Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

“ D id she think a mask would truly hide who she was?” Lady Clarissa Stanley chortled, eyeing up Alice Knight’s beautifully designed pearl and mother-of-pearl mask. “No pretty picture would hide those wide curves she calls hips!”

Alice Knight, middle daughter to the Viscount Hillburn, felt her porcelain cheeks flush as she heard the group of ladies beside her erupt into a chorus of loud laughter.

“I beg your pardon, ladies?” she asked boldly, whirling around to face them. She smiled prettily at them all and then leaned forward with a finger touching the shell of her ear. “I could not hear you clearly. Perhaps you could be a little more bold with your slander?”

Alice stared back coolly at the group of thin, pretty, finely dressed ladies who had been talking about her. All eight eyes glared back at her, embarrassed for being called out so blatantly.

“Why are you even here?” Clarissa asked, sneering down at Alice’s ivory-white silk dress.

It was June, the beginning of the third Season Alice promised her father, and as she had been bid to do, she had attended the first ball of the Season with Lydia. It was a costume-masked ball at the London residence of an earl, and she had chosen the swan as her inspiration.

Nothing pompous, unlike the great feathers and furs the women making fun of her were wearing. Instead, just a simple dress with a few ruffles near the hem to mimic wings. The long, fitted sleeve came to points at the middle fingers of her hands, and the shoulders sloped slightly, creating a design that made her neck look longer, and slimmer. Her mask was also white, with just a black arrow on the tip of the nose.

“I was invited,” Alice replied.

Though, it was a lie. At least in the beginning. Lydia, her older sister, had called in a few favors to get the two of them invited to the ball.

“Please.” Persimmon Duport tsked, shaking her head. “We know better than that. Still having trouble finding a husband, darling?”

Alice’s temper rose a few degrees as Persimmon gave her a fake pout. It was no secret that she had ended more than just a couple of courtships over the last year—with Lord Asherby being the latest one. Word had got out about her little outburst—of course, without the explanation as to what had caused it—and it had only served as fodder for her enemies.

“Unlike you, you simple creature, I would be quite content without a man to boss me about,” Alice replied with venom.

“Alice!”

Lydia’s shrill tone caused Alice to wince, and she begrudgingly looked to her left to see her older sister nearly right beside her. She looked as livid as she looked beautiful in her teal chiffon dress, stylish updo, and teal feathered mask, and Alice knew she was in for it. She had been warned, many times, that her temper was becoming an issue.

It was a new development, this foul mood. Alice had normally been a sweet, rather optimistic person, but in the last six months, that part of her had seemed to wither under the growing pressures of Society.

“Ladies,” Lydia said in a pleasant tone, looking at Alice’s bullies with a sympathetic expression. “My deepest apologies. As you may understand, the intense heat this early in the Season has gotten to my sister, and she…”

As Lydia droned on, Alice suddenly felt a hand wrap around her arm and was pulled back. Relief flooded through her as she realized her best friend had finally arrived. And just as usual, came just in time to rescue her.

“Come on!” Barbara whispered excitedly, announcing her presence, gesturing toward another room. “Hurry!”

Not needing to be told twice, Alice took off with her best friend, and the two of them quickly snuck out into the hallway before Lydia could notice. The masked ball was just another failure, like the many she’d been forced through to find a husband. At one-and-twenty, her father and oldest sister were putting more and more pressure on her to marry. The only thing was, the more they persisted, the more she resisted.

“I don’t understand,” Alice had said over and over again with increasing frustration. “You are a spinster, Lydia, and perfectly content. Why do you think I cannot be?”

“Because I genuinely do not like men,” had been Lydia’s latest excuse earlier that evening as they were getting ready.

“You do too,” Alice had shot back, but had also given her sister a curious look. She knew her sister was joking, but what an odd thing to say!

“Oh, I do adore the look of them,” Lydia had clarified, adding the final touches to Alice’s long, dark hair. It had been swept into an elegant updo and laced with delicate silver chains and pearls to match her gown and mask. “But that is as far as my affection goes. Otherwise, I find them boorish, self-righteous, and oftentimes ill-educated and with poor hygiene. I love my life fully because I do not pine for them. You, however, have a romantic heart that will grow sour with solitude. I do not want that for you, nor does Juliet, or Papa. Therefore, you must marry.”

Alice was not completely accepting of Lydia’s point, but she did agree with some parts of it. She was a romantic and had made no move to hide it. She loved books of all kinds but had an affinity for love stories. She had quite an extensive collection of all the romantic classics. Her favorites were the ones that had strong, stoic men who folded like paper under a good woman’s love. Alice believed that she could be that for a man. It just had to be the right one.

