“But I swear to you that neither one of those men was my lover.”
He tapped his quill slowly. Tap. Tap. Tap. Apart from a single arched brow, his expression did not change. He waited.
“...at... the time,” she expounded, a little more quietly.
Two cynical dents appeared at the corners of his mouth. This, clearly, did not come as a shock to him.
It was both unbearable to have to explain this to him, and unavoidable.
She took another fortifying breath. “Two years ago, Lord Revell pursued me rather determinedly. I liked him. And I’ll admit I was flattered because... well, have you seen the man?” She flicked her eyes up at him, a bravura attempt to be minxy, instantly quelled by the pure flint in the duke’s eyes.
“And... and one must... well, when I hadn’t a book full ofwarningsto refer to, one must learn things the hard way, yes? In the absence of books on how to behave or the advice of moralizing dukes, that is.”
It was a bit like jousting with a fortress. She was going to come away with, at best, a snapped lance and a scrap or two of pride. As a duke, she supposed there were dozens of ways he could crush her, if the notion took him. But she was certain of one thing: he might be a bastard, but she knew in her gut he would be a fair one, if she could get him to listen to the truth.
“Learning things the hard way is a tried and true method for getting them to stick, yes,” he agreed with exaggerated patience.
“And so. My mother had gone to live in Scotland with a cousin until such time I could make enough money to keep both of us comfortably alive. I was... lonely. Lord Revell made... I shall use the word ‘overtures,’ given that this is a story that involves the opera. And we became involved.”
“I am familiar with how such associations come about, Miss Wylde. But thank you for the history.”
He was a sardonic bastard. She might have enjoyed it more if he wasn’t wielding it against her.
“I cannot fairly claim that it was an unpleasant or unwelcome association. Or that I was an unwilling participant. But I soon realized the whole notion did not sit right with me, and... it did not solve my loneliness.”
Her face felt warm with the revelation.
She bravely looked into his eyes.
He blinked.
And his expression—well, she didn’t suppose it ever softened—had gone decidedly more thoughtful.
She took it as encouragement to go on.
“Six months into our . . .” She cleared her throat. She could not bring herself to say “friendship,” as it was far too coy. She would have to use the more embarrassing and accurate “. . . affair, I explained as kindly as I could that I no longer wanted to go on as we were. We parted as friends, I thought. Or at least civilly. As much as any man enjoys being told he is . . . ah . . . no longer wanted in that way. I never had reason to believe his heart was either broken or even involved. And he certainly is spoiled for choice, when it comes to women. So at the time of the . . .”
“Duel?” the duke supplied evenly.
She nodded. “...he had not been my lover for more than a year.”
The word “lover,” like “duel” and “affair,” would forever be a part of her history. How had she been caught up in such a thing? It seemed she could not have escaped the momentum of it, no matter how she’d tried. She might as well get used to saying it bravely and frankly. It could not be undone.
“All of this I swear upon everything I have ever held or will ever hold dear. I do not have many things to hold dear, but they are my mother, my father’s memory, my pink ribbon, and my fur-lined pelisse. I would die for them.”
She’d tried a joke. Because she couldn’t help herself.
He took this in. His expression was difficult to interpret. Like a metronome, the quill between his fingers measured the methodical tick of his mind.
But his eyes never left her face.
“Then I shall be compelled to believe you, won’t I?” he said finally. Quietly. Almost gently.
She subtly released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“So... the night of the duel... well, it all began backstage, in our dressing rooms, after my first performance in the lead role. So many encores... my room was filled with roses. Roses, Your Grace. Actual flowers from ahothouse! I could not believe such loveliness was for me. It smelled like heaven. All the young bloods like to crowd backstage after a show... perhaps you know this?”
“So I have heard,” he said ironically.
