by Gay, Gloria
Violet's features as the duke tried to recall them were indistinct; her face was like a vague pale vision shimmering underwater. And beckoning—curiously beckoning.
A stirring of curiosity swept through him and something, else: an expectation toward attending a social event. He had not felt any kind of anticipation toward any social event for more years than he could recall.
He realized that it was too late to decline the invitation, as he had already accepted.
And without examining his motives too closely, Peregrine de More, Duke of Hawkinston, summoned his valet.
* * *
"Your grace, we are honored," Harding Durbin, Viscount Kelly, said nervously, as the duke was announced. Lord Kelly had rushed over to the duke, leaving the small receiving line comprised of himself, Lady Kelly and Violet. The duke nodded to Lord Kelly and Lord Kelly directed him to Lady Kelly, who waited nervously. Hawkinston greeted Sadie tersely and dismissively and moved on to Violet. Violet glanced up as he approached her and her dark lashed blue eyes looked into his.
For a moment the duke felt dazzled—taken aback by unexpected, overwhelming beauty. He had never seen a woman so beautiful in all his life.
Hawkinston felt the force of Violet's beauty like a sudden sharp gale. She could not be unaware of this; surely she must be pretending not to know of her effect on men. Her face was serene and composed. Hawk always suspected the motives of courtesans. He had had ample experience with them.
"Miss Durbin," said the duke, nodding.
"Your grace," said Violet with a curtsey. They exchanged a few pleasantries. Violet felt a thrill of awareness in the duke's presence, as if the sun were blazing down on her. Yet her face did not reveal it.
What did this mean? She felt hot and cold and as if she would suddenly take off soaring above the room.
For the first time in her life Violet felt she had no control over her senses.
And it was in that very same instant that the Duke of Hawkinston swore to himself that he would come to an arrangement with Violet before the night ended. The astounding beauty would be his, heart and soul, for as long as he wished it. Of that he was quite certain.
Once Violet quieted down her pulse and heart, she pounded herself back to reality. She had seen a lot in the duke's initial assessing glance and in the few words exchanged and she didn't like it. She saw a man who was used to having his way in everything, especially concerning women. And she also saw disdain in his eyes, both for herself and especially for her mother. For herself she didn't care, as it was what she usually got from society men, but Violet was deeply offended by the disdain she saw in the duke's eyes directed at her mother. He had looked down at her mother and then away as if he pointedly wanted to snub her.
Sadie and Violet had been shunned by almost everyone in society, yet society at least stayed away. The Duke of Hawkinston had come to their house to show his contempt.
She also saw something in his seemingly cursory glance, the assessing look she saw in the eyes of many of the society men who came into contact with her in the few social functions she and her mother attended. What she saw in his eyes—an unpleasant knowing look—was the belief that she could easily be made his mistress.
It was obvious to his grace, as it had been to those other men, that marriage to any of them was beyond her grasp and so the second best thing, a discreet liaison, could be arranged.
"I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news," said the duke to her question regarding his nephew.
"I’m afraid Jared is laid up with a cold. I hope you do not find the exchange to your dislike."
"Certainly not, your grace, "Violet assured him, turning away from him so that he would not read her face.
When it was polite to do so, Violet escaped the duke's oppressive presence and headed toward the terrace for a breath of fresh air. As she had gone through a back corridor to get to the terrace in a roundabout way she was able to enjoy a much prized solitude in the velvet darkness of the far corner of the terrace, where it turned just for a few short feet.
She glanced up at the moon. The silvery rays illuminated a face that hid a soul scarred by sorrow, deep sorrow that was well hidden beneath a pearly complexion and shadowed blue eyes.
She could hear the opening notes of the musicians as they prepared for the recital and knew that she must soon return.
For weeks she had looked forward to the musicale and dance. This was the only social event that was held at Lord Kelly's during the whole year. She had little opportunity to attend a dance and it had now been ruined for her by the duke's attendance. She would now go through the evening without the unalloyed enjoyment she had looked forward to.
She knew she must now be on her guard for any invitation that came from those well-formed lips and the arrogant moss green eyes. She did not fear, though. She was apt at rejection and the duke, after all, was a gentleman. No matter that the duke had made her gasp for air, something she had successfully masked. She would just have to strengthen her defenses.
As a child she had lived in the uneasy comfort that her mother's occupation as “a kept whore” had provided. The tenseness that followed the ending of each of her mother's relationships was ingrained in her personality as a fear of the unknown.
When her mother's last lover, Alex Shackel, discarding Sadie, had forced Violet into becoming his mistress, life had taken a turn toward the horrible and dangerous. She had felt as naked as if she had been living on the streets in Whitechapel.
But life in the halls of society—even on its fringes—was hardly different as far as the lust of men. So it was in the brocade and silk rooms that she had perfected the art of rejection.
For the first time in her life she enjoyed peace in her soul, the peace that had miraculously come about when fate had placed her in the path of the Earl of Arandale and his betrothed, Cecilia Sentennel. Becoming aware that Alex Shackel had plans to kidnap Miss Sentennel to force her to marriage, Violet had alerted the earl at great risk to herself.
