Prologue
London, England. 1816
Robert let his eyes roam the room as his mother droned on about his duties for the evening. His skin practically crawled beneath his meticulously tailored and horrendously expensive evening jacket, but he kept his shoulders squared and his chin level.
Do not allow your chin to dip low lest people assume you are weak prey. And raising it too high will make people believe you think yourself better than everyone else. Even if that is true, one does not want to give off the impression that you know it.
His father’s rules and lessons repeated themselves in his mind whenever he was in a crowd. Robert wasn’t even sure he would be able to behave naturally amongst strangers anymore. Unless thiswashis natural state. It was impossible to know after a lifetime of training to appear a certain way.
He noted his sister Jessica across the room, standing beside her husband, Lord Drake. She smiled and laughed with herfriends as the older man stood dutifully beside her, chatting with Lord Reid.
Do not allow your eyes to linger too long on one single person.
Robert slid his eyes to the next cluster of people. Lord Wood had his wife’s hand tucked close to his body as he smiled down at her. Unsurprisingly, beside Lady Wood stood her sister-in-law and good friend, Miss Morgan. Robert let his gaze linger a bit longer as Miss Morgan laughed at something her brother said. She leaned close, her eyes dancing with delight as she imparted some tale to her entourage.
The young woman had always intrigued him, though he would never admit such a thing beyond his own mind. While not a woman he should consider—due to her outspoken manner and quick, sometimes unshielded tongue—she always seemed at ease no matter the occasion. And as someone who could not understand such a feeling, it drew his attention more than he wished.
Before anyone could notice Robert’s observation of the young woman, he forced his gaze to the next person, until finally, he chose to stare unfocused at the couples dancing in the middle of the room.
“Robert, you really should ask a girl to dance.” His mother’s voice trailed to his ear and he swallowed a desire to sigh.
Do not allow yourself to sigh, son. Nor should you roll your eyes, twitch your nose in distaste, or anything else that might give away what you are feeling. You are to be a duke one day, Robert. You need to maintain a distance from people. One wrong word or glance and the rumors will spread like wildfire. It is a privileged life, but not an easy one.
“I do not like to dance,” he finally replied. Dancing required talking with someone he barely knew. If it was only a matter of talking business, then it would be simple. But with women,one had to discuss things that interestedthem, of which he was entirely ignorant. So, when called upon to complete the task, he danced in silence. He could perform the steps of any dance precisely and with ease. Those things someone could practice and learn and perfect. But conversation? How did one practice such a thing? To him, it simply seemed an unnecessary addition to the occasion.
His mother turned to him. “I understand you do not enjoy it, but you are thirty-one years old, Robert. Your father would be most displeased to discover you have not married yet. Simply pick a lady and get on with it.” She threw her hand out at the crowd.
As if choosing a wife was as simple as selecting which jacket to wear that day. Yes, his title would make the task simple once he set his mind to it, but the thought of living with a woman—someone he would have to talk to and care for—every day. He could not even picture such a life.
“If I ask a lady to dance, would that appease you, Mother?”
“It would be a start.”
Robert’s eyes defied him, flicking to Miss Morgan without his permission. And then, against all odds or logic, as if some cruel fate had given her his secret, her brown eyes locked with his.
If someone happens to catch your gaze, hold it for approximately two seconds. If you look away too quickly, it will appear as if you did not want to be caught watching.
Robert mentally counted the beats as his heart stammered in his chest.
One. . . She held his stare.Two. . . Her eyes were a lovely shade of brown . . .
He broke their gaze, and while every nerve in his body screamed at him to dip his eyes to the floor, he forced them to remain steady, looking just above everyone’s head in the room. He tapped his finger against his leg.
“Robert.” His mother’s soft demand stilled his hand.
It was habitual at this point. Rarely did she need to remind him of his father’s orders, but there were times when his father’s early lessons slipped from her tongue as if Robert were still a child.
“If you wish me to marry, then perhaps you should stop treating me like a mere boy,” he said, pressing his hand against his leg and stilling his fingers.
If you cannot stop the finger tapping, Robert, I suppose pressing your hand to your leg is acceptable. At least it will not draw as much attention.
His mother bristled beside him. “I am only trying to help. Besides, if you wish me to treat you like a man, then I suggest you behave as one and ask a woman to dance.”
“Very well.” He said the words calmly, even though his mother’s demands itched across his skin like it had been exposed to the sun for too long, leaving it dry and burnt.
Be sure to choose your voice inflection carefully. Keep your tone flat, unless you feel the situation could benefit from you showing interest. Believe me. An even tone is much more intimidating than a dandy who bounces about conversations with smiles and laughter. Demand their respect without ever asking for it.
Robert made his way along the border of the room, keeping his steps measured and slow. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. But despite his best efforts, eyes swung in his direction. Ladies raised their fans, speaking in hushed tones as he passed. Little did they know their attention only made him uncomfortable as he set to his duty.
