Chapter Eleven

P ercy watched the light filter through the glass panes of the Crystal Palace and send rainbows of color scattering over the heads of hundreds of people in worn moleskin and wool—and elegant frock coats and laced bustles—waiting for the doors to open for this monumental event.

Percy stared at the mix of bright colors and common browns, the clashing of fabrics and class hurting his head. What the devil were all these laced-up dandies doing here?

"I did not realize football was so popular," Danny said at his side, looking like a dream in a simple, rose-pink frock, not a laced ruffle in sight.

Denise and Mrs. Pebblestone—the lady's perpetually frowning chaperone—followed a step behind.

Denise scrunched her nose. "Or smelly."

"A workman's sport," Percy said, eyeing a better way into the building through the side garden than suffering the jostling crowd through the front doors. He tucked Danny's hand into the crook of his elbow and led their party towards the grassy lawn. "Come."

"Avoiding purchasing the tickets?" Danny asked, voice low and eyes dancing. "Be careful, Your Grace. Your criminal side is showing."

"Tease me all you like," he whispered back, tempering his desire to beg for more, "but these numbers are a perfect draw for pickpockets." Plus, he'd bought his tickets ahead of time. Being a worthless duke did have some advantages.

As luck had it, the garden doors led into the lower level of the palace, where the stairs to the upper levels were guarded by a big man in a dark coat.

"Tickets, sir?"

Percy withdrew the slips from his inner pocket and waited for the man to wave them ahead. Inside, he offered the sisters each an arm up the stairs—leaving Mrs. Pebblestone and her frown to walk unescorted—and around the full-surround balcony until they found their designated terrace labeled with a simple red patch of fabric on the glass wall behind.

Denise circled the semi-private terrace and the deserted second story. With a glint in her eye, she raised a hand to her head dramatically and stated, "How unfortunate. I do feel a nasty headache coming on. I believe I'll find the physician's terrace and see if they have a tonic and place for me to rest a moment."

Percy bit back a smile. "I shall escort—"

"I need to use the privy as well," Denise said unabashedly, already heading in the direction of the labeled area. "No need to concern yourself, Your Grace. Mrs. Pebblestone and I will manage."

Mrs. Pebblestone shot Danny a hard look before chasing after the youngest Deime.

Danny shook her head at her sister's retreat. "She's a terrible chaperone."

Percy couldn't disagree more. "I do hope she feels better."

Danny shot him a glare that had him pinching his thigh to keep him from laughing.

"Come." He beckoned her to the railing.

The two opposing teams were already afield—a sharp distinction where marble floor met trimmed grass—their jersey stripes a contrasting green versus blue, but with socks a myriad of colors, from nonsensical white to a distressing shade of chartreuse.

Hard to believe the field floor used to house some of the greatest treasures of the empire: cotton milling machinery, tapestries from India. Black-and-white photographs hung from the woven divider on either side, separating their private terrace from the next for some semblance of exclusivity. Percy glanced at the images, but his attention quickly shifted to the lady who watched the men stretch below with keen interest.

Noting his gaze, Danny asked, "What are the rules?"

Percy rested his elbows on the top of the railing, the seams of his coat pulling. "You don't know? I thought all good English families played lawn games."

"We do." Danny's grin was vicious. "But my siblings and I don't like reading rule books or following etiquette. We're a competitive lot."

"Then how do you know who wins?"

Danny blinked, as if he were missing the obvious. "Whoever comes up with the best insults, of course."

He chuckled and pointed to the sectioned-off areas at either end of the field, where a length of tape ran between two posts that would be measured exactly eight feet high.

"The ball must sail through that allotted goal for a point. Above the line or to either side doesn't count," he told her.

"And points are good?" she said.

"Only to win the game."

She smiled. "So, it is like insults."

He laughed. "Yes, but the ones made down there will be a matter of pride. You'll still see tempers fly on the field. Mark my words."

"The players get violent?"

