The slight exhilaration he felt every time the dance forced them to touch yet again.
“That’s enough,” Lady Maude said, directing the end to the exercise as she had the entire episode. She struggled to stand, and Nate quickly moved to her side, just as Mrs. Ford did. Lady Maude smiled up at him and took his arm. “Thank you, young man. I find I need some exercise of my own. Please walk with me, Your Grace. Mrs. Ford, would you order tea?”
Curious, Nate did as instructed. He wondered if the older woman had been as managing around the late duke as she was now. They entered the hall, slowly making their perambulation.
“She is quite lovely,” she said.
“Miss Smith?”
“Naturally. I hardly need to discuss Mrs. Ford or Miss Vere.”
Nate laughed thinly. He wasn’t certain where this conversation would go, but the tenor of it already unnerved him.
“I have been watching you closely, Your Grace. You seem to be a man of duty and honor, dedicated to Beckworth, as a Hughes should be.”
Uncomfortable, he nodded in acknowledgement at the compliments. “Thank you.”
“But this matter with Miss Smith… It will not do.” Confusion stunned him. “Perhaps you might consider removing Miss Smith to London,” she continued. “Or a small property farther from home where discretion is possible and your future wife will not feel… inconvenienced.”
Nate frowned at Lady Maude’s impertinent words. The suggestion beneath them was that there was some sort of affair happening between Nate and Lizzie. Yes, Mr. Tompkins had warned him society might think such a thing if there were no chaperones, but here at Beckworth, there were numerous women to fill that role. There was nothing the least bit unseemly about his relationship with Lizzie, at least outside of his fertile mind.
If Lady Maude had been anyone other than an elderly woman of indeterminate age, he would have made her aware of his displeasure, but she was elderly, and a relative at that. And it was entirely possible she had somehow gleaned the lust in his heart.
“Lady Maude,” he said curtly, trying to soften his tone and words, “your fears are misplaced. Lovely as she is, Miss Smith is my secretary.” Although even he had to acknowledge she had filled far more than that position since arriving at Beckworth. “And I do indeed know my duty.”
And he knew exactly how all of Beckworth, and perhaps all of society, expected him to fulfill that duty. By making a strategic alliance with some other noble family. By growing the Beckworth fortune in both wealth and prestige.
Yes, he knew his duty. It was everything he had left behind when he had traveled to America.
But now he was returned.
To a winter that might never end.
Chapter Seven
From the rear hallway, Lizzie had heard the orchestra, an eight-member band led by a Mr. Howard, imported from London and recommended highly by Lady Cartwright. She had listened to them tune their instruments hours earlier. Now they played fully, and she recognized the spirited strains of a quadrille. She had spent much of the afternoon ensuring all the final details of the ball were ready and that the guests were comfortable in their accommodations. Despite herself, excitement had thrummed through her as she dressed in her costume and sat through the maid’s ministrations.
She slipped into the ballroom. It was expected she’d be there, of course, but as she was not officially the hostess or part of the family, she was not expected to stand in the receiving line, where Nate and Lady Maude had spent the first hour of the event. Instead, somewhere above servant but below family, Lizzie felt more like the governess, or at least the way she imagined Miss Vere had felt before finding love with the stable master. Love seemed to have a way of destroying loneliness.
Loneliness. She hadn’t realized how deeply that emotion claimed her soul until recently. The company of others exacerbated the feeling. And the ballroom was crowded with people, most of whom wanted a glimpse of the new duke. The very eligible new duke.
The duke Lizzie loved.
She was such a fool. She’d have to leave. Find work or, as Nate had suggested, a husband. It was hard to imagine loving someone else or sharing her life with a stranger.
But once Nate decided to marry, and he would, she could hardly stay as his secretary. People already thought their relationship odd.
His future wife would not want a lovesick fool lingering about.
Her stomach tumbled and her breath caught as she spotted Nate. He had chosen to dress as a knight, perhaps even one of his ancestors that lined the portrait gallery of the house. She had recognized him instantly, despite the obligatory use of a half mask.
Of course, if she had been a guest entering through the receiving line, his identity would not be a secret either. For Nate, the costume was not at all intended to obscure his identity.
“Fair Titania!” A gentleman stood in her way, dressed in a simple domino and cape, streaks of gray lightening his dark hair at his temples. “My queen, would you give me the honor of a dance?”
“Good sir,” she acknowledged him, pleased that he had recognized her costume as that of the queen of the fairies, replete with wings, a crown of flowers, and a lace Columbina mask. She didn’t recognize the older man, which wasn’t unexpected, given the great number of guests tonight. At once, she understood the appeal of a masquerade ball, one in which nobody really knew her, where she could be anybody.
Except for the fact that with each word she spoke her accent would no doubt give her away as a foreigner.
The orchestra began a reel, thankfully one she had learned, and a sense of freedom buoyed her. She smiled. “It would be a pleasure.”
For the next several sets, Lizzie went from one partner to the next until a quadrille brought her standing diagonally from Nate and his current dance partner, whom she recognized as Miss Casper from the neighborhood. Jealousy pierced her, sharp and deep. As they went through the figures, she glanced at Nate again and again, but he seemed entirely absorbed in the dance and never once acknowledged her presence with anything more than the polite nod and smile all of the dancers exchanged.
