Quite the contrast to the duke she’d seen in the nursery.
Why had he come?
Of course, he would have been invited. Dukes were invited to everything, regardless of their reputation. Not that any hostess actually expected him to show.
Still, they would hope. Because if anyone could break up the monotony of these endless, overdone parties, it washim. Different themes, same music. Different ballrooms, same dances.
The same dull conversations.
But tonight? Tonight’s hostess, the Countess of Fallbridge, would surely be the talk of theton. She’d accomplished the unthinkable: the Duke of Malum in attendance.
No doubt, every gossip sheet would be scrambling to write about it by morning.
Yet no words, no matter how cleverly penned, could ever capture the mesmerizing effect of his presence.
And all Melanie could think about—absurdly, impossibly—was how he had cradled a baby. Those hands, now so rigidly tucked behind his back, had been startlingly gentle as he’d helped change Ernest’s soiled nappy.
Whyhadhe come? He wasn’t the sort of man who would change his habits without having a powerful reason to do so.
With the initial shock of his arrival over, chatter started up again, louder and more excited than it had been before. Melanie simply kept watching from her hiding place.
After avoiding London’s ballrooms for so long, why return tonight?
And then it struck her.
This wasthe marriage mart. Now that he had a child, had he decided he needed a wife? Did he intend to take up his position in Society again?
And why was that such a repulsive idea?
Movement in the corner of her eye drew Melanie’s attention to a particular group of young ladies standing near the dance floor. Exchanging giggling glances, their fans fluttering, they seemed to be gathering the courage to approach him.
Of course they would.
Because. Well. He was, first and foremost, a duke.
Within seconds, the duke was surrounded, their feathered plumes obscuring everything but the top of his head.
With a quiet breath, Melanie shrunk back, feeling an unexpected ache. She shouldn’t, really, but it was just that… well…
For a fleeting moment there, she’d started to wonder whether he’d perhaps come because of her somehow.
It truly was a preposterous notion—to imagine he’d come hoping to speak to her—to tell her how Ernest was doing. Or even to apologize.
So why this feeling of disappointment?
She couldn’t stay here, watching him. Couldn’t watch those women crowd him with their simpering smiles. They saw a wealthy titled gentleman—someone who was mysterious and powerful—and they wanted him, but they had no idea who he really was.
And you do?a little voice inside her scoffed.
Frustrated with herself, Melanie slipped away from her hiding spot, her slippered feet carrying her toward the nearest exit. She needed air, needed space—needed to be away from the talking, the music...
Confident no one would notice her—certainly not after the duke’s arrival—Melanie slipped through the throng of guests and didn’t slow until she reached a dim hallway.
Away from the chatter of the ballroom, her thoughts began to settle, the frantic edge dulling with each step. She strolled aimlessly, letting her breath steady until she nearly missed it—a door, half-hidden behind a grand tapestry.
What caught her attention wasn’t the door itself but the faint scent of leather and parchment drifting from within.
The library.
