The Duke of Hearts

by Jess Michaels

  Both men drew back, and their shock was clear. “A lady?” Baldwin repeated.

  “A woman,” Matthew corrected. “She sometimes seems like a lady, though she implied she might be a servant or that she comes from trade. I met her that first night I went with Hugh and Robert. I’ve gone back because of her.”

  Ewan drew a long breath and began to write. “Not that I’ve had much experience with such things, but even I’ve heard of the Donville Masquerade. Is it as wicked as described?”

  Matthew pursed his lips as images of naked bodies, roaming hands, arching backs filled his mind. Images of his swan, writhing above him as she cried out her pleasure. It put his body on edge as he ground out, “Yes.”

  “Does that mean she’s your lover?”

  Matthew shifted at the question in black and white before him. He’d never been one to brag about his conquests, not that he’d had any in what felt like a lifetime.

  “Yes.”

  “Good God,” Baldwin breathed. “That is not what I expected. I thought you were just leaning on the wall, cursing Robert for his interference.”

  “It started that way,” Matthew said, running a hand through his hair to expel some of the restless energy this topic created low in his belly. “He dragged me there, and you know how hard it is to resist him. But I didn’t intend for this.”

  “How did it start?” Ewan wrote.

  Matthew shut his eyes. He could picture that first night so perfectly. “She was being harassed,” he said. “I couldn’t let that stand. I stepped in, we talked, I was shocked by this instant connection.”

  Baldwin smiled softly. “I know a bit about that.”

  Matthew shook his head, for he didn’t think he ought to compare the connection he felt to his lover to Baldwin’s deep and abiding love for Helena.

  “We ended up on the terrace,” he continued.

  “I also know a bit about that,” Baldwin said, laughing this time.

  “Well, it snowballed,” Matthew said. “We kissed. And the next time I saw her, it was more than kissing. We are lovers, despite all my reservations and questions. I can’t stop thinking about her. Dreaming about her.”

  “That is a good thing, isn’t it?” Baldwin asked. “A natural thing for a man to want a woman. Why do you hesitate?”

  “First, she wears a mask,” Matthew explained. “I don’t know her identity.”

  Ewan’s eyes were wide but he wrote nothing, just stared. Baldwin even looked shocked. “Well, that is something,” he said slowly. “It is a masquerade, though. You must do the same.”

  “I did,” Matthew said. “But she knows my identity. It’s a long story. I do hesitate that she knows me but I know nothing about her.”

  “That’s fair,” Ewan wrote. “It’s also not your only hesitation.”

  Matthew pursed his lips. “You know me too well. I forget that sometimes until you so rudely remind me. No, that’s not all.” He paced the room. “Being with this woman, despite the hidden identities and the wild start to it…it feels like coming back to life. But it also feels like betrayal.”

  Baldwin flinched. “Angelica has been gone for a long time, Tyndale,” he said gently.

  “You think I should just pack up any feelings about her and move on?” Matthew snapped.

  Baldwin shook his head. “Of course not. No one expects the pain of losing her to go away completely. I could not imagine the grief of what you’ve endured, I know that even more strongly since Helena came into my life. But I also can’t picture that Angelica would have wanted you to go on in misery, holding up her memory for the rest of your days.”

  Matthew walked to the sideboard. He fiddled with the bottles without pouring himself a drink. He didn’t want one—he just didn’t want to look at the two men who knew him best. Not when they might see what he, himself, didn’t want to explore too deeply.

  “I know you are right,” he said softly.

  He could say no more. They didn’t push for more, they just let the silence hang between them for a moment. Then Baldwin came to stand beside him and slung an arm around his shoulders.

  “Did you get the invitation to Lord and Lady Callis’s ball on Saturday night?”

  Matthew wrinkled his brow. “Yes, I think so. Mother mentioned it, as well, when I called on her a few days ago. What about it?”