It was possible he didn’t recognize her. After all, the Columbina mask did cover most of her face above her lips, and her hair was obscured with flowers. She had never once told him her costume.
As the dance came to an end, her current partner, a handsome young man from London who was staying the night at Beckworth, led her to the punch table. As a servant handed her a glass of the sweetly intoxicating drink, her gaze locked with Nate just a few feet away.
And then just inches.
She took a quick sip, letting the spirits wet her suddenly parched mouth.
“Queen of the fairies,” he said softly, his gaze admiring. “An apt choice.”
Heat rushed through her. Did he recognize her? She nodded in acknowledgement, half afraid to speak, to break the sudden spell that seemed to have been cast over them, making the air between them nearly tangible.
“Would you care to dance?” he continued, and again she nodded, placing her glass down onto the table beside her. She rested her hand on his arm and followed him back to the middle of the floor, aware of everything about him, his heat, his height, the strength of his arm beneath her hand.
If she had ever concocted a romantic fantasy involving Nate, it would have been this. What if they were strangers at this moment? What if they were only now meeting at a ball, wrapped up in the magic of a masquerade? If she were some other woman whom he actually thought beautiful?
As they stepped into the middle of the room, the first strains of a waltz began, and her breath caught in her throat. It was one of only two waltzes scheduled for the night. His arms would be around her, so close. The room would spin, and her heart would spin.
Excitement and dread warred within her. Although she had learned the simple dance the day after the impromptu lesson without benefit of Nate’s help, there was also another significance to this dance.
“It’s almost midnight,” Nat
e said.
So his thoughts had followed her own.
Midnight would be time for the unmasking, and when this sweet fantasy would end.
She stepped into his embrace, and the world turned, tilted, and dizzied her. All that existed were his hands keeping her upright as they spun about the room, and she understood exactly why this dance was considered scandalous. She was indecently aware of his body, of his skin, of the curl of his hair at his nape.
Time disappeared and joy swept through her. She laughed and his teeth flashed white in an answering grin. If only this moment would never end.
But all too soon, it did. Before even the music ended, he whirled her away from the dancers and through the throng of people toward the edge of the ballroom. Dizzy and breathless, she followed him.
As she’d been following him for over a year. With complete trust and love.
As she’d follow him anywhere.
• • •
Nate stopped by the doors that opened out into the winter night. It would be midnight soon, and he only knew that he wanted this moment with his Titania to be in private, not in the middle of the ballroom where everyone could watch, witness, and comment.
Not that he wanted to take her mask off. Beneath the obscuring lace, her lips were perfectly shaped. Pink curves upturned in a slight smile. He wanted to press his own lips to hers, study them with his tongue, taste the sweetness.
She looked up and then let out a little laugh.
He raised an eyebrow and followed her gaze.
“Mistletoe,” she said even though he, too, could see the little sprig of leaves and berries.
Heat pooled low in his body. The universe was conspiring with him. Against him. Conspiring, in any event. He wanted to kiss her, and now he had the perfect excuse in the guise of innocent greenery placed to induce this perfect recklessness.
The clock struck midnight. The orchestra stopped its song with a special flourish. The rustling of masks being removed, laughter, and chatter filled the room.
Motionless, Nate stared at his fairy queen.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “Let’s keep the disguises for now. Be strangers for a few moments more.”
As if they were strangers. Except, Nate knew exactly who she was. He wouldn’t have followed some stranger into a potentially compromising situation. Nor should he have followed Lizzie. But it was some devil on his shoulder that made him ask her to dance, despite the torture of that brief dancing lesson. The same devil that prompted him to pull her out to the solitude of the balcony in winter. The same devil that he had been silencing for over a year. He wasn’t blind or unaware, but tonight they could pretend without consequence. It wouldn’t have to affect anything in the morning. Just one kiss. Why not? A kiss was nothing. Certainly nothing new to either of them.
He pushed the door open just enough to pull her outside with him. Here there were no decorations, no lanterns, nothing to break the darkness but the moonlight, no longer at its fullest point. There was no one else outside in the cold air. She shivered against him, and he pulled her close. Her features were edged in light from the ballroom as she looked up at him.
Slowly, drunk on something more than punch, more than moonlight, some sort of intoxication that had been growing ever since she’d stepped into his study in a new dress, ever since he’d seen her face across a tavern, he lowered his lips to hers.
Soft, so soft and so sweet. He shifted to cradle the nape of her neck in his hand to better explore her taste and warmth. Desire grew, dizzying him. His free hand slid down her back, skimming over curves that he had only glimpsed before when her dress swayed against her. He wanted her desperately. He wanted to taste her everywhere, see her, bury himself inside her.
He wanted so much more than a kiss.
With Lizzie.
He pulled away abruptly. Forced his hands to drop, even as they itched to touch her.