Her action had started the sequel of events that led to the earl's uncle, Lord Kelly, reuniting with his old mistress, Violet's mother. Lord Kelly had realized Sadie was the only woman he had ever truly loved and defying society had made her his wife, had adopted his illegitimate daughter, Violet and had given her his name.
Violet smiled as she returned to the brightly-lit salon. The scent of burning wax and flowers, the din of voices and the music seemed suddenly heady and Violet knew in her heart that gentlemen, at least, would not force her, as Shackel had. And so long as she made it a point never to be alone with any man, she was safe.
Experience at this sort of thing had made her an expert at evading male company. That was an armor in itself and she felt the security of her present life wrap suddenly around her like a warm, soft shawl. She felt her spirits soar and was again grateful to her father, for in acknowledging her, he had given her the armor only a lady possesses—the protection of a name.
She need not ever marry. Her father had provided for her even should he die before she did. She was safe, as was her mother and brother. Violet prized this safety more than anything in the world. She had known what it was to be without it, to be in the midst of danger each and every day that went by, so she held her newfound life dear to her heart.
Across the large room, the Duke of Hawkinston gazed at Violet and saw that she was lost in thought. He felt a sharp stirring that began at his loins and rippled throughout him. It was amazing that such a slip of a girl could cause such sudden longing in him. He had a sudden vision of himself stroking that silken skin, burying his head in that amazing hair, holding her fast to his body…
He wondered what she was thinking. So lost in thought she was she might be in another room, another city—and so unaware of him that it dazzled his senses.
No one in his life had been as unaware of him in the same room as this girl was of him. Was the girl ignoring him to awaken his interest? Pursued as he was by hordes of females each season, it was easy
for Hawkinston to mistake Violet's intentions. He had a small yardstick by which he judged the opposite sex, especially those he considered ladies of the demimonde.
The duke was directed to the place of honor, a higher chair than the rest and something of a semi-throne. He wished he could decline the honor and sit closer to Violet, in order to observe her. Yet he could tell Lord Kelly and "Lady" Kelly, as he contemptuously thought of Sadie, had made a special effort to honor him and he could not outright reject the small dais they had prepared for him. And what was worse, this chair was in the front and the duke could hardly turn around to glance at Violet without it being awkward.
For the first time in his life he felt the inconvenience of being a duke. Had he been an earl or a viscount he would now be sitting wherever he pleased and he would be gazing at that lovely girl. No wonder Jared had been bewitched.
Well, being a duke also has its advantages, he thought, in that one can do as one pleases, which he intended now to do. The duke stood up and Lord Kelly, about to take his place in the next row to his, rushed over.
"Your grace—"
"I'm afraid I must decline your very comfortable chair, Harding," said the duke with a half grin, unusual in him. "I am afraid of heights."
"Certainly your grace…I…perhaps you might sit in this row…"
"Let me just move over to the back part of the room," said the duke quickly, before Lord Kelly could assign him another seat. Goodness, the man acted like he was an usher in Drury Lane.
"Please don’t concern yourself with me at all," he said firmly. "Just stay here with Lady Kelly. And by the way, Kelly," he added, "I'd much rather you called me Hawk—my friends do."
He intended to see a lot of Violet, and in turn Lord Kelly, so it was best he cut the formalities right away.
"Oh—your—" Lord Kelly's mouth had formed into a frozen "O."
"Hawk, that's the name, Kelly," said the duke.
"Yes—ah—Hawk—" said Lord Kelly awkwardly. He had not crossed three words with the duke before in his life and now he was to call him "Hawk," as though they were lifelong chums!
"Continue with what you were doing and never mind me," said the duke and quickly exited Lord Kelly's presence.
Gazing at them from the back of the room, Violet figured out exactly what was going on. She had not grown up on the harsh streets of London without developing a sixth sense. She smelled danger as quickly as a wolf in the woods does and just as quickly moved away from the place where she was certain the duke was headed—towards her.
So he was to be the cat tonight, thought the duke as he saw Violet move away from the back of the room and down to the middle, amidst a group of chattering females. These ladies made room for her among them and for the moment she was as safe from the duke as if he were barred from her by a high fence.
But just for the time being, he thought. Anyone knows that the mouse hasn't a chance against a tomcat. She would struggle a bit making the game more interesting for him, but that she would be his in the end there was absolutely no doubt in Hawkinston's mind.
* * *
Violet sat rigidly as she listened to the opening notes of the music and stared straight ahead. And no one, judging from her hauntingly lovely face, would have guessed that she was assessing the duke's weapons just as much as he was assessing her vulnerabilities.
He must think her easy prey, she thought, for he had moved quickly, without any need for convention. And she knew with a lead weight in her heart that she must fight not only the duke's advances but herself, as well. For the first time since she had said a tearful goodbye to her first love on that long ago day, an awakening of interest in another man had happened in her in her barren heart.