  “Well, all of us are going. You know he married his mistress last year and the duchesses seem determined to help make her entry into Society easier.”

  Matthew bent his head at the kindness of his friends and their beautiful wives. “That sounds like the duchesses.”

  “Why don’t you come? Get out into Society, shake off the melancholy and confusion with your friends. Make your mother happy.”

  Matthew glanced over to find Ewan nodding his agreement. He sighed. “Very well. I’ve been spending too much time brooding in hells as it is. A night with friends would probably do me some good.”

  Baldwin grinned. “I think it will be just the thing. You take a night away from this woman, clear your head. Perhaps it will help you see things more clearly.”

  Matthew nodded, and at that moment Helena and Charlotte returned to the room together. He watched as his friends greeted their wives, the light that returned to both men obvious.

  They were right, of course, that a night away from the hell, away from his search for his stranger, would likely do him good. But the idea that it could clear his head seemed foolish, indeed. Because his mind was tangled and there didn’t seem to be a way to unravel it. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

  Chapter Ten

  Isabel shifted and slid her hands along her skirt nervously. The ball spun around her, a familiar dizzy mix of loud music, chattering voices and twirling skirts. In theory, it was very much like a dozen other balls she had attended over the years.

  In truth, it felt different—because this was a ball thrown by a viscount and his wife. The room was filled with earls and dukes, second sons and those who had inherited all they had and more.

  She felt very out of place.

  “What did you think of Callis?” her uncle asked as he handed over a drink.

  She sipped it gingerly before she said, “The viscount and his wife were very friendly.”

  That was true, at least. The viscount was a handsome man and his wife was beautiful and sweet. They were clearly in love, something that surprised Isabel, for she knew many Society marriages were arranged and loveless.

  Not that she could talk.

  Uncle Fenton hurrumphed. “She didn’t used to be so high and mighty,” he said.

  Isabel let her gaze slip to the viscountess again. “No?”

  “It’s unseemly to talk about,” her uncle said with a shake of his head. “I should not have brought it up. But since there is a bit of scandal to the couple, I thought it wouldn’t be a bad start for you in Society.”

  Isabel pressed her lips together hard at the veiled insult. “Thank you, uncle.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t mean because of any scandal associated with you,” he explained. “Unless there is more to your sneaking out than I yet know. But because everyone is judging her, perhaps you would feel their judgment less.”

  Isabel sighed. She supposed, in his own way, he was being kind. Trying to make it easier. It wasn’t though.

  They stood together in silence for a moment as she stared out over the crowd. She felt so on the outside of this world. Pressed against the glass but unable to truly enter. She had rather hoped Sarah might come tonight, but her mother’s illness had prevented it.

  So Isabel was truly alone even in the crowded room.

  “Isabel!”

  She turned at Uncle Fenton’s call and found that he was no longer alone. A gentleman stood next to him. He was tall, broad-shouldered, not unhandsome. But he was likely a contemporary of her uncle, older than Isabel by at least twenty-five years.

  Her heart sank.

  “May I prese
nt Mrs. Isabel Hayes,” her uncle said. “Isabel, this is Sir Daniel Goodacre.”

  “Sir Daniel,” she said, extending her hand.

  He caught it and lifted it to his lips. As he brushed them over her gloved knuckles, she tried to keep her smile on her face. He was staring at her breasts. Of course he was.

  “Mrs. Hayes,” he drawled. “You are a vision.”

  Uncle Fenton smiled at the man. “Sir Daniel is an old friend,” he said.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you,” Isabel said as she extracted her hand from his grip.

  She fought the urge to shake it out. Shake off his touch. God’s teeth, she was traveling down the same road her father had put her on. Her uncle might marry her higher, but it was practically to the same man.

  “I wondered if your dance card was full this evening, Mrs. Hayes,” Sir Daniel asked with a side glance for her uncle.

  She swallowed. “Indeed, it is not, for we only just arrived.”