Percy eyed her, certain he should have been concerned by how she sounded more intrigued than disturbed. "Blood runs hot in the heat of the game," he confirmed. "By fouls overlooked, mostly. A player besides the goalie touching the ball, players tripping their opponents, illegal use of equipment in the shoes or under the shirts." He shrugged. "Sometimes a player will throw a punch in frustration and the whole field will turn into a bare-fisted pugilism match."

She wrinkled her nose. "That's ridiculous. The players should conduct themselves with honor and play fairly."

He'd known from the start a strange thread of justice drove Danny. There was no other reason a clever woman would follow a suspicious man into a dark courtyard or have the balls to train a gun at him at point-blank range.

What it must have been like to see the world through black-and-white lenses. Percy wondered—grimly—which side he'd take if she turned her gaze his way.

"Fair is faux," he said. "Expecting life to adhere that way is a bit naive, don't you think?"

"Of course it is," Danny said, ever self-aware. She gazed at the field. "But wouldn't it be wonderful if we could know, at a glance, if someone or something was good or bad?"

There was something in her tone, or maybe it was the uncharacteristic caving set to her shoulders, which had Percy believing Danny's mind was far from the players on the field.

"Is that what you really wish?" he asked carefully. "That right and wrong couldn't fall into shades of varying grey?"

"I do."

The way her gaze latched on to his, as if needing an anchor to hold, Percy had but one wish at the moment: To take her against the glass and wipe the look of defeat from her face and replace it with open-mouthed moans of ecstasy.

But the doors had opened, and the flood of bystanders poured inside, eager to find their seats.

Not so eagerly, Percy stood back as groups of tailored misters and polished misses strolled past, every one of them staring openly. After the tenth couple passed, their gazes not even touching the field, Percy cursed under his breath.

Had a caricaturist rendered his likeness to every blasted rag house in London?

Grumbling something unintelligible to Danny, Percy slumped back in the chair by the divider, the only seat that wouldn't be obvious to anyone passing on either side and would be impossible to see from the terraces directly across on the other side of the green. He hoped this infernal place didn't offer the looking glasses one would find at the theatre, or he'd be forced to sit here the entire match. And where was the grub? He hadn't eaten anything in over an hour and was properly famished.

Danny's amused chuckle sent desire straight to his groin. The laughter brightened her cheeks and drew attention to her lovely breasts as she pressed a hand to her stomach.

Leaning back, Percy crossed his ankles and decided anything going on around and below the field—or in his stomach—was nothing compared to watching the light from the glass above cast Danny in a halo of golden light. His hand went to his pulsing cock and imagined those lovely breasts where his fingers squeezed him at the base. While everyone else foolishly watched the men below tackle and wrestle in the dirt, he'd focus on a livelier and more worthwhile player, the one who made him at once wish to spectate and compete.

Danny's breathless laugh faded as she noted his silent stare.

Her gaze dropped to where he stroked himself through his trousers and the fingers splayed across her stomach skimmed upwards as if to draw away a sudden tightening in her bodice. Breaths turning labored, she bit her lip, her other hand coming to clench the skirts between her legs.

Percy groaned, his willpower threadbare. Friends. They were supposed to be friends. If he truly wished to be on equal and respectable terms with her, this growing obsession with her and those luscious breasts must desist at once.

"Percy."

Percy closed his eyes. His name on those sweet lips; it was torture.

Even here, where the normal privacy of walls and floors were illusions of translucent glass, where her sister could happen upon them any moment, she responded, undeterred by their public surroundings, not caring about their positions. It would take nothing to send her over the edge. A few licks over her skin, a well-placed finger against her folds and she'd come.

Fuck it. He could respect her just as well with her coming on his cock.

Eyes snapping open, his gaze locked on hers. "Come here."

She came without hesitation, at once displaying a hunger for scandalous danger and unquestioning trust that left Percy swelling with a need to prove both her desires right.

When she stood before him, her eyes were heavy lidded and glazed with lust, looking down at him as if he were the culmination of everything she'd ever wanted.

