The Duchess and her son! Prim lost all interest in the love troubles unfolding on stage. His mother. The Duchess was his mother. She must have been remarried. Her overly sweet voice, the touching, the sympathy.
Could they have been true? And Prim realized with dread that she was so curt and blunt. Borderline rude. She thought they were there to ridicule her. Perhaps an apology was in order. Prim had enough problems as it was.
“Did you hear what I said?” The Duke demanded.
His voice made her jump up. He leaned even closer, his breath caressing her ear. She could feel the movement of his lips as if they were touching her. Heat swirled inside her, dense and liquid, down her neck to her spine, somewhere lower.
“You will never come near my family or talk to them. Say you understand.”
Prim snapped out of her trance. That tone irked her to the bone. If she wanted to talk to someone, she would do so without asking for permission from him. It wasn’t as if he were really courting her. Fury washed over her and welcomed the new feeling. She turned with a sharp turn of her head.
Only to find herself a mere inch away from his face. In the dim light she could almost see nothing but the most devastating of all. The perfect swell of his lips, granite made of softness. Close. Impossibly close. If she so much as trembled, a single, involuntary shiver, her lips would meet his.
She lost her breath as his wafted over her face, in a slow exhale. Her fingers tightened around the program that crumbled. If he-
A roar of applause broke from the audience below, a brutal reminder of where they were and what was at stake. Prim snapped back to look at the stage, happy to maintain only the most basics of her motor functions.
The drama in this box of the orchestra was far more dangerous than the one on stage.
CHAPTER 6
Afternoon Tea
It obviously happened because Prim found herself in her own bed that morning. But she had no recollection of how she left the Opera, how she reached her house, who helped her undress, and when exactly her body gave out from exhaustion.
And yet, the one thing that she really wanted to forget, the one that she absolutely had to forget, was still vivid in her mind as if it happened again and again in the unfortunate moments during the whole morning.
“So,” Myrtle asked, “how was the opera?”
Prim felt blood rush and leave her cheeks at the same time, while she managed somehow to swallow her tea without incident.
“Riveting,” she half lied.
Camilla was sitting quietly next to her twin, and Prim was scared of that look more than anyone else’s. Camilla was really sharp for her age, and Prim didn’t want to give her any excuse to dig deeper.
“Prim! You have a card!” Prim’s mother decided to finally do something useful and interrupt.
Prim took the envelope, shaking. If she saw another cursedL.she might have to either scream or finally choke on her tea and be rid of this torment once and for all. But the moment she looked at the seal, she knew it wasn’t from the Duke.
She opened it and she found a short handwritten letter in the most exquisite of penmanship.
“I cordially invite Miss Jenkins for tea at the Blackwell Estate. Abigail Murden, Duchess of Blackwell.”
She looked at the invite again and the crest. It was a formal invitation.
“See?” her mother clapped, reading over her shoulder. “You are starting to be accepted as a Duchess. The Duke of Blackwell and the Duke of Mildenhall are best friends after all. It is only natural that the Duchess wants to meet you, too.”
Except there was nothing natural about this invitation. Her initial reaction was to reject the invitation. The Duchess either wanted to ridicule her or indeed welcome her. Both options wereequally terrifying. The fact remained that it was highly improper to decline a summons by a Duchess. Especially handwritten, implying that only Prim was invited.
So, Prim found herself in a carriage to travel to the Blackwell Estate. She decided to ignore the memory of her taking another carriage in the dead of night to the outskirts of London, to invade another Duke’s estate. At least, this time, she was invited.
When the carriage pulled up at the Blackwell Estate, Prim felt dwarfed by its sheer size. And yet, she was not led through the seemingly endless corridors but instead out into the beautiful gardens.
A small tent was there as protection from the intense sun. And under the tent, a small table with one occupant.
“Come, Miss Jenkins,” she invited unceremoniously.
Any reservations Prim might have had vanished when she saw that wide smile on the woman’s face.