  “Then might I be so bold as to ask you to dance the next with me?” he said, motioning to the dancefloor where couples were just departing after the lilting end of the previous song.

  Isabel inclined her head. This was the worst part of these events. While a woman might be asked to dance, it was only in theory that the answer could be no. In truth, she had more power at the Donville Masquerade than here in a public and presentable forum.

  “Certainly,” she said through clenched teeth. “It would be an honor.”

  He extended an arm and she took it. When she glanced back, she found a satisfied smile on her uncle’s face. He almost looked as though everything had been determined. Her future taken care of so he could go back to ruthlessly grieving the past.

  And her heart sank as the tones of a country jig began and she was forced to dance lightly while her entire being felt so desperately heavy.

  Matthew stood along the wall as the ball went on around him, but he was not truly attending to it. His mind was turning to another room, another dancefloor, one that would shock the people in this room if they encountered it.

  He was thinking of his stranger. His swan.

  “Matthew!”

  He turned and shook away those wicked thoughts as he watched his mother approach him. The duchess looked lovely in her finery, but he saw concern flash across her face before she leaned up to kiss his cheek.

  “Mama,” he said as he took her hand tucked it into the crook of his arm. “I’m so glad to find you. Would you like to take a turn on the dancefloor?”

  She laughed as if the idea were absurd. “I will leave you to all the eligible ladies, I think. You know I do not dance.”

  “You should,” he said, giving her a side glance. “You were always very good at it.”

  “With your father as partner,” she said with a sad smile. “I doubt I’d be much good with someone else.”

  “Says the woman who is determined I find myself a new dance partner,” he said as they looked out over the crowd together.

  She squeezed his arm gently. “I push too hard, do I?”

  He looked down at her, at that kind face he so adored. The one that had seen him through such grief. The one that wanted a future for him that he feared he could not provide.

  “Not at all,” he said softly. “You have my best interest at heart. How could I complain about that?”

  “You can’t,” she said. “But you can certainly complain about my methods.”

  “I would not dare to do so,” he teased. “And risk your wrath?”

  His mother rolled her eyes. “My wrath that is of legend?”

  He chuckled and felt a wave of comfort wash over him. He did feel more himself when he was with family and friends. The self he had settled into since Angelica’s death. There was an ease to that, one he lost the moment he stepped into the masquerade and was confronted by burning desire that lit in him when he saw his stranger.

  “You are very far away tonight,” the duchess said. “Are you bored at the ball?”

  He shrugged. “It is a ball. I suppose it’s as fine a way to spend time as any other.”

  “Enthusiastic,” she drawled. “So there is no one here who catches your interest?”

  Matthew sighed as he let his gaze scan the room. He found friends aplenty, for most of the dukes had come to the party and were either gathered in clusters, talking to the other guests, or spinning around the floor with their brides. There were other friends to be found, as well. Friends outside his tight knit group, including their host.

  But that wasn’t what his mother meant about interest. She meant ladies. Unattached, marriageable ladies. Ones that would help eventually carry on his father’s legacy by marrying him and birthing his sons.

  “I don’t—” he began, and then came to a stop. The crowd had parted slightly and revealed not a lady who caught his eye, but someone else. Someone far worse.

  “What is it?” the duchess asked as she lifted on her tiptoes to gaze over the crowd with him.

  “Fenton Winter,” he breathed.

  The name caused a visceral reaction in his mother. She caught her breath and grabbed for his arm with both hands. “Matthew,” she whispered.

  There was a reason for the strength of that reaction. Winter was Angelica’s father. For years their families had gotten along. The man had approved of their match. But when she died, Winter had been truly devastated. He had rained down rage and heartbreak, as well as accusations, on Matthew’s head.

  Normally they did not attend the same events. Matthew made certain of that. But tonight there the man was. Over the years, he’d grown thinner. Gaunt, even. His jaw was set as he looked at the dancefloor, a line of displeasure that Matthew had come to know very well.