Which, unfortunately, was probably why she had driven so many suitors away during her first two years since her debut. Every man thus far who had been interested in her hand was snobbish, arrogant, and only wanted what a marriage into her family could offer him socially and financially. Worse were the men who treated her kindly. She always had high hopes for them in the beginning, but then they would let it slip that they had a proclivity for thicker women, and felt comfortable enough to tell her so.

Alice did not like the way they said these things or the way her body reacted to them. It made her tense. Uneasy. And it always made her put an end to the courtship.

None of them, though, were concerned about her hopes, hobbies, or personality. They certainly never paid compliments to her appearance or conversation topics. She found it all woefully disappointing and no longer wanted to try to find her prince charming.

“You did not let them get to you, did you?” Barbara asked, once they found a bit of privacy between a group of people and a wall.

“Of course not,” Alice scoffed, only lying a little.

She knew her costume was beautiful, but truthfully she would have still preferred to not be there at all. The ugly comments and loud snickers being one of the main reasons why. Even when she succeeded in appearing unruffled, she always was… It was just a pain she hid under the surface.

In her opinion and that of others, she had a rather fair face. She had a clean, peaches and cream complexion, with a dimple on each cheek when she smiled. Her eyebrows were not heavy like some women’s but delicate, and they framed her wide, pale green eyes rather prettily. Even her nose, she found, was of the adorable variety. But her size…

Barbara looked back at her skeptically, a brown eyebrow arched. “You. Look. Radiant,” she stated, emphasizing each word as she gave her a firm but supportive look. “You are radiant. That is the only reason those hens constantly peck at you. You do not have to be like them to be beautiful. You simply are. ”

“And yet no gentleman sees that.” Alice laughed softly, leaning her back against the nearby pillar. Her cocky smile disappeared, and she gave her friend a despondent look. “They only see what those women see, which is my wide form. I appreciate your intended kindness, darling, but let us be serious. It is those ladies who are finding love and receiving stolen kisses from handsome gentlemen in the middle of the night. Not me. It will never be me.”

“You could have stolen kisses from many,” Barbara scoffed, plucking a glass of champagne off a nearby tray. “It is not that you haven’t had options, Alice. It is that you did not like your choices.”

Alice’s cheeks burned at this rather blunt truth. It wasn’t as if suitors had been knocking down her door, but there had been over half a dozen that she had turned away. And Barbara was right. She hadn’t wanted to kiss a single one of them.

“Perhaps the man I want does not want a woman like me,” Alice murmured, giving in to her defeat for a moment.

“How do you know?” Barbara asked adamantly, crossing her arms.

“What?” Alice furrowed her brow.

“How do you know that a man you found appealing would not want to kiss you?” Barbara clarified, taking a quick glance around them to make sure no one was listening. “What if your beauty intimidates them and they are too afraid to make a move? Perhaps it is you who should make the initiative and ask them.”

Laughter, real laughter, bubbled up Alice’s chest, and she flicked her fan open quickly to hide her wide smile and blushing cheeks.

“Barbara, darling, you are the silliest, and I love you for it.” She laughed, shaking her head. She was thankful for the joke, she really needed it.

“I am not being silly,” Barbara insisted, giving her a mischievous smile.

Alice felt hers drop a little as her brow furrowed. “You cannot be serious?” She took a quick look around to make sure no one heard them. “What if I were to get caught?”

“What if you didn’t?” Barbara asked with a carefree shrug. “People get away with it every day. Besides, I think you need this experiment.”

“How so?” Alice asked, taken aback.

“To prove your own point,” Barbara explained. “I think you should find a gentleman you fancy and ask him to kiss you. If you feel nothing, you can accept that your fairytale love story is just that, a story, and I shall no longer stop you from being a spinster like your sister and I. However, if you do get kissed, and you should happen to feel that fiery passion you constantly chatter about, you stop avoiding your sister’s meddling with your love life and accept that you really do want a husband.”

“I could never!” Alice gasped, her voice still low.

“Oh, I don’t mean to force yourself into anything,” Barbara clarified, clicking her tongue. “And I do not even mean it has to be tonight. I am just saying that if you find yourself connecting with a certain gentleman, then make the proposal.”

