Charles let out a dark chuckle, clearly enjoying her distress. ‘Well then, explain this, cousin—why does the Duke prevent other gentlemen from dancing with you?’ His gaze flicked over her mockingly. ‘You must have him wrapped around your little finger if he is so besotted that he frightens off other suitors.’
Grace straightened. ‘You are mistaken, Charles. The Duke is a gentleman, and his intentions towards me—and towards Heather—have always been, and will always be, honourable. He has never spoken to me improperly, nor treated me with anything less than respect.’
Charles scoffed. ‘You should be ashamed of your naïvety, cousin.’ His voice dripped with contempt. ‘You’ve ruined your chances of an honourable marriage. No man does anything purely out of the goodness of his heart, and believe me, the Duke will soon offer you a position as his mistress—if he has not already. Marriage is out of the question for someone like you. He can only wed within the peerage. Unless, of course, he seeks the Prince Regent’s permission, but we both know that will never happen for the likes of you.’
With a final sneer, he turned and disappeared back into the ballroom, leaving Grace standing alone on the terrace, shaken.
The cool night air brushed against her skin, but it did little to soothe the sting of his words. She longed for the quiet of Skye Manor—for the safety of home.
TEARS WELLED IN HEReyes, but she refused to let them fall.
Then, unexpectedly, the sound of a throat clearing startled her. She turned to find the Duke leaning against the doorway, his intense gaze fixed upon her. Slowly, he approached, his eyes never leaving hers. It felt as though he could see right through her, piercing into her very soul. A tumult of emotions swirled within her—he was so close, she could reach out and touch him, yet it felt as though an insurmountable chasm lay between them.
He lowered his voice. ‘I would be honoured if you would join me for the next dance,’ he murmured, extending his hand.
Grace hesitated only a moment before taking it, allowing him to lead her back to the ballroom for the waltz.
As they danced, the world melted away.
Her feet barely touched the ground, his hold firm and guiding, making her feel weightless.
His hands rested a fraction lower than convention dictated, sending a wicked thrill dancing through her veins.
When he pulled her closer, a fire lit in her body, her pulse surging as she embraced the ecstasy of intimacy.
She could have stayed in that moment forever.
But all too soon, the music slowed.
The spell was broken as he released her.
‘You look flushed, Miss Skye. Perhaps a little air would do you good,’ he remarked. Without waiting for a response, he guided her through the crowd towards the veranda. Grace did not resist. She had no strength left to resist anything.
The night air was crisp, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the ballroom. A few couples strolled through the lamp-lit gardens, their murmured voices blending with the distant strains of music. The Duke led her down the steps towards a charming fountain, enclosed by shrubs. Isolated from the crowd,a whirlwind of questions swirled in her mind, too fast to grasp. She needed to know where she stood. Was she simply a friend, or did she mean something more to him?
‘I wanted to ask you something,’ she said, the cold air emboldening her. She could not bear another night of uncertainty. Even if he rejected her, it would be better than not knowing.
His gaze sharpened. ‘Ask.’
She looked up, meeting his steely gaze. Doubt flickered through her, but she forced herself to continue. ‘I... I wanted to ask you about that kiss.’ She spoke quickly, before she could lose her courage. ‘Did it mean anything to you?’
A shadow crossed his face—annoyance, frustration? He exhaled heavily. ‘I wish you had not asked me that right now, Miss Skye.’ His voice was measured, careful. ‘I fear you will not like my answer.’
Her breath caught. A sinking feeling began to take hold. ‘I must know.’ That was all she could manage to say.
A flicker of pain crossed his features, and he hesitated ‘I should never have...’ He paused a long while, looking over her head, into the dark night. Then all of a sudden his expression turned cold, stone cold, ‘It was a mistake. I regret that moment. I apologise for stepping beyond the bounds of propriety. It was unintentional... and for that, I am sorry.’
Silence.
‘Oh.’ It was barely a whisper.
Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked rapidly, forcing them back. She would not cry in front of him. Not over this.
‘There are rumours,’ she said, her voice steadier than she felt. ‘Rumours that you have been preventing other men from dancing with me. Why?’
His shoulders tensed. He raked a hand through his hair, he appeared troubled, even frustrated. When he spoke, his voice was clipped, and defensive. ‘I... I... They were not worthy of you.’
She let out a bitter laugh. ‘Not worthy? So you do not want me for yourself, but you do not want anyone else to have me either?’ Her voice turned sharp, dripping with sarcasm. ‘Because of your behaviour tonight, there are whispers that I am your mistress. Do you have any idea what you have done to my reputation?’
