“They have not, and if they did so, I would tell them how wrong they are.”
He really was anexcellentflirt. How fortunate she had met him. “I’m much obliged.”
“Lady Peterborough called you Theo,” he said, his hand fitting into hers. She had never noticed how charged a touchcould be, tingling through her body from the point of contact. “What must I do to gain such familiarity?”
A dangerous question. “I was unaware they had a cousin,” she said instead.
To her relief, he laughed, unconcerned by her clumsy redirection. “Keeping me a secret, are they? The truth is, I’m the black sheep of the family.”
Theo had suspected that from the look on Penelope’s face. “Is it for good reason?”
“Your Nathanial would say so.”
“He’s not my Nathanial,” she retorted before she could help herself. She coloured. “That is to say . . . We are not joined at the hip.”
“It appears not—to my benefit.”
She looked up at his captivating, slightly mocking smile. Nathanial smiled like that, sometimes, when he thought she was being particularly amusing or silly. “Are you so pleased to dance with me?”
“I resolved to ask you to dance the moment I laid eyes on you.”
Oh, hewascharming, and far more so than Nathanial. It would have been all too easy to release her inhibitions and allow herself to enjoy the pleasure of his company, but Penelope’s expression stuck with her.
“Sir Montague,” she said, cocking her head. “May I ask you a question?”
“With pleasure.”
“Will I get into trouble for dancing with you?”
“Why?” He laughed, but his eyes were curious. “Is the Duke such a fearsome husband?”
“Oh no,” she reassured him. “We have a comfortable arrangement, he and I. But I wondered if—you see, I am fond of Penelope, and she doesn’t like you.”
His eyes hardened for an instant before he laughed again. “You are amazingly direct, Duchess. No, don’t blush—you are quite right: Penelope doesnotlike me.”
“But why?”
“There are several reasons, and now I have returned to town, I expect you will be regaled with them.” He considered her. “Have you been married long?”
“Not long.”
“Then perhaps you will remember what it is to hold someone in affection. I confess, I behaved badly towards Penelope when I was younger, and I see she has not yet forgiven me—despite a husband.” He smiled. “I have been away from London a great many years, you see.”
“Did you leave because of Penelope?” she pressed.
“Heavens no. I left because I took part in an ill-conceived duel.”
Not only was he a rake—her suspicions of that were confirmed by his admission he had treated Penelope badly—but he was a man inclined to duelling. “Was the other man killed?”
“Sadly, yes.”
She blinked in shock. She had never encountered a murderer before, no matter how accidental it may or may not have been. Did he suffer from guilt? He certainly didn’t seem to—his skin was lightly bronzed and he regarded her with a mocking smile, as though he sensed the thoughts that passed through her head.
“Well,” she said, struggling to find the right thing to say, if therewasa right thing to say. “I’m sure you must be very sorry.”
“I beg you would not attempt to attribute any morals to me. As my family will no doubt inform you, I am irredeemable and my character is sadly flawed.”
“Well, perhaps you have not killed any more men since you left,” she ventured.
