Chapter Nine

The notes of a waltz sounded, and Henry held out his hand for Miss York to take, not willing to miss his chance at having her in his arms once more. "Please dance with me," he asked, not so high in the instep not to beg.

Thankfully, Miss York took his hand without hesitation, and he led them onto the dance floor.

He settled her in his arms, a feeling of contentment coming over him at her being so near once more. "I did not know Lord Carr was from Highclere. I should imagine having a friend from your village here in town would be quite a comfort. A little piece of home in London."

Miss York's gaze widened before her visage crumbled into something that resembled revulsion.

"No matter what Lord Carr implies, we're not friends, Your Grace. He did not circulate in the same social spheres I did back home. I was his grandmother's companion, nothing more."

Henry frowned, unsure if that was true, but neither did he want to spend his entire evening speaking about another man. Nor did Miss York seem inclined to say much about his lordship and their entwined past.

He cleared his throat, needing to discuss other matters that had plagued him since last evening. "About our stroll in the picture gallery, Miss York," he began, needing to explain his actions and try to make amends for them. What he had done were not the actions of a gentleman. Miss York deserved the opportunity to scold him for his wayward urges.

Urges that even now, he found challenging to school.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Your Grace. You were not the only individual taking part in that kiss." The memory of her lips sent a bolt of desire to his groin, and he could not help but ponder what had happened to the sensible, clear-thinking duke he had always been up until meeting her.

His virginity at this very moment seemed like a noose around his neck. Had he not been so, he could enjoy other nightly pursuits with women of looser morals and slake the burning, aching need whenever he was around Miss York.

Worse was the realization that now he knew Miss York, the thought of rutting some unknown woman and paying a fee felt soiled and unsatisfying.

He met Miss York's clear, blue eyes and lost himself in their depths. No, he could not rut with just anyone. Not when his sole desire was the woman in his arms.

The fervor was unlike anything he had ever known, raw and unfamiliar. A fact about himself he did not know how to control or soothe.

His lips twitched at her answer, and without thinking, he pulled her closer, the hem of her dress covering his highly polished boots and parts of his knee-high silk breeches. "As pleasant as the interlude was, we cannot participate in such activities again. You're a maid, and I'm a duke, and we're both unmarried. We court scandal if we're come upon."

She tipped up her head, and he marveled at how beautiful and unassuming she was of that fact. He knew she saw herself beneath him, which may be true socially, but her inner beauty was just as great as his and her passion too. Those were amendable qualities he liked far more than rank. He was a duke, after all. Who was to tell him who he could and could not court?

Do not forget your bet.

The reminder made him inwardly wince, and he cursed himself a fool for adding his name to the betting book. One he had never taken part in before. What had he been thinking? He supposed he wanted to be part of the club. One of the boys. The rogue everyone thought him to be.

"I did not think scandal scared you, Your Grace. In fact, before the Season commenced, I read that you were come upon in a compromising position with a certain famous opera singer. At least the paper alluded to the fact that it was you."

A cold chill ran down his spine, and he took a misstep, tripping before righting himself. "Apologies, Miss York." He cleared his throat, heat kissing his cheeks. Was there such an article? If so, he had missed that particular untruth. "I do not know anything of the kind, Miss York. And as for the matter you read, I can guarantee I was not caught with anyone."

Miss York raised her brow, clearly doubting his words. "Was she a titled widow then, or a singer? Shall we see her on stage during one of the nights at the theater?" Miss York further questioned.

He let out an annoyed breath. Was she not listening to him? "I have not acted such a cad. I promise you," he said, hoping she would believe him.

She tipped her head to the side, studying him, and he could see she was trying to deduce if he was stating the truth. "Very well, I shall not question you further on the article, and I must admit that I'm glad there is no validity to it."

Henry wondered if she had meant to be so frank with her words. A dark, rosy hue blossomed on her cheeks, and he knew she had not. "So you do not like the idea of me courting other ladies? How very interesting, Miss York."

And very revealing.

Sophie fought to school her features and to cull her wayward tongue that wanted to spill her innermost thoughts to the man in her arms. But he was so charming. There was an innocence about him that called her to be honest. To tell him that the idea of him with anyone other than herself left a sour taste in her mouth.

"Let me ask you this, Your Grace. Do you like the idea of me being courted by another gentleman?" There, she had been bold and brave and asked what had been burning in her mind since their wicked kiss. A kiss that she wanted to experience again.

Although she could not say why, she trusted the duke. There was no secretive vague speech that left her wondering if he were sincere or not. Unlike other people in her past, he did not seem to have a disingenuous bone in his body.

His eyes narrowed at her question before he said, "The idea makes my blood run cold." He dazed her with his honest response.

Her stomach twisted in knots, and she leaned close, breathing deep the scent of sandalwood and man. An intoxicating combination that left her mind spinning at the thought of them.

"This is madness," she admitted. "We should not be speaking to one another in such a way."

"And yet, I cannot help myself. I will not shy away from what I desire. Say pretty things that may or may not mean something. I like you more than I thought I would like anyone this Season, and you ought to know my truth."

His words were as sweet as the ices from Gunter's. "I'm not deserving of you, Your Grace," she said, the knowledge of her past urging her to be cautious. If he found out the truth of her time at Highclere, he would shun her, no matter how close they became in the interim, and she could not bear that. "I know I'm not acceptable to you or your family, and we should end this madness before we take it too far."

He shook his head, the line between his eyes severe. "You have not lied, and I know you have no dowry, and nor do I care. Whomever I choose to be my wife and duchess, I hope that I choose because I come to care for her, love her above anything else in the world."

Sophie nodded, hoping that would be the case for her too. "If we're to spend more time together, and I know the Season is young, we must be discreet and not give in to urges that could force our hand. I do not want you to regret your choice, whatever it may be. But I would like to spend more time with you. Learn more about you and your life and see if we're a good match."

His fingers slipped about her waist, sending a delicious shiver up her spine. "I think that is a tenable idea and one I would like to start posthaste. I want to know all about you, your life before London, your hobbies and dislikes."

Sophie marveled at him, having never considered meeting a gentleman like the duke. How could he be so caring? The rumored rogue who had a different lover each week. This was not the man in her arms who wanted to know Miss Sophie York's humble life so he could decide whether to merge it with his. But even with all that stood between them, she wanted to try.

"Shall we start with your favorite animal, Your Grace?" she asked. "I'm excessively fond of cats and have a blue-eyed doll at home. She is so affectionate and allows me to carry her around whenever I please."

Just at that moment, the dance came to a reluctant end. The duke led her off the floor to the side of the room. "I like horses particularly, but I, too, have a house pet. A wolfhound called Apollo. I've never had a cat before."

"I've never owned a dog before," she admitted. "Does that mean we're too opposite in taste to achieve what we hope to?" she asked him, her heart halting its beat while he thought about her question.

"I think it makes us perfectly matched. How boring would our life be if we only enjoyed the same things?"

Sophie smiled, supposing that to be true. "I had not looked at it that way." But now that he mentioned it, the idea held more merit than she first gave it credit.