Chapter 2

Lydia might have relished her clandestine novels, but those were for the comfort of her own bedchamber, where she could lock the door and leave the real world beyond it for a while. Whoever this man was, he was threatening her very existence in Society, risking her reputation—and, perhaps, worse—by cornering her, alone, in another lord's library.

No… You have been training for this. You might not have known it, but you have.

She took a slow, quiet breath, praying the intruder could not hear her heart thundering. It was true. From a young age, she had devoured every book she could find, and there were lessons to be learned from the fairytales and myths of old. Lessons that she needed to put to good use now, lest she find herself ensnared by this ungentlemanly man.

Careful not to make a sound, she began edging into the deeper darkness at the farthest end of the bookcases. She planned to circle back while the intruder moved forward, and if she timed it just right, she would get to the key and open the door before he even knew she had escaped him.

Should I scream afterward? Should I howl for help once I am in the hallway beyond?

Instinct told her to do so, while knowledge of Society said otherwise. It would be her word against his, whoever he was. If any witness to her escape suspected they had been alone together, for even a moment, it would shred her reputation to tatters anyway. It would not matter if she had done anything wrong or not.

She was so focused on the aftermath that she forgot to concentrate on the present… and did not see the book sticking all the way out of the second-to-last shelf until her thigh collided with it. A startled gasp slipped past her lips, and her hands fumbled helplessly for the tome, her fingertips skimming leather as it fell to the ground.

The thump as it hit the parquet was as loud as a thunderclap.

There was no way the intruder had not heard it.

Cursing inwardly, she half-limped, half-crept toward what she hoped was the safety of the shadows just ahead of her. She could still make it. She could still trick the man if she could just grit her teeth through the pain throbbing up her leg and the fear that kept trying to render her frozen.

Almost there… Almost there… Come on, Lydia!

She reached the darkness at the far end of the stacks and nearly made the mistake of breathing a sigh of relief. Waving one hand in front of her, she tiptoed to the next bookcase and paused to listen for the intruder.

Silence boomed back.

Swallowing thickly, she crept on, the back of an armchair coming into view, illuminated by the fireplace. She was almost back where she had started. Almost back to the library door and freedom.

"There you are, my sweet bunny." A figure stepped out in front of her, the silver edges of a mask catching the glow of the firelight.

In silhouette, she could just make out the curve of a saber, the shape of muscular thighs in tight trousers, and the sleeves of a billowing shirt. He held a tricorn hat in one hand.

The fox-pirate!

The ears of his mask seemed to glint in confirmation.

She turned around, hoping to dart between the stacks once more. If she could put enough bookcases between them, maybe she would have a chance of escaping him.

Indeed, it was ridiculous to think that not very long ago, she had been fantasizing about being in front of him, hearing him whisper sweet nothings, admiring his physique and his flirtations up close. At least now, she had the answer to what she would do in such a situation: run.

His free hand shot out, grasping her by the arm and pulling her backward. Her shoulders bumped against something solid, and his arm was swift to snake around her waist, pinning her to him.

That solid thing, she realized, was his chest.

His breath left a feverish heat along the curve of her neck as he whispered, "You did not seem so shy earlier, My Lady. It does not become you to change your character now." He held her tighter, his lips so close to her skin that tiny bolts of lightning seemed to jump between the two. "You have teased me enough, My Lady. You claimed you were a woman of action, you asked me to come to this library—the chase is over."

Fighting past the curious thrill of his closeness and the way he pressed himself flush against her, Lydia saw sense through the fog of bewilderment. A violent gust of anger and fear for her reputation swept through her mind, clearing it of everything else.

She dug her fingernails into his forearm and pushed with all her might, wrenching herself free of the fox-pirate. "Excuse me?" she hissed, glaring up at him, though it was unlikely he could see in the dim light of the room. "I have never met you in my entire life, and I have certainly not teased you or asked you to join me in this library! But I am a woman of action, and I shall… I shall smack you with every book I can grab if you come near me again!"

The fox-pirate stepped backward. "Come into the light where I can see you."

"I will do no such thing!" She reached for the nearest book she could find, wielding it in both hands, ready to make good on her threat.

He disappeared for a moment while Lydia's eyes darted this way and that in the darkness, waiting for him to reappear behind her or beside her. Thinking it might give her greater protection, she pulled her mask back down over her face.

But the fox-pirate reappeared exactly where he had been standing—where he had held her so tightly that she could not breathe, and had not minded the lack of air for a fleeting, silly second—with a lantern in his hand.