Her attraction to a man who obviously saw her as prey was perplexing, yet there it was, and she must fight not only the duke, but herself as well, if she was to succeed—and she must succeed, of that there was no question.
She knew in her heart that the trust her father had placed in her was a treasure she would die before betraying.
She would never become anyone's mistress, neither the duke's, or any other man's.
Lord Kelly had fallen from grace by marrying her mother and acknowledging Violet, and she had never seen the slightest hint of regret in him in the years that followed. He seemed the happiest of men. He had not only acknowledged her publicly and legally as his daughter and given her a home with him, but he had given her his name, as well, the most precious gift of all. She would never betray that trust and that gift by becoming what she most hated becoming in this life—a kept whore.
Serenity passed over her face like mist. There was nothing to be worried about, after all. Her determination would be the beacon that lighted her way—steadfast before her until the day she died. The duke could not succeed against her determination. The only way he could succeed was by force, and Violet was certain he would never use force against her. She was a good judge of character.
The endless recital, the longest in the duke's memory, finally came to an end and he saw that the small orchestra was beginning to play the opening dance. He headed straight to where Violet was. At the same time a pale and scrawny young man—Sir Ashtin Blakely—had timidly approached her.
The duke was not within earshot but he was almost certain that Violet had agreed to a dance before the young man had asked. He could tell by the surprised pleasure in the young man's eyes and the way that Violet hurriedly wove her arm through his.
Young Ashtin led Violet to the dance floor and the duke would have been increasingly bemused if he had heard Violet encourage the delighted young man into asking her for the following waltz.
CHAPTER 3
The duke viewed these two dances as he stood by the wall, shooing off with a deterring look anyone who approached him.
He was becoming increasingly frustrated. Was the girl going to evade him all night?
And that was precisely what Violet intended as she crossed the ballroom in the arm of the same young man and went to where the young man's friends were. She then managed, before the duke was able to cross the ballroom floor, to assign them all dances, successfully filling up all her time for the evening.
Well, she was allowed the opening volley, thought the duke, smiling, and one must admit there was something plucky and enterprising in the way Violet had evaded him. The duke crossed the ballroom just as a waltz was about to start and approached Violet.
Without ceremony he took her hand and as the first notes of the waltz began he bowed before her, his eyes looking intently into hers.
"Ah, Miss Durbin, I must entreat you to honor me with the supper waltz."
"But I have no dances left to give, your grace," said Violet, "the supper dance is taken."
"Ah, but you do," said the duke, "now," he added as he led her to the dance floor among the other couples.
There was not a man young or old in the room who would challenge the duke’s action. Certainly she could not, thought Violet, giving in for the moment. And certainly young William Cordeville, realizing his dance with Violet had been usurped, thought better than to make a scene. Instead, melting under Hawkinston's withering gaze, he retreated, with a quick glance at his father, Sir Galloway, who motioned him away with a warning shake of the head.
"You can start by telling me, Miss Durbin," asked the duke, "where you have been hiding all these years."
"Hiding in plain sight," said Violet.
Violet felt her heart thud alarmingly under the silk of her ball gown and wondered if she would ever again be completely composed in the duke's company. Each moment near him made her more susceptible to him and she was silent for the rest of the waltz as she let herself bask in the duke's arm. She had never felt thus in anyone's arms, not even Jay's arms, her first love.
When it was over, the duke directed her to the tables where supper was being served.
Violet glanced at the food in her plate, wondering how she would manage to eat in the duke's presence and keep her composure.
/>
She was glad when the other two couples approached the table and greeted them, placing their plates before them. Lady Sally Waycliffe, accompanied by William Cordeville and smelling of a heavy French perfume, smiled brightly.
Violet saw the duke as he assessed the occupants of the table with his sardonic smile and a certain look, a look that said that the guests were all deficient in some way, that they were the only kind of guests that would attend a function at Lord Kelly’s house.
She was certain of what he was thinking as he gazed around him. The entire guest list was a patchwork such as the occupants of this table. They hung on to the fringes of society, outcasts such as Violet’s family, as well as sons and daughters of gamblers and mushrooms.
Once the dinner was over, the duke led Violet to the dance floor. Her arm, lying lightly along his, felt such radiating little sparks that she almost snatched it away, so upset she was by the contact. She felt dizzy and warmer than the weather called for and wondered what in heaven's name was happening to her.
Up until now, Violet had kept at a safe distance from society men. Now this man was rushing headlong into the vital space around her that she had guarded so carefully.
How to convince the duke that she would never be his mistress, that death was a more welcome thought to her? Somehow, if he attempted to get too close, she would say it straight out. Perhaps that would deter him. Or would it? How well Violet knew that it would only be more of a challenge.
Violet felt light-headed as she danced in the arms of her enemy, for she now considered the Duke of Hawkinston as much an enemy as Alex Shackel had been. One could not make a distinction between the opposite characters of the two men, one dead and the other very much alive and gazing into her eyes with a conviction that frightened her.