  But he clearly had not yet seen Matthew, for he had no doubt Winter would have already come smashing across the ballroom for a public confrontation if he had.

  “Perhaps I should go,” he murmured.

  His mother said something in reply, but he didn’t hear her. In that moment, a lady came off the dancefloor and stopped in front of Winter. She had her back to Matthew—he could not see her face, but he didn’t need to.

  There was familiarity in the way she moved. The way her gown hung on her slender shoulders. In the dark, silky magic of her perfectly arranged hair.

  That was…it looked like his swan. His stranger. His lover. And she was talking to Fenton Winter in a ballroom of a viscount, standing not fifty feet from Matthew.

  “Matthew!” His mother’s tone was sharp and pierced his stunned fog.

  “Yes?” he asked, making himself look at her.

  “What is wrong?” she asked. “Aside from Winter’s being here, I mean. I’ve said your name three times.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Mama. I don’t know.” He glanced back at Winter and his companion. She was still not facing him and his head began to spin. “I’m sorry. Excuse me.”

  He walked away from his mother, faintly aware of her saying his name yet again. He ignored it, too caught up in the swirling drumbeat of horror that was the situation unfolding before him. One he didn’t understand completely, but recognized was not going to end well. How could it?

  He staggered up to James and Emma, who were standing beside the dancefloor, heads close together, whispering and giggling to each other. When he interrupted them, James’s expression immediately fell.

  “What is it?” he asked, catching Matthew’s arm.

  Matthew felt glad for the grip. It brought him back to reality a bit. “I—Winter,” he muttered.

  James jerked his gaze in the direction Matthew looked and his eyes widened. “Christ, I’m sorry. I had no idea he would be here.”

  “Neither did I,” Matthew gasped out. “Who is that woman with him?”

  James looked again, as did Matthew. When they did, the lady finally pivoted to stand beside Winter, and Matthew got his first look at her face. And there was no longer any doubt or ho
pe that she wasn’t his stranger. He could tell by the shape of her lips, the curve of her jaw, the color of her dark eyes.

  It was her.

  James began to shake his head when Emma drew in a long breath. “That is Isabel Hayes,” she said gently. “She is…she’s Angelica’s cousin, Winter’s niece. She has been staying with him for about a year. She’s been in mourning most of that time, for her late husband.”

  Matthew’s ears began to ring as he stared at the lady, the swan…Isabel, once more. She was even more beautiful when her face wasn’t half covered by a mask.

  “No.” He choked on the word. “No.”

  “Matthew,” James said. “Matthew, what is it?”

  Matthew couldn’t answer. He stared, unblinking, as Winter said something to Isabel and then stepped away from her into the milling crowd. She shifted, a look of discomfort crossing her face. Her lying, deceiving, utterly gorgeous face.

  He said nothing to explain himself but headed off across the room toward her. The room was crowded, but it didn’t matter. All he saw was her. All he could think about was her. Her and her lies and whatever horrible plan she had hatched in her head.

  As he pushed through the groups of revelers, she turned, and her gaze settled on him. He watched emotion flood over her. Her eyes widened almost impossibly, her cheeks went bloodless, and in her gaze he saw abject terror.

  All of which only proved what he knew all the more. She was his lady. And she had absolutely known exactly who and what he was.

  He crossed the last few steps toward her and she pivoted, turning as if she would run. He didn’t allow it. He caught her bare elbow and tugged her back, trying desperately to ignore the flash of heat and desire that rushed through him when his skin met hers.

  “Come with me,” he growled beneath his breath. “Mrs. Hayes.”

  Isabel couldn’t breathe as she was dragged through the winding halls of Lord Callis’s enormous house. Her vision was blurred and she couldn’t hear over the pounding of her heart. She staggered, but Matthew didn’t slow his pace, he just steadied her as he pushed into a parlor. As he released her, she staggered forward, flinching as he slammed the door behind them.