Like Lydia, Barbara was a spinster, and she absolutely adored her freedom. As a self-proclaimed bluestocking, she devoted most of her time to reading and lectures—some in the fine halls of Oxford and others in the basements of factories in the worst parts of the city. She was a fiercely independent, intelligent woman, and Alice looked up to her greatly. Which was why it still shocked her that her friend, much like her sister, insisted that she not give up on her search for a husband.

“You have an annoying intelligence about you that I don’t always adore,” Alice stated, a bit perturbed to be called out so blatantly.

“You love it always, and you know it,” Barbara scoffed, taking a sip of her champagne as she looked around the room.

“You forgot one thing, though,” Alice quipped.

“Mmm? What’s that?” Barbara asked, occupied with her people-watching.

“The men I find appealing actually must want to kiss me,” Alice stated, feeling a pang at the admission. “And that has yet to happen.”

Barbara was mid-eye roll and looking ready to make a witty comeback when she froze, and her eyes widened. Alice followed her stare and quickly understood. Their time of avoidance had run out.

“Oh, no,” Alice whined, already looking for a way out. “Lydia is going to force me to apologize before no doubt thrusting me into the arms of yet another uninteresting dance partner.”

“Go, I shall cover for you,” Barbara whispered assuredly, quickly guiding her around the pillar. “You deserve a moment to catch your breath anyway.”

“You are a true friend,” Alice whispered over her shoulder, before subtly disappearing among the fray of pastel dresses, jackets, and top hats.

As politely as possible, she made her way through the sea of people in the Earl of Saltlick’s London manor and finally stepped into an empty hallway. With a sigh of relief, she walked to the furthest door, turned the handle, and felt satisfied when she found a dark, empty study.

Absorbing the silence, Alice let out an exhausted breath and removed her mask. It was insane, Barbara’s little dare. She laughed a little and shook her head at the thought of it. She was bold, but not that bold.

Deciding to hide out in the empty room for a time, Alice used the moonlight shining through the windows and the glass patio door to locate a heavy, palm-sized torch on a nearby table. With her thumb, she flicked the metal cog to spark the cotton and copper fibers. A soft light emanated from the torch, and she took a look around.

Finding a rather comfortable-looking chaise lounge by the fireplace, she smiled and walked over to it. After lighting the nearby candles, she relaxed into the chaise, pulled her book from her reticule, and began to read.

“When you said new beginnings, this is not what I had in mind,” Duncan grumbled, fighting the urge to adjust his black and silver mask. It fit poorly over his scars and made him feel sticky and hot, not at all like the cool, smooth woodgrain one he had made.

“You have done amazingly well in the last six months, old boy,” Morgan countered, his eyes trying in vain to keep up with the bevy of beautiful ladies that passed him. “You have resumed your ducal duties with great enthusiasm, you’ve handled your misuse of spirits, and you no longer look like a small, dying child thanks to the boxing regimen the boys and I got you into. Getting out into Society and mingling is your next step.”

“And why is being in Society good for my health?” Duncan asked, ignoring Morgan’s jabs and throwing an indifferent look around them.

It was true. He had become a different person in the last six months. He’d stopped using spirits to soothe his pain, had started eating again, and had been boxing regularly with Morgan, Ezra, and Ambrose. His muscles had regrown, firmer than ever, and his head was clear. However, he felt that he was able to do that because of his solitude at Baxter.

“Because being as reclusive as you are is not good for you,” Morgan replied, pausing as his gaze landed on a pink-swathed lady. “And because Ambrose said it was my turn to watch you.”

He set his drink down, not looking at Duncan, and straightened his jacket as he kept his eyes on the pink-clad lady. Duncan could see that she was staring back at him with just as much enthusiasm, and he rolled his eyes behind his mask.

“Listen, old boy, I’m going to go have a chat with that lovely little dollop of pink cream over there,” Morgan said, taking a step forward. “Why don’t you find a little dove of your own to talk to and do the same? That’s what you need, you know. A lovely, little dove to settle down with.”

Without another word, a smirk spread across his face, and he turned his full attention to his newest pursuit.

Duncan rolled his eyes, briefly relieved that Morgan was distracted enough to finally stop pushing him toward the ladies.

There were swarms of them, many of whom looked at him with excitement and interest as their heads dipped and their hands cupped their mouths to whisper. Duncan had not been much for going out even before he’d given up both alcohol and investigating his father’s murder, but at least back then he had an excuse. Now that he was better, Morgan, Ezra, and Ambrose had all taken turns forcing him to attend parties in their lands as well as in London.

It was becoming a burdensome task, one he was not sure he could stand much longer. He accepted that he needed to let the fire go, but why did it have to be Society that he turned his focus to instead?