Percy swallowed his growl and told her huskily, "Turn around."

Gathering her hem, he lifted the back of her skirts with one hand—the divider at their side hiding his actions from view and her standing form further hiding his seated person—and meaning no one who walked by would be any the wiser as his fingers danced along the silk fabric that went to mid-thigh and... stopped.

He couldn't temper his growl this time. "You're not wearing drawers."

Fingers gliding up to find the wet curls between her legs, she gasped at his light touch and ground against his hand, her pants coming faster. "I liked the feel of nothing."

He rewarded her brazen admission with a quick thrust of his finger between her folds, shocking her body.

With her fist coming to her mouth, anyone passing by would believe she was delicately suppressing a sneeze. From Percy's angle, he saw she'd all but broken her knuckle's skin biting back her first orgasm.

He could have dropped her skirts then and considered a job well done, but this was a place of sport and pushing one's limits. The perfect place to beat one's record.

"Spread your legs, darling," he whispered.

"My legs are trembling."

He smiled. "I know." He opened his trousers with his free hand, and his rigid cock sprang free. The hand against her skin snaked around to grasp her bare hip. Easing her over his lap so her skirts bunched between them and continued to hide him from view, he raked both hands up her thighs, letting his nails scrape the satin soft skin up, up.

He worked her against him, catching her cleft against the crown of his erection until the moisture pouring from her made the motion as smooth as silk against butter.

She threw back her head, her breathing ragged.

Angling her hips back so there was room for his hand, he rubbed quick circles around her bud, forcing her climax to go on and on as he continued to thrust her folds against his entire length.

A record four-minute climax was a respectable goal a man could live with.

She collapsed back against him, the edge of her corset digging into them both, but Percy was no more capable of movement at the moment than she. One last brush of skin and he'd erupt like a geyser.

Chest heaving, the hair at the back of her neck was wet and smelled of an erotic blend of sweat and cloves. Percy pressed a kiss where her gown met skin and breathed her scent into his soul.

She sighed. "Football is my new favorite sport."

Percy laughed and aided her to her feet, tugging her skirts back into place before wrestling his rock-hard erection back into his stays.

When he'd finished buttoning his trousers, he looked up to find her nibbling her bottom lip, her gaze trained on the evidence he hadn't released.

"Should I do something for"—she waved her hand in his direction, her cheeks reddening—"you?" she finished.

How he loved her attempt to sound anything but proper. "Unnecessary, my dear. Your pleasure is all that matters."

"But..." She needed to stop worrying her lip before he soothed her mouth with his own teeth and tongue. "I want to give you pleasure too."

If they hadn't been in a palace of glass, if there hadn't been others sitting inches away, he'd have bent her over the railing and taken her so hard and fast, their violent coupling would have shattered the walls around them.

Cock jerking, he grimaced and rubbed a quick circle to ease the ache building in his sac. "Another time, I promise." God, he was randier than a schoolboy promised his first suck. He was a man of seven and twenty, for fuck's sake.

"Do you need a minute?" she asked, cheeks flushed.

She needed to stop blushing too, especially now that he knew the dusty pink it brought to her cheeks was the same color of her folds when rubbed to completion.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you, yes."

She walked to the railing and watched the players on the field, the sounds of cheers and displeasure meaning the match was well underway.

Percy made quick work to flag his arousal. Two quick pumps and he spent over the rim of his trousers into a handkerchief. If he hadn't withstood Danny's erotic little sounds of climax for those four minutes of torture, he'd have been ashamed. But he'd given her all his attention, using his skills and nimble fingers to tip her over the edge and hold her there without a care.

He'd known she was special after he'd stolen into her bedchamber and made her come with the barest touch of his blade, but this... Her nestling herself over his cock and working into a frenzy despite the overcrowded stadium, there wasn't a single more erotic fantasy his twisted mind could conjure. She was enchanting, fantasy-inducing.

Perfect.

"Now this is a surprise," someone said.

