“Will you be singing tonight?” Willa asked, as always, filling the uncomfortable silence with her caressing voice.
“I am not obligated to do so, but if asked, I will not deny the duke’s request.”
“It must be difficult to separate yourself from your talent,” Julia said.
He shrugged. “If I didn’t have the ability to sing, I would still be a duke.”
“Yes,” she said. “You would.”
“And who do most people like better? The performer in you, or the duke?”
“Julia!” Willa swatted her arm.
“Forgive me,” Julia said, inhaling the duke’s fresh scent—he smelled of smoke and leather, mint, and perhaps a touch of lemon. Perfectly normal, masculine scents, but on him, it struck her as dangerous and exotic. Nothing about him was familiar, even if she had seen him a thousand times, memorized his every expression, the sound of his voice, the way he held his head and shoulders, the way he leaned into her when he addressed her… it would never strike her as ordinary. Every meeting struck her as new and urgent. Potent and overwhelming. In fact, her head was spinning with words to describe him.
“Have you had the pleasure of walking in the duke’s gardens?” he asked her.
“I am sorry to say I haven’t,” Julia said.
“Acres of roses and other desirable blooms, painstakingly color-coordinated for dramatic effect. It is said no garden has the collection of tulips the duke has assembled.”
“But aren’t they out of season?” she asked.
“Not for you,” the duke whispered.
Julia gazed at Willa.
“There are people everywhere,” her friend reassured her. “And three sets of balcony doors overlooking the gardens, all of them open now. I believe our host intends for everyone to enjoy the outdoors before supper.”
“An innocent invitation, Lady Julia. If you would feel better with a chaperone…”
“I am perfectly comfortable, Your Grace,” she said, knowing deep inside she was not. The man tempted her at every turn, knowingly forcing her to do things she never would have done a week ago. But if she failed to meet his challenge, to let her shyness overtake her, he’d have the right to claim he had bested her in some way—intimidated her.
“If you are ready then.” He proffered his arm, and she rested her fingers gently on him.
He ushered her around the small crowd of people, perhaps thirty guests, none too suspicious of them taking a walk together, for she could see other couples standing on the balcony, talking and enjoying champagne.
Once they reached the balcony and alighted the carved, marble stairs to the ground level, a wide, cobblestone pathway broke off in different directions. Torches lit the path like summer sunshine, leaving no area in the shadows. It seemed the Duke of Stanhope would not allow any of his guests to create scandal.
The flower-scented, warm air pleased Julia as they strolled silently for several minutes, the shrubbery giving way to the first flower beds filled with roses of every species, of every color.
“You did not lie about the gardens, Your Grace.”
“Why would I, Lady Julia? Do I not have the necessary assets to tempt a woman outside without the promise of flowers?”
She faltered in her step, her heeled, silk slippers not meant for anything but elegance and slow walking. “Of course,” she said. “You are charming, and well you know it.”
He pulled away from her, gazing down at her with a curious look on his face. “Shall I take that as a compliment, madam?”
“Whether I intended it as one or not, you will take it as such. For your character requires constant praise, I think.”
He chuckled, unaffected by her less than favorable opinion of him. “It might surprise you to find that there is more to me than the man you have heard about. Talked to. Tried to avoid.”
There. He’d done it, forced her to face her fear of him. She suddenly regretted her last comment. “I can only speak about what I have experienced with you. What people say about you, though I will not deny I’ve heard many things, is of little importance.”
“Truly?” He leaned closer, his breath warm on her face, his smile as entrancing as a metronome.
“You are not to be trusted, Your Grace.” She meant it playfully, for he seemed to know where to stand, what tone to use, what perfect words to say to keep her confused yet comfortable, as if the conversation they shared was casual, but they never really talked about anything of consequence. “This exercise is appreciated, but if you truly wish to know me…”
