Page 8 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

The breeze stirred her hair, tugging a stray strand out from behind her ear. How long would she have in her new sanctuary? Ten minutes? Five?

Music drifted out of the ballroom, the sound of a young woman singing slightly off-key. No doubt Jonathan had deliberately picked less talented women in the hope of making her look better.

She hated such nonsense. Men did not pick women on the basis of their singing talents. And even if they did, she did not want to be picked.

Letting out a ragged sigh, she dropped her face into her hands.

Will I manage another month? Jonathan is clearly determined that I will not.

Bile crawled up her throat. How awful to miss her own freedom by a matter of weeks. She’d spend the rest of her life regretting it. Not that Jonathan would care, of course. After all, he’d have her money, wouldn’t he?

“I do hope you’ll forgive the interruption, but have you a moment?” An equable, cool male voice came from behind, making her jump into the air with an undignified squawk.

She spun around, ready to scold whoever it was. Everybody knew that ladies and gentlemen should not share a balcony unchaperoned. Their balcony was not large, and he must have seen her before he stepped out.

The words died in her throat when she saw who stood there. Tall, black-haired, with a smile that made her think of a tiger deciding whether it wished to bite or not.

“Your G-G-Grace,” she stammered.

Oh, no, no, not now! Not after all the money poor Jonathan spent to eradicate my stutter.

The Duke of Thornhill sketched a smooth, neat bow of exactly the right depth. “Lady Thalia. Forgive me, we have not been introduced.”

“N-No,” she choked out. “It is not proper. You had better g-go inside.”

“I will, shortly,” he responded with a quick, easy smile. “But first, let me congratulate you. Your performance was outstanding. I believe everybody in the room held their breath, myself included.”

She gulped and tucked her shaking hands behind her back.

This is the fellow who ruins ladies for fun. I had better get away from him as quickly as I can. If only he wasn’t standing in front of the door. And, of course, once I go back inside, Jonathan will pounce on me.

“Thank you, you are very kind,” she murmured. “But I can take no credit. I did not write the song nor compose it. I only sang it.”

“Well, a voice is to opera as blood is to a body, I’d say. One will not work without the other.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “I am not sure that is true.”

“Yes, perhaps the metaphor does not quite stand up to scrutiny. But enough of that.” He stepped forward, and she froze.

The balcony was not large enough to permit very many steps forward or indeed in any other direction. There was nothing more than a small, square space, rounded on three sides by the stone balustrade, which currently dug into the small of Thalia’s back. The fourth wall was occupied by the door, and she noticed that a curtain had been drawn across it.

Was that the Duke’s doing?

On the one hand, it would prevent curious eyes from spotting her out here with such an infamous rake. On the other hand, it meant that the consequences, when they were finally caught, would be immensely worse.

“You speak German, do you not, Lady Thalia?” he continued abruptly.

She frowned at him. “I sang in German.”

“Ah, yes, but you might have learned the piece by rote. I have known people to learn Italian and French arias piece by piece, practicing their pronunciation until the song rolls along very nicely, but they do not understand a word of what they are saying.”

She puffed out her chest a little, glowering at him. “Well, you’re wrong. I speak German. I speak it very well, actually.”

She didn’t bother telling him that Jonathan had flown into a rage when she insisted on learning German instead of French. He had said that French was a ‘prettier’ language and more suitable for a lady.

Was that one of the first times she had properly defied him? Perhaps it had been. It certainly had marked the beginnings of the end of their comfortable relationship, their change from brother and sister to tyrant and victim.

No, I am not a victim. And even if Jonathan is a tyrant, I know he does not think of himself as such. Surely my brother is in there somewhere.