at the perfect moment.”
His mask remained cold. Prim wouldn’t claim she knew the man at all, but she was certain that he wouldn’t let the opportunity to quip something clever pass.
He guided her to a private box, with lush cushions, refreshments and sandwiches and the perfect view on the stage. Prim looked at the stage with mild excitement. She had no love for fiction. She preferred the stories of real people that bled and loved and fought. But the seats were good and she had heard that the singers that year were of some caliber.
What was more, Prim was not going to waste this break from her daily worries. Worrying about the sheet, the rumors, her sisters, her parents. It smothered her, made her gasp for air. For a few hours, in this soft seat, looking at the multitalented Figaro play his tricks, she could forget all that and relax.
“Oh, it’s starting,” she said mostly to herself with enthusiasm.
If the Duke shared her enthusiasm, he didn’t show it. He was stoic and sitting in the chair right behind her, between her and the door.
The lights dimmed in the opera apart from those illuminating the red curtain of the stage. When the curtain lifted, Prim admired the background painted with delicate designs.
Then she felt the Duke shift behind her. Before she could even wonder, she felt his breath first, taking her skin by a storm, the small hair there raised as if a hurricane was attacking them. Then his voice hit her. A low, guttural growl, that made her body lock up even straighter.
“Avoid my family.”
His family? When exactly did she meet his family? She wasn’t aware he even had a family. The only people she talked tonight…