“Can I get you another, Your Grace?” the bartender asked, quickly picking up Duncan’s empty glass.

At home, Duncan had kept himself to two drinks a night, if he even drank at all. But in the city, forced to attend this party, he gave in to his vices.

“Whiskey, please,” he replied.

The bartender pulled up the bottle and refilled the glass, which Duncan quickly downed and put back down.

“My, my,” a soft feminine voice breathed in Duncan’s ear before he could ask the bartender for another. “You seem to handle your whiskey quite well, My Lord.”

Duncan gathered his patience as he turned to the owner of the voice, and met the heated stare of a lady in a leopard mask and black dress that wrapped tightly around her breasts, pushing them high enough to let a jeweled necklace rest atop them. Her lips were painted bright red, and her eyes were smudged black, giving her cat eye mask a more realistic look. She was beautiful, no doubt, but he was immediately uninterested.

“Not as well as you may think,” he replied offhandedly, looking away from her.

“Not to worry,” the lady replied dismissively, moving close enough to him that her cleavage brushed against his elbow.

Duncan’s body stilled, and he fought the urge to back away from her.

“I am sure there are… other things you are quite good at.”

Duncan blinked in surprise, and for a moment, he was amused by the woman’s boldness. Not interested or aroused by any means, but certainly amused. He risked a glance toward her as he raised his glass to his lips, and he realized it was a mistake.

“I can tell you are very handsome, My Lord,” the lady went on, taking his quick look as an invitation. “Even under that mask. And yet I do not recall ever hearing your voice. Pray, are you new to London?”

“Not particularly,” he replied vaguely, keeping his eyes well averted this time.

Damn Morgan .

“How mysterious you are,” the woman purred, her red lips inching ever closer to his cheek.

Duncan stepped away from her calmly, making sure not to draw attention to her or himself.

“I assure you I am not, Madam,” he replied, his tone respectful but firm. “I am simply here on business, nothing more.”

“Not even a little fun?” she asked with a small pout, her eyes raking up and down his body in a way that made him feel strangely violated. “I am a widow who believes in discreet pleasures. I understand that you may not be looking for a wife, My Lord, but what about a different sort of companion? Even if it would be just one night, to stave off the loneliness?—”

“My Lord, I kindly beg your pardon.”

Duncan and the woman both looked up—Duncan with gratitude, the woman with venomous rage. He’d been racking his brain for a way to get her to back away without making a scene, but the more she talked, the more concerned he grew. The bartender’s intervention was a welcome distraction, and he was prepared to cling to whatever the man said.

“Yes, what is it?” Duncan asked, beyond thankful for the save and that he hadn’t been addressed as “Your Grace.” She had yet to ask for his title or name, but he feared if the woman knew he was a duke, he would be done for.

“I was told that you are needed in the Earl’s library,” the bartender stated firmly and loudly so the woman would hear. “As soon as possible.”

Relief rushed through Duncan as he embraced the apparent lie, and he worked to maintain a steady if not disappointed expression.

“I wish you the best of luck in your search, My Lady,” he told her, pushing away from the bar as if to leave. “But it seems I am needed elsewhere.”

The lady, clearly perturbed that her chances had been ruined, snapped her fan open angrily as she pursed her lips and flounced away.

“Thank you,” Duncan said genuinely as he returned to the bar once the coast was clear.

“My pleasure, Your Grace,” the bartender replied humbly, addressing him properly once more. “If you need a true respite, though, there is a place.”

Duncan enjoyed the company of women as most other twenty-eight-year-old red-blooded men did, but as he’d explored his interests and desires, he had found his tastes ran in rather particular veins. To carelessly share such interests with just any woman would be most irresponsible, even if he would have found the lady attractive. Which he did not.

He would not get married. Could not. And therefore he would not risk any situation that would force him to do as such.

“You are a saint,” he said gratefully.

He needed a moment alone, and badly. The party was horridly lavish and over-spirited, and he hated it.

The bartender gave him a knowing nod as he leaned toward him. “There is a study that is rarely used even by my masters in the east wing,” he informed him in a low voice, nodding over his left shoulder. “Follow that hallway down to the end, take a left into the next hall, and then follow that down to the last door on the right. The room has some sofas and a veranda if you need some fresh air.”

“Good man,” Duncan murmured, sliding a fold of banknotes toward the servant.

The bartender gave him a gracious nod as he made the notes disappear, and said nothing more as the Duke picked up his drink and left the bar.