Noting how Danny stiffened and whirled to face the source of the cold tone, Percy peered around the divider to see a woman in a white dress.

Porcelain-skinned and with ringlets of blonde hair dangling under a wide, feathered hat, she'd have been considered the highest standard of beauty in society's circle, but the overly large skirts and rose-embroidered bodice made Percy think of a child's doll.

Danny offered a civil bob and said with uncharacteristic reservedness, "Lady Kendra."

There was no civility in Lady Kendra's sneer. "Lady Daniella." Her gaze searched the couples on the closest balconies. "Isn't your sister with you?"

"Denise wasn't feeling well."

"A pity." Her gaze turned smug. "Couldn't find another escort with those lackluster charms? It's hard to imagine men still fighting over someone so popular ."

Percy reeled back at the vulgar connotation. Expecting Danny to give this bitch her due, he watched angrily as she said nothing.

Lady Kendra lifted the fan attached to her wrist and snapped it open in an act one could only describe as aggressive. "But I guess you're used to losing respectable men's favors. Any man of caliber would see the disgrace of an alliance with the biggest tease in London."

Danny flinched, and Percy's vision flashed with a single, blood-dripped word: Enemy.

Whether from residual passion from their secret touching or the easy camaraderie growing between them, his desire to protect her came as naturally as the hand that found the knife at his ankle on reflex.

Whoever this person was—he wouldn't attach a descriptor as kind as ‘lady' to this creature—she needed a deep cut and a lengthy death.

It amazed him how no one shouted the injustice of such blatant lies. The occupants of the closest terraces must have heard Lady Kendra's insults, and yet there was no call to arms, not even a stern look of disapproval from the couples walking past.

And the way Danny stood there and took the assault.

He'd had enough.

Sliding behind the divider, he startled a trio of smartly dressed ladies—offered a devious wink for their silence—and came around the other side to give the appearance he'd just arrived back from mingling with others on a separate balcony.

"I do apologize for taking so long, Lady Daniella." He kept his gaze on her startled face and conveyed his support with a quick brush of his thumb on her wrist as he came to her side.

"Oh, my." Lady Kendra's fan came up and flitted wildly.

Jaw gritted, Danny offered introductions. At least someone had manners. "Your Grace, this is Lady Kendra Fairchild. Lady Kendra, this is the Duke of Grandfellow."

Recovered, Lady Kendra smiled coyly over her fan with eyes the color of envy. "The Duke of Grandfellow. Charmed."

Minding his own manners, Percy took the lady's proffered hand but didn't offer a kiss. "A pleasure."

"How strange to see you here." Her gaze bounced between the two. "I did not know you were acquainted."

"Bromley and Grandfellow reside in the same countryside," Danny said quietly.

Percy didn't feign his admonishment. "Don't be so cold, Lady Daniella. What would your papa say if he heard you speaking of our family's close friendship so callously?"

Lady Kendra's gaze narrowed at Danny, seeming to reassess her opponent's threat of connection. With a cry more moan than squeak of surprise, Lady Kendra appeared to trip while standing completely still, and Percy had no choice but to catch her before she barreled into Danny.

"Forgive me." Lady Kendra pressed a hand to her cheek, all innocence. "I'm horrified."

Percy set her on her feet and retracted his hands, else they be tainted by the woman's growing pile of spewed manure. "Think nothing of it, Lady Kender."

" Kendra , and you are too kind." Lips pouting, she sided up to him, pressing her bosom against his arm and putting herself directly where Danny had been. "Are you a fan of sporting events, Your Grace? The players can become so rough when invigorated."

Percy refrained from sneering. Calling Danny a tease was laughable in the face of such a pathetic attempt at flirting.

His gaze flicked to Danny and her downcast gaze and the simmering rage in his blood boiled over, but not past reason. No, his blood was comprised of dry ice, cold and far-reaching. He need not finger a single blade on his person. He was a duke now, titled and powerful. And he was nothing if not an adaptable killer.

There were many kinds of death he could administer.

