Though, on second thought,handsomefelt laughably inadequate. He was, in fact, something far more… what? Melanie wracked her brain, but no word seemed quite right. Of course, her duke would defy even the English language.
Still, they couldn’t possibly mean him.
And yet, the Duke of Malum lingered in her mind, much like he always did. Along with thoughts of little Ernest, of course.
She couldn’t have been more startled that day in the park if they had stumbled upon the king himself. Seeing him there, with her mother and sisters as an unwitting audience—had sent a jolt of anger through her. She wasn’t ready to face him, not after his unforgivable betrayal. And yet, as Caroline made the introductions, she’d felt an odd sense of… relief.
Melanie stared down at the toes of her slippers, barely peeking out from beneath the hem of her gown. She’d seen his expression the moment he realized who they were. If she weren’t hiding, she might have laughed aloud at the memory.
Because, when he’d realized he was going to have to greet the four of them, London’s notorious brothel owner, the feared Duke of Malum, had looked…
Like a scared animal.
Oh, but he had most of London fooled.
It was almost endearing, in a way she couldn’t quite bring herself to admit.
She had wanted to admonish him for telling Lord Helton that she’d visited theDomus—to berate him for causing her to lose her precious solitude.
But she’d also wanted to ask after little Ernest. Was he eating enough? Had his mother been located? None of those questions would have been appropriate in front of her mother and sisters.
She wiggled her toes… recalling the way the duke’s gaze had settled on her, as though he could read her mind.
And now here she was, thinking about him again. It wasn’t intentional, of course. She didn’tmeanto let him occupy her thoughts.
Before she could shift her mind to something else, she was dragged back to the present when she noticed a hush rippling through the room.
What is it this time?
Melanie’s stomach lurched, until her gaze landed on her mother, who was, thankfully, simply sipping her champagne.
Those gasps, dripping with judgment, always meant someone had stepped outside Society’s rigid expectations. A young woman speaking to the wrong gentleman, a couple dancing too closely—the pattern was predictable. Silence, whispers, louder gossip. Thetonat its finest.
Melanie shuddered, recalling how she’d been on the receiving end of that uncomfortable attention at a garden party earlier this week. Her mother had called out to Josephine across the lawn—a little too loudly.
Or perhaps, alottoo loudly. Melanie winced at the memory.
But this time, the hush was more pronounced than those other occasions. The air crackled with tension, and the musicians ceased their playing, interrupting what had been a lively dance.
Feeling the hairs on her arms stand up, Melanie leaned forward and peered through the branches.
And immediately saw why.
Lady Bellwether had not been mistaken!
The Duke of Malum was, indeed, here! —standing beneath the arched entrance.
Melanie touched a hand to her heart.
His strong features were set in stone, making him appear as inscrutable as everyone would have expected, his indifferent gaze sweeping the room.
Who was he looking for?
He, of course, appeared entirely unbothered by the shocked stares.
It had been years since the duke had deigned to attend a ball, and now, with his dark, enigmatic reputation preceding him, no one dared approach. Not yet.
Careful to stay hidden behind her potted plant, Melanie tilted her head, a little perplexed. Although dressed to the nines, mostly in black, he seemed detached, disdainful of the pageantry that surrounded him.