“I shouldn’t have…,” he said, words unequal to everything he felt. “I can’t…” There was nothing he could say that could change what he had done—taken advantage of her the way he had promised himself he never would. He stumbled backward, blinking in the dim light, staring blindly. He needed to return to the ballroom before anyone realized he had been missing, but he also needed to compose himself. He swiveled on his heel and walked briskly across the length of the balcony to where stairs led down into the garden. He would reenter elsewhere. Perhaps he could not take back what he had done, but he could ameliorate the consequences of being found together in such circumstances. As he strode through the garden, he tore the mask from his face to let the cold air cool the heat within him.
A mask. Did Lizzie even know it was he whom she had kissed?
• • •
With the touch of Nate’s lips, everything had changed. The world, colors, sounds. The sharpness of Lizzie’s vision. All her senses, actually. It was as if that embrace had awakened parts of her she hadn’t even known existed.
But he had fled. With something very like an apology. Like regret. And she wasn’t entirely certain he even knew whom he had kissed. Had he willingly embraced a stranger or did he know who she was? And if he did know… why kiss her? Or why leave her here, trembling from a cold deeper than that of the chilled air?
He had wanted to kiss her. He must have experienced the same connection between them as their lips touched. She could not have been the only one so affected. Everything she had ever known was upended, the world continuing to tilt the way it had been ever since her father died.
She didn’t follow Nate. Instead she opened the door to the ballroom and went back inside. A few people looked her way briefly and then returned to their conversations. If they had seen her departure with Nate, no one made the slightest gesture to indicate such. But though the ball was still full and bright and cheery, no one was wearing masks anymore. She slowly removed hers and then made her way through the ballroom and out into the main hall. She hurried up the stairs, away from the potent strains of the orchestra, to her room, where she could burn with shame and lingering desire in peace.
The next morning, she woke early as usual but lay in bed, unwilling to leave its safety and warmth. Outside her room, there was a house of guests. They would all be departing that afternoon as long as the weather held. Mrs. Pemberley could see to their comfort well enough. No one would truly miss Lizzie, as they hardly knew what to make of her in any event.
Nate’s mistress. She laughed and then kept laughing, burying her face into her pillow. If only! She had offered him such a thing the first night they had met, intended as repayment of their debt to him and incentive for him to continue helping them. But he had rejected her advances.
Yet last night he had kissed her.
Then rejected her again.
But he had kissed her!
She might never be able to meet his eyes again.
Although maybe he’d kiss her again.
She pulled the pillow up over her head as she giggled at her ridiculous thoughts.
All because of the mistletoe.
She couldn’t stay in bed forever. At some point, she would have to face the consequences, for good or for bad.
If he did know it was she, then they needed to discuss it.
Or do it again.
She flipped onto her back, the pillow against her stomach as she stared at the ceiling.
Finally, she rolled off the bed and rang for the maid.
• • •
Less than an hour later, Lizzie knocked on the door to his study. It was entirely possible he wouldn’t be there, that he would have finally decided his duty as a duke included being sociable and acting as host to his guests.
That aspect of the new position was one he had definitely been slow to accept, which had thrust her into the strange position of doing it instead.
Which she had.
A slow anger built inside her, pushing aside the mirth that had filled her earlier. If he didn’t know it was she he had kissed, then he was going about hi
s other duty of searching for a wife the entirely wrong way. Kissing strange women and then running away would do nothing positive for him.
Nor was it the sort of honorable action she had come to expect from Nate.
She opened the door and stepped inside. He wasn’t at his desk, but she looked around, the sense that he was there strong within her. Her eyes settled on him standing in a shadowed corner by the window, staring out at the rose garden.
“There’s no need to work today, Lizzie,” he said without looking at her. “I’m certain you are exhausted after the ball.”
“If there is no need to work, then you should be attending to your guests,” she said, unable to keep the spite from her voice.
Abruptly he turned and went back to his desk where he moved papers around. Still he avoided her gaze.
With a sudden rush of heat, she understood. He knew. Likely he had known that night, and that was why he had run away. Which meant he’d felt that magic too.
She could pretend she had never kissed him if he was ignorant that they had ever shared any embrace at all, but denying what they both knew they had shared would simply prolong this awkwardness. And denying meant she would never have the opportunity to feel his lips on hers again.
She rounded his desk and he looked up at her, eyes wide in something very like alarm. She perched on the edge of his desk, very near his chair, and looked down at him.
“So is this the way it is to be? We can only kiss in the dark, pretending neither of us know the other’s identity?”
They stared at each other, gazes meshed. She knew him so well, could anticipate his every need—when it came to anything but this moment. His bright blue-green gaze had never been so unfathomable.
“It should never have happened, Lizzie.”
“Say anything but that—”
“You’re under my protection—”
“It isn’t as if I didn’t want to kiss—” Their words overlapped, picked up speed. Her heart beat fast in her chest, and her muscles tightened with tension and the sense that she could not let this go.
“You need a husband. Someone who’ll cherish you, not take advantage of the fact that you’re vulnerable and young and—” He’d stood somehow, was looming above her so that she had to look up at him, so she stood, too, and the distance lessened.
A Duke by December Page 8