Ignoring Lady Kendra's furrowed brows, he walked around her—his cut visible to all the gawking eyes trained on them—answering her question while lifting Danny's hand and kissing her knuckles. "Only those players who respect their opposition are worth mentioning."

Danny was a force of nature, proud and perfect. Anyone could suffer doubt in the face of such hostility, but he'd make her remember she was a queen. He'd force everyone to see.

He raised his voice to be heard clearly from three terraces on either side. "Of course, any amusement is stellar in the right company. Don't you agree, Lady Daniella?"

There were unshed tears in her eyes, but her smile lit up her entire face. Her words, when she responded, were full of spirit.

"That goes without saying, Your Grace. But I have yet to determine if current company is worth the praise."

Percy wanted to roar his approval. Not just for Danny reassembling a teasing tone, but for how Lady Kendra sputtered her disbelief behind them.

Let the doll bleed out with the knowledge no one wished to play with her.

Now to twist the blade home.

Glancing over his shoulder, he feigned a look of embarrassment. "Oh, apologies, Lady Kinra. I forgot you were there." His laugh was cold. His whisper more so. "But I assume you're used to losing men's favors, what with being a judgmental pig."

Someone should really fix the doll's jaw. It appeared to be unable to close.

When Lady Kendra's mouth did close, it was with a teeth-grinding snap ! Even her curtsy looked like a toy with rusty bolts. "Good day, Your Grace." Her gaze promised retribution as they settled on Danny. "Lady Daniella."

She didn't wait for their returning farewell. Skirts whirling, Lady Kendra turned on her heel and proceeded around the balcony, down the steps, and out of the palace as every eye from the second level followed.

Percy resisted crowing their victory from atop the railing, not wishing to scuff his boots.

"That was unwise," Danny said, gaze on Lady Kendra's blurry figure through the glass as she walked towards the line of carriages on the street outside. "She'll go to all her friends and twist what you said so she is the victim."

"Then the lady is an idiot." Percy hated how Danny worried about his reputation when she should have been fuming about the insult to her own. "She should not have spoken to you in such a way. The lady is lucky I don't spread her own words to the masses." His eyes narrowed at her silence, a sneaking suspicion bringing his anger back to the boiling point. "Do people always speak to you in such a way?"

Her wince said ‘yes,' though her mouth lifted sardonically. "Do you plan to cut every last person who gives insult?"

"Haven't you heard? I'm a rake. A libertine. Beyond reform, I'm afraid."

"A carefully crafted mask."

"You doubt my less-than-noble intentions?"

"Don't take it personally, my lord. I doubt every man's intentions."

Her line had been made in jest, but to heart it reached, specifically his blackened heart. Danny was beautiful, clever, and perceptive. Others had clearly noticed and left a bad taste in her mouth.

Percy contemplated that lovely mouth, complete with full lips and wicked tongue, and a profound anger overtook him. "Who was it?"

"Pardon me?"

"You're pardoned," he quipped. He stepped close and tilted her chin up. He'd eviscerate the slandering bastards. "Give me the names of the idiots whose intentions made you question the others. I'd like them; in writing preferably."

"Contemplating homicide so openly, Your Grace?" Danny didn't appear concerned. "Lower your voice, for I'm not sure even a duke can recover from that scandal."

Percy leaned down, his lips skimming her ear, and said, "Let them talk, Danny. I know true worth when I see it." He pulled back, enjoying her wide eyes, and plucked a non-existent speck from her shoulder, as if his closeness had been nothing improper. "There now, Lady Daniella. Your dress is fine. Though the dust in here must be addressed." He glanced around, his charade believed by those closest who turned away with disinterest.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Percy offered Danny his chair by the divider and took the seat opposite, the soft gratitude in her voice unsteadying.

Not for the first time, Percy seriously envisaged poisoning the entirety of the ton at the next social function. Aside from a handful of redeemable mavericks, the world would be better off.

