Austin cleared his throat, offering his most charming smile. “The meadow proved more distracting than anticipated, Your Grace.”
The dowager’s eyes gleamed. “Distracting. How interesting.” She tapped Deena’s arm with her fan. “We shall speak tomorrow, my dear. At length. I want to know all about this goose, and we’ll have it shot and cooked by the evening. Now, both of you, clean yourselves up. You two have enough scandal to deal with already.”
Deena managed to make a weak nod.
The dowager turned away, already calling for champagne to toast the winners, but not before casting one last knowing glance over her shoulder.
Left standing beneath the lanterns, Deena and Austin exchanged a look, half guilty and half exhilarated. Their faces flushed and breathing shallow as they drank in the sight of each other and laughed. All anger dispersed and was promptly replaced by relief.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“We continue as normal…”
Austin’s response made her heart drop.
“Publish the scandal and find you a wife?” Deena asked softly.
“Precisely.”
Eight
Velvet Kisses
My dear readers,
Those of you who devour these pages with your breakfast and a knowing smile have heard the many whispers concerning our most enchanting bachelor, the Velvet Duke.
It seems that last Season, a certain Lady of impeccable virtue (We shall call her Lady X, for her reputation, though tarnished in private, remains spotless in public.) invited His Grace to her private sitting room under the innocent pretense of discussing a charitable subscription. How very noble! One might imagine ledgers and donations being the chief topics.
Yet, within moments of the door closing with a most deliberate click, matters took a decidedly less philanthropic turn. We are told, by sources too close to the scene to be ignored, that her ladyship’s gown was discarded with unseemly haste, and thelady in question found herself pleading (one blushes to report) for the Velvet Duke to ruin her utterly and erase all memory of her chilly marital bed.
One can only imagine the fervor!
Even now, perfumed notes arrive at the Duke’s House, drenched in jasmine and desperate for repetition. Ladies, beware of the Velvet Duke’s kisses!
Oh, readers, how the mighty (and virtuous) do fall when velvet meets silk. One wonders if the lady’s husband has noticed his wife’s sudden passion for charitable causes or if he merely attributes her radiant glow to the excellence of her new French creams.
And yes, ladies, the rumors are true. The Velvet Duke is hanging up his reputation and finally planning to settle down. So, if you want to experience the joys that Lady X did, I suggest you make your way to the Hunt and capture your Duke.
More whispers will be reported as they reach this humble scribe. Until then, keep your fans at the ready. The Season grows ever warmer. And, darling readers, would you believe it? Velvet appears to be all the rage in boutiques as well.
— Lady Veritas
Deena paused at the door of Mr. Hatchard’s discreet establishment, heart pounding beneath her disguise. She drewthe folded sheet from her reticule and pushed it inside, causing the sleeping clerk to look up, startled by the sudden draft.
“For immediate print,” she said, voice muffled by the cloak and numerous scarves around her. She slid the page and a small purse of coins across the counter. “Anonymous. No questions.”
Before he could reply or lift his gaze high enough to glimpse her face, she was gone.
“Oh, readers, how the mighty (and virtuous) do fall when velvet meets silk.” Austin read out loud with the widest grin plastered across his face. “Hmm. Interesting,” he added with a chuckle.
The Dowager’s library at Greystone Park was a haven of dark oak shelves, leather-bound volumes, and the faint scent of beeswax and old paper. Austin read the article Dee had written and published to distract the blackmailer. He had to remember to thank her, but his thoughts kept slipping, unbidden, to their kiss in the meadow.
The memory of her struck him like a physical blow. The soft press of her body against his, warm and yielding, every curve fitting as though made for his hands. He could still taste her on his lips, feel the faint tremor in her breath when she’d parted for him, and hear the quiet, helpless sounds she’d made as his tongue coaxed hers. Those small gasps and the way she’d clung to his coat as if anchoring herself all lived in him now, vivid and unrelenting.
He shifted in his chair, willing the heat in his blood to cool, but the effort was futile. She had undone him with one kiss, and the wanting hadn’t faded; it had only sharpened, coiling tighter with every hour that passed.
What have I done?