He shone it in her direction, and with a heavy sigh and a sagging of his broad shoulders, he simply said, "Ah…"

William had followed the wrong pink dress again. Indeed, he should have known better than to think Lady Artemisia would say "twenty minutes" and not make him wait twenty minutes.

"Ah?" the young lady mimicked, wild-eyed and panting hard in the dull yellow glow of the lantern. "That is all you have to say to me?"

William grimaced. "You may put your book down. I mean you no harm, so there is no need to give me an even greater headache with one of those things. This all has a very simple explanation. I?—"

"I should say that it does—you saw me come in here, you thought you would seize the opportunity, and in doing so, you seized me without my permission!" she interrupted, waving the book at him. "My sister warned me of degenerates, but I never expected one to be at such a… such a nice ball!"

He blinked at her. "If you would be quiet and let me explain, I?—"

"Does it seem like I am in the mood to hear your excuses?" the young woman shot back. "You ought to be wearing a weasel mask, for that is what you are—a lecherous weasel who thinks they can weasel their way out of the consequences of their actions."

He had never heard anyone use the word weasel so many times in one sentence, nor in one single breath. It was further proof that he should have known this woman was not Lady Artemisia because although Artemisia was fiery in her own way, she was nothing like the spitfire in front of him.

"Consequences?" William snorted. "It was a misunderstanding."

"A-ha! Rehearsing your ‘poor me' speech for when the guards come, are we?"

William swept a hand through his hair, baffled by the woman. "Guards? What guards? Where do you think we are? This is not a castle. You are not a princess."

Is she?

He took a calming breath.

No, that is not possible.

"I might not be a princess, but I am no damsel in distress either," she told him. "If this were not a library, I would scream."

It took every shred of willpower he possessed not to laugh. "Because one must be quiet in a library?"

"Yes, because one must be quiet in a library, Oaf. Were you not taught that?" She sniffed. "I suppose not if you were also not taught that it is appalling to grab a lady in the dark and… and… hurt her against that stone chest of yours. I shall have bruises, I am certain of it."

He put his hat back on his head and held up his hands, letting the lantern dangle from his thumb. "The explanation is simple," he said firmly, "and it is not an excuse. You were—quite obviously if you would think on it instead of waving that book around—not who I was supposed to be meeting."

"Well… I…" She paused, frowning.

"Every last lady at this tedious masquerade has decided, for reasons unknown, to wear the same blasted gown, and it is difficult to tell the difference between a cat and a rabbit in the dark," he said, taking his opportunity to get a word in edgeways. "Though, I must say, your claws are sharper. You may have bruises, I shall have scars."

She glowered up at him. "Do not be ridiculous. And do not turn this back into a woe-is-me situation. You grabbed me, you deserved to be nipped. You deserve worse, in truth." She hesitated, lowering the book slightly. "What are you supposed to be, anyway?"

"A wolf," he replied.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Of course, you are."

What was that supposed to mean? His eyes narrowed as he tried to swallow his irritation at her mocking tone.

"I am sorry to have mistaken you," he said gruffly. "Blame whoever decided pink was the color of the Season. I know I shall."

The woman seemed to relax. "What were you planning to do in here? I ought to know, since I have not yet decided if I shall leave or if I shall make you leave."

"Well, since you are asking," he replied, leaning forward, "I was hoping to do something like this."

Which ought to keep you from telling anyone of my mistake…

He wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her gently to him, giving her time to pull away if she wished to, and the book fell to the floor. At the same moment that it hit the ground, he dipped his head and softly kissed her slightly parted lips, pressing his apology to her sweet, plump mouth.

She made a soft sound, almost like a sigh, and even in the low light, he saw her eyes close. A dreamy, enchanted sort of look appeared on her face. And as it did, she puckered her lips to kiss him back. A shy press of encouragement.

Taking that as permission to show her more of what he had planned, he moved his lips to kiss her again. So, it was something of a surprise when she suddenly gasped and shoved him hard in the chest, propelling herself backward. He did not see her hand rise, but he felt the almighty sting of her palm as it collided with his cheek. A ricochet of smarting pain dazed him, her faint figure—and that eerie cat mask—wobbling in his vision.

"How dare you!" she snarled. "How dare you steal my first kiss from me, you vile serpent! I told you, I am not some sweet bunny to swoon over you. How dare you touch me! How dare you touch any unsuspecting lady!"

He realized he had made his second mistake that night. Evidently, and by her own declaration, she was not someone who could be soothed or mollified by his usual array of tricks and talents. Not for more than a couple of seconds, anyway.