"Lady Kendra poured her drink down the back of my dress during my second season," Danny said suddenly. "I spent the entire evening sitting in the corner, refusing offers to dance by feigning a hurt ankle. Mama was livid." Her smile was self-deprecating. "But I know she would suffer my silent presence over the image of me trailing red punch all through the twirls of a waltz."

Percy's plans for mass murder abated. "That's horrific!" Barbaric. "What could you possibly have done to deserve such savagery?"

"She fancied Lord Roswell."

"And the man sweated gold?"

"The earl proposed to me my first season."

"Doesn't the man prefer men?" Frankly, it was well known.

Danny blushed. "As far as I know."

Danny had refused him, obviously, and still Lady Kendra held a grudge. Women. Were. Terrifying.

"There were others," Danny continued.

"Other suitors?"

She nodded. "That's why many of the ladies call me London's Greatest Tease ."

Percy's brain recalled the look on her face when he'd accused her of something similar in her bedchamber.

He cursed. "Jealousy and cruelty." He'd take a straightforward knife fight over society's version of ‘civility' any day.

She deserved better.

"Was that Lady Kendra I saw barreling for the door?" Denise said, coming into view with Mrs. Pebblestone, though her gaze lingered on the carriage that pulled away from the curb outside.

"It was," Danny said.

"And she didn't stay to say ‘hello'?" Denise sniffed. "Looks like someone finally put her in her place. I must find them and congratulate them on a job well done."

Percy stood and smiled. "It was, wasn't it?"

Danny rose herself and elbowed him before asking her sister, "Feeling better?"

Denise's hawk-like gaze tracked Danny's moves, no doubt noting the little space between them. Gaze softening, her mouth pulled down at the corners, and Percy readied for another stellar performance.

"Unfortunately, I don't believe the physician was of any help. I think it best if I return home."

Percy nodded. "I will call the carriage."

"Good." Denise said. "And I will send it back as soon as I arrive at the Deime family townhouse."

Danny shook her head. "You cannot go by yourself—"

"Of course not," Denise said. "Which is why Mrs. Pebblestone will accompany me."

To this, Mrs. Pebblestone shook her head. "Absolutely not, Lady Denise. I could not leave Lady Daniella here unchaperoned. Think of what society would say. You will simply have to grin and bear your pain like any proper lady would."

Denise's mouth curled upwards, and even Percy knew to be scared.

"I see," Denise said. "It will be an interesting discovery which society finds more offensive: My sister being escorted by a duke alone, in full view of hundreds of onlookers, or the youngest daughter of the Earl of Bromley, noisily losing my breakfast all over the field." She glanced at the party as a whole as if to gauge their opinions. "Time will tell."

Mrs. Pebblestone's lips pursed. The poor woman looked a bit green herself at the dilemma. Glancing around at the packed space, no doubt realizing how many titled and well-connected families were present at the spectacle, she seemed to come to a decision. "I will take Lady Denise home."

Danny nodded. "We will come—"

"Later," Denise said with a pointed look. "The Bromley Townhouse is but a few short blocks from here. When the match is finished, we can meet there, though I daresay we may need to take one of the family carriages back to the country." Denise bobbed her head to Percy. "Thank you for your offer, Your Grace, but your coach is far too small for all four of us to travel again for such a journey, and I do fear what may come of your upholstery if I must endure another trip without proper ventilation and space."

Percy wondered if Lady Denise truly did suffer a touch of motion sickness when her complexion paled slightly at her own words. She'd certainly been uncharacteristically silent throughout the drive into London.

"My apologies, my lady." Percy bowed over her hand. "I will escort Lady Daniella to the townhouse upon the conclusion of the match, none the worse for wear, have no fear."

No doubt noting her charge's sickly complexion herself, Mrs. Pebblestone turned to make for the stairs.

Denise inclined her head at Percy's promise, but her words were given with such quiet force, there was no question of her next statement's sincerity. "If I feared you would not treat my sister with all dignity, Your Grace, I'd have pushed you off the balcony.