Page 6 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

Well, well, she thought angrily. And you call yourself a rational woman? Here you are, acting like a giddy debutante in the presence of a man like this. Why, he’d ruin you as soon as look at you! Everybody knows that sensible women steer clear of the Duke. He can destroy a woman’s life with half a word.

That was most probably exaggerated, but there was no denying the real danger that such a man could pose. Why, getting caught alone in a room with him would see her turned out of Society without delay. He, of course, would bear no consequence besides mild censure, and perhaps fewer invitations.

There was no more time to debate the morals of the man because at that moment, Jonathan began to speak. The guests turned obediently towards the platform.

That was her cue to prepare herself.

“Christian, are you even listening to me?”

Christian tore his gaze away from the ostentatious platform at the opposite end of the room. “Hm?”

Edwin rolled his eyes. “If we hadn’t been friends for years, I would march off and leave you to fend for yourself,” he muttered. “Why are you even here? You and the Marquess are not friends, are you?”

“Certainly not.”

Edwin’s wife, Daphne, chuckled, looping her arm through his. “Leave Christian alone, Edwin. He’s simply here to pick up the latest gossip. Isn’t that right?”

Christian flashed her a grin. “Something like that.”

He’d never imagined that his old friend would marry, and certainly not a hellion like Daphne, but now, here they were, blissfully wed, and Daphne’s stomach was just beginning to round a little under her gown. Soon, it would be considered polite for her to retire from Society, once she began to properly show, but he had a feeling that Daphne would not be bowing to the whims of others anytime soon.

A flash of red caught his eye. He frowned, watching a truly hideous hairstyle bob through the crowd. The woman was clearly of below-average height, and while her hair looked nice enough—a vibrant red with a good curl to it—the style she’d been forced into was nothing short of awful. She stepped out of the crowd, heading towards the platform, and he winced.

“Who on earth put that beautiful young woman into that green monstrosity?” he muttered.

Daphne followed his gaze and threw him a thoughtful look. “That is Lady Thalia. I believe her brother controls her wardrobe. She’s not considered particularly beautiful, you know. She’s a little too curvaceous, and the fashion is for willowy beauties this year. Ridiculous, I know. A woman’s body cannot come in and out of fashion like a style of bonnet.”

Christian watched the girl bob across the floor. She had a particular determined, grim look on her face, with none of the simpering, self-conscious smiles that he often saw on other women.

Not considered beautiful? I think she’s remarkably pretty.

She had a round face dotted with freckles, and a snub nose down which her spectacles kept sliding. There was a mulish set to her mouth, and as Daphne had pointed out, beneath that horror of a dress she certainly did have a full bosom.

Not, of course, that it was polite to look at or even think about ladies’ bosoms in public.

She reached the edge of the platform and glanced over at a rake-thin red-headed man who must be the Marquess. He gave her a brisk nod, and she stepped onto the platform.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Marquess announced, clapping his hands for attention. “Lady Thalia will now sing a piece from Mozart’s Der Stein der Weisen.”

Polite applause ensued.

No, not simply polite applause. A quick glance around revealed that the audience seemed genuinely excited. They leaned forward in their seats, ready to listen.

Christian did not much care for opera and could not imagine what song she would sing, but apparently, she was likely to sing it so well that the audience was already anticipating being transported.

She took her place in the center of the stage. Behind her round, wire-rimmed spectacles, clear blue eyes raked across the crowd. Was it his imagination, or did they settle on him for an instant?

She probably had looked at him. Christian was well aware of his reputation. Every respectable lady in the room would have been sternly warned by her mama or some other suitable person that he was not to be trusted and should not be approached under any circumstances. If he approached a lady, he had no doubt that she would flee screaming.

But perhaps Lady Thalia was not the type to run away or scream.

Does she know where Laura has gone?

As this question echoed in his head, the music began, played on a pianoforte slowly and clearly. Lady Thalia closed her eyes, just for a moment. Her shoulders sank almost imperceptibly, and her tightly fisted fingers uncurled loosely by her sides.

She began to sing. Her voice filled the room, clear and pure, each note ringing out to perfection. Shivers ran up and down Christian’s spine.

“Goodness,” Edwin commented. “She’s as good as any singer I’ve heard in the opera houses.”