"You might be wearing a mask now, but I swear that I shall find out who you are, and I shall curse your name with everything I possess!" the sharp-clawed woman growled. "You had better hope we never cross paths again, weasel."

With that, she pushed past him, his head still ringing from that ferocious slap, and unlocked the door. She did not slam it as she left, which somehow made her exit and her parting words twice as threatening.

"Believe me," he muttered, "I am already wishing we had not crossed paths in the first place."

And if he ever saw a pink gown again, it would be too soon.

The next morning, cheek still blazing, William hesitantly turned the pages of the scandal sheets. He knew there was no real possibility that the lady in the cat mask had discovered his identity and gone to the scandal sheets with the unfortunate mishap… and the kiss that had exacerbated the situation, but he needed to be sure.

"I saved you the trouble," Anthony said from the opposite end of the breakfast table.

William's gaze shot up. "What?"

"Lady Artemisia. She is on page three." Anthony smiled and took a bite of his toast, thickly slathered with marmalade. "I do hope you were not planning to make her your wife, for it appears she caused quite the scandal at last night's ball. Fortunately, not with you."

William glanced back down at the scandal sheets, but he could not turn to page three. Not when his name was staring up at him—the subject of yet another scathing article about what on earth was wrong with him. How Lady Emma—now the Duchess of Hudson—must know something, and what an honorable lady she was to not lay his darkest secrets bare for all to enjoy.

"She ran from me!" he hissed. "She is not honorable. She is bloody lucky, that is all!"

Anthony pulled a face. "So, you saw the part about England's favorite Duchess? I had hoped to divert you with Lady Artemisia."

"I care nothing for Lady Artemisia," William replied, a note too sharply. "I entertained her flirtations to amuse myself. She can do as she pleases—and has, I assume."

He touched his cheek, realizing how differently the night would have gone if he had exercised some patience. Perhaps he would be on two separate pages of the scandal sheets if he had waited those twenty minutes. Perhaps that woman in the cat mask had done him a strange favor.

Anthony took another bite of his toast and swallowed before saying, "I assumed Lady Artemisia's antics were responsible for your foul mood?"

"Not in the slightest." William crumpled the scandal sheets in his hand. "And my mood was not foul, though it is now. How has Lady Emma managed to get away with her wretched antics? She has done far more dishonorable things, in my opinion, than Lady Artemisia."

Not that I would know what Lady Artemisia is capable of…

He had never had the chance to find out, for after the cat-woman had left him with a ringing skull and a sweet taste on his lips, he had snuck out through the servants' corridor. He had not paused to think of whether Lady Artemisia had still come or not.

"You are a duke," Anthony said simply. "It does not matter what the scandal sheets or the Duchess of Hudson say, the ladies will still flock to you. There are very few eligible dukes at present, and what lady would not want to be a duchess?"

William sat back, staring at the crumpled ball. "Who is my competition? That ‘Beast' fellow that no one has seen in years?"

"As far as dukes go, yes."

"If the ladies of the ton were presented with the choice of me or him, I think you would be surprised by how many could suddenly see past ugliness and a violent reputation."

Anthony chuckled. "Are we still talking of the Beast?"

"Very amusing." William flashed a half-smile, but the resentment coursing through his veins toward the Duchess of Hudson made a full smile impossible.

"Even if the unmarried ladies are reluctant," Anthony continued with refreshed enthusiasm, "their mothers do not care about gossip—they care about titles and security for their daughters."

William closed his eyes and shook his head, despairing. "You cannot possibly believe that, Anthony. The mothers read these sheets more thoroughly than anyone and gossip more ferociously. For many, it is their sole entertainment—picking apart the lives of others."

He sighed, balling his hands into fists. "If I were on these pages for one of my real misdeeds, I would accept it. But that vile woman has dragged me through the dirt while she has gone on to jilt a second fiancé and then married well, entirely unscathed. I did nothing wrong! And you do not see that other fiancé being raked across the coals, now, do you?" He clenched his jaw. "She gets to play the merry duchess while my own dukedom falls to pieces. It is… reprehensible."

There were great debts left behind when his father died. Debts like a cracked dam that he kept trying to fill, only for more leaks to spring up. He had not exactly helped his position either, for he had stretched his rakish habits far beyond his means.

"Sooner or later, you will find a lady whose dowry will help," Anthony said, hesitating to take another piece of toast, as if one less might fix their financial woes.

William looked from the crumpled scandal sheets to his brother, an idea cementing in his mind. "No… not just any lady." Something swelled in his chest, hot and dark and thrilling. "This is all Lady Emma's fault. Her family owes me—owes us. And now, it is time to collect."