She edged up to the door and stopped. She could knock. A butler would come. He would look at her the same way the driver had, assume she was here for the same reason. He could turn her away. Worse, the duke’s servants could talk and spread word of her actions. If it got back to her father…
She pushed at the door and found it open, despite the late hour. Her heart began to throb as she entered the quiet house and looked around the dim foyer. Gracious, but it was a sophisticated place. All marble and expensive art and cold detachment.
Rather like the man who lived here.
She glanced back over her shoulder. There was still time to escape. Run away and pretend she hadn’t done this foolish thing. Hide away at home and merely accept the marriage her father had arranged with the Earl of Gainsworth. An old man! Older than her own father. A man who looked at her in ways that did not express the piety her father demanded of her.
She shivered and pivoted to walk farther into the house. Instead she crashed headlong into something solid, something warm, something muscular. Hands closed around her upper arms in the darkness, and she jerked her face up to find herself looking into the eyes of the Duke of Roseford himself. He was as close as he had been on the terrace the night before, smelling of whisky and male heat and danger.
Only tonight he didn’t look like he wanted to kiss her.
“Who the hell are you?” he barked. “And what are you doing in my house?”
His words were slightly slurred and she realized that, like the night before, he was drunk. Was that his natural state? She shook off the question.
“I-I’m sorry, Your Grace. I realize I have done a foolhardy thing by coming here.”
“Breaking into my house,” he growled as he pulled her through the foyer and into an open parlor door. It was brighter within, and he released her, staring. For a moment, she thought there was a flicker of recognition over his face, but then it was gone. “Do not make me ask you again, miss.”
She swallowed. “My name is Miss Katherine Montague, Your Grace. We met last night at the ball.”
His expression didn’t change. He folded his arms and glared at her. “Did we?”
Her lips parted. God’s teeth, he really didn’t remember. Here she had been reliving that wicked moment when he’d nearly kissed her over and over and he didn’t even remember.
“Yes,” she said. “We were on the terrace together. We were…er…talking.”
One fine brow arched and a slow smile began at the corner of his lips. “Oh. Talking, were we? And you came here so we could keep…talking?”
She gasped. She might be an innocent, but his implications were not. “Oh no! I mean, you almost kissed me, but there was nothing more to it.”
“Almost,” he drawled, stepping closer. “How incomplete of me. You wanted me to finish the job?”
She stood there as he swung closer, and for a moment she pondered letting him. Kiss her, maybe more than kiss her. She wanted him to, after all. And it would solve her problems. If he took her virginity, surely the earl would not wish to marry her anymore.
She shook those wicked thoughts away and backed up. He immediately stopped advancing and looked at her with confusion and doubt.
“No, not exactly. You see, Your Grace…oh, I didn’t think you wouldn’t remember.”
“I kiss a lot of women, my dear. An almost kiss isn’t something that stands out.” He turned to pour himself a drink at the sideboard. “Do explain yourself.”
She flinched at his suddenly cold tone. “Well, my father interrupted us, you see.”
He froze with his drink midway to his lips. “Yes.”
“And now he has a terrible idea about a great many things. It’s too complicated to explain fully, but he is marrying me off as punishment for my behavior. And I need your help.”
He set the drink down on the wooden surface beside him with a loud clink and glared at her. “Ah, I see what this is. You do have guts, I’ll give you that. Most of the ones who want to catch me just try to trick me into parlors at public events. I don’t think any one of you has ever snuck into my home.”
“Trick?” she repeated. “I don’t understand. I’m not trying to trick you into anything. I just need—”
“You need a rake to ruin you so you’ll get a better match than whatever one your father is arranging.” He smiled. “The Duke of Roseford is a catch, despite my reputation. Perhaps because of it.”
She stared at him as what he implied sank in. “No—oh no, I wasn’t trying to force a match with you, Your Grace. Not at all. I only wanted to see if you might come and speak to my father. Explain to him that I was doing nothing wrong and—”
He folded his arms. “Just come and speak to your father?” he repeated, and now he laughed, but it was cold. “You are clever. I come to your trap? And then I suppose you tell him how you convinced me and he calls me out and we are married at the tip of a spear by Sunday next.”
“No!” she burst out, stepping toward him.