As he made his way toward hopeful solitude, Duncan noticed that the crowds blissfully thinned out down the hallways, and when he reached the supposed door, there was no one in sight. He was also thankful that Leopard Lady had already pounced on a new cub, and was busy terrifying the nervous-looking gentleman into possible submission.

Duncan smirked as he saw this, but he did not dare deviate from his path. He didn’t want to get caught again. Just as the man had promised, he found the study empty with not even a lamp or fire lit.

Luckily, though, the moon was nearly full, and its pale light poured through the window-paned French doors that led to the veranda. Taking a deep breath of the still air, he felt his muscles relax, and he unclenched his fist and jaw.

He then brought his glass of whiskey up to his lips and took a slow sip, letting it linger on his tongue as he loosened his cravat. His muscles had grown again, making his clothes too tight. He would have to call on the tailor when he went back home. His body’s change from lithe to muscular was one of the perks of giving up on investigating his father’s mur—accidental death. Needing something else to focus on, he finally had given in to his friends’ insistence and had taken up boxing.

The exercise brought out more than just physical change in him. It brought him focus. A reason to stay sober. And proof that he was still alive. Something he regrettably needed from time to time.

Still, at times like this, when his limits were pushed too far and he felt like a caged animal, he slid into the person he was before. Untrusting. Bitter. Dangerous, even, at times.

Needing to do something, Duncan moved toward the veranda doors and opened them, striding out into the soft, warm wind. With a sigh, he took off his mask, letting his hot, scarred skin breathe after hours of confinement.

As he reveled in the freedom from his mask though, a gush of wind whirled up around him and blew the scent of London filth directly over him. Duncan cringed at the foul odor of the city. It was not at all like Baxter, which sat in the vast countryside on three sides and the ocean and its cliffs on the fourth. He missed the scent of the fields, the ocean. He wanted to go home.

Duncan was brooding over his homesickness and thinking of ways to make Morgan pay for dragging him to London when he heard a soft thud come from inside the study. He waited a moment, wondering if it could have possibly just been a fluke. But then the soft glow of a flame suddenly appeared. He was no longer alone.

After quickly readjusting his mask, he walked back to the door to the veranda and saw that a short, voluptuous woman in white had entered the room and taken a seat. By her chaise lounge sat a candle, casting a soft glow, and he could see her reading. The woman had curly dark brown hair arranged atop her head, which seemed a little too ridiculous for her.

He imagined what it would look like down and free over the smooth curve of her shoulders. Her dark locks framed a round face with soft, pink cheeks, long lashes, plump pink lips, and a rather adorably small nose that seemed to bring her features together perfectly. The young woman—he presumed she was twenty or so—looked relaxed with her eyes trained on a book in her hands. Like him, she seemed to have no interest in the goings-on outside.

Despite his annoyance at having his solitude ruined, Duncan felt a surge of curiosity as he continued to take her in. Her eyebrows knitted as if in irritation, and she suddenly sat up in her seat, adjusted the candles, and, in a rather unladylike fashion, sprawled belly down on the chaise, and picked her book back up. This time, her eyes were facing him, and he could see how her pale green, almost glowing eyes were a startling contrast to her dark hair and delicate eyebrows.

Without realizing it, minutes began to tick by as he watched her, his body filling with a strange sensation—as if he was pulling it from her somehow. He became so lost that he didn’t notice the small black furball creeping through the dim light, but when it jumped up on the small table beside her, he forced his gaze away from her just in time to see a cat with a glittering collar swipe at one of the candles.

The wax taper fell out of its silver holder and onto the sofa, and before Duncan could think, he was shoving the door open and rushing inside. The woman gasped as the candle fell and he made his presence known, but before the fire could spread, he had extinguished it with a vase of flowers.

Another fire . The irony.

“What were thinking?” he snapped, ignoring the woman’s shocked expression as he blew out several more candles. “Are you trying to burn yourself?”

The woman’s surprised look quickly transformed into one of pure outrage. Something inside him fluttered as those pale green eyes turned a dark emerald, and she drew a deep breath of resolve. Duncan couldn’t help but drop his gaze to her deliciously rising bosom, wrapped so perfectly in white satin, then dragged his eyes back up, not sure which view he wanted to focus on more.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, her clear, soft voice igniting an instant heat in his groin. Even with venom, it was a sweet sound.

“This is a party,” he replied, suddenly irritated by his physical reaction to her. “What on earth are you doing, skulking off in here, lighting a bunch of candles and reading books? Don’t you know you’re not supposed to be unchaperoned?”

A look of remorse came over the young woman’s face as she pressed her lips tightly together.

“Are you the Earl of Saltlick?” she asked timidly.

“ No ,” he replied, disgusted she would think such a thing.

Duncan knew the man—the Earl was a pompous arse who was far too dedicated to pleasing Society. They were nothing alike, except that they both happened to be men.

“No need to take offense, My Lord.” The woman giggled.

The sound immediately aroused and annoyed him, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

“If you are done setting things on fire, My Lady, then I believe you should leave. As you can see, this room is already occupied.”

“Why do you get to keep it?” she asked, crossing her arms haughtily. She looked back at him defiantly with a raised chin, as if daring him to move her.

Damn it, she was cute. Her sassy spirit compacted into such a small, delectable body?—

Stop it .

He needed her out of here, and now.

“I was here first,” he stated harshly, taking an intimidating step toward her.

He really did not want to scare her, but he needed her to go. Duncan did not like what was happening inside of him. It was making him greatly uncomfortable.

“There is no evidence of that!” the woman countered boldly, mirroring his move by taking an intimidating step toward him.

“Really?” he sighed, waving an arm around. “That is your argument? If I was not here first, then how was I able to step in and put out the fire?”

“What did that anyway?” she asked, looking around at the floor.

“A cat.”

“What?”

“It probably left out the veranda door,” Duncan said wearily, waving a hand toward it. “Perhaps you should take its lead. Maybe there is another door out there that leads to another empty room. You are the second lady here who has tried to get me alone, and I must say, I am quite appalled at the boldness of London women. I know my title is compelling, but these attempts are quite desperate, are they not?”

The woman’s eyes grew wide as her jaw dropped, and Duncan was nearly unable to hide his amused smile.

“As for an empty room, Sir, if you wish to seek it, then you go find it. I have already found mine, and I will not be leaving,” she retorted angrily before launching into a speech.

“And as for your title, I do not even know who you are, nor do I care. Regardless of your name and status, I am not the type of lady who meets men alone in rooms. I do apologize for disturbing you if you truly had the room first, but I will not tolerate your rudeness.”

“I’m rude?” Duncan shot back, tilting his head as he looked down at her.

My, she is short. Nearly half my size I suspect. How adorable.

Duncan only then realized where his thoughts were going, and it worsened his already aggravated mood. Who was this woman?

“You are the one that is rude, My Lady,” he continued, his annoyance renewed.

“Oh, really?” she retorted, laughing haughtily as she planted her fists on her hips. “And how is that? Please, do tell me.”

“Chaperone,” he bit out, his mind unable to come up with anything else.

Unwittingly, he had taken small steps toward her, and the closer he got, the lovelier she became. Her curves were making it hard to think properly, and that was frustrating him greatly. He forced his eyes back up to hers, hoping the view would help him finish his sentence. Her green eyes captivated him, and he struggled even more.

“You are not with a chaperone, when you are supposed to be,” he managed to get out.

“And who are you to tell me what I need?” she fired back.

“Well, you obviously need someone,” he retorted testily, irked by how his body was responding to their argument. “If you truly are innocent, then you are putting your own self at risk with your naiveté. Has no one taught you how dangerous it is for ladies to wander off alone?”

“Are you saying you are a danger to me, Sir?” the woman asked sharply, her eyes glittering with challenge.

Duncan took a deep breath, feeling the conversation grow quickly out of control, and he rubbed his left temple. He needed to rein in his temper before he was the one who caused a scene and not Morgan.

“I am not,” he said calmly, controlling his deep voice. “I did not mean to scare you, My Lady. I am sorry.”

The woman looked at him suspiciously for a long time, then seemed to relax her stance and nodded.

“I offer my apologies as well,” she returned begrudgingly. “But I truly did need a moment alone. I do not want to be here, I cannot stand it. I need some solace before I force myself back out there.”

Duncan wasn’t sure if it was the woman’s honesty or the sincere tone of her voice, but he felt his frustration melt away. His suspicion followed next as he saw the embarrassment in her eyes. Perhaps he had been wrong.

“We are in the same ill way, then,” he admitted, watching as her stare grew more compassionate. “Perhaps we can simply forgive each other and move away,” he offered. “I shall go out to the patio, you stay in here. Take as long as you need.”

“Can we?” the woman asked.

She looked so sincerely relieved that Duncan found himself unable to say anything but yes.

“You are a good man, Sir,” she said sincerely, making an odd sensation rise in his chest. “Might I have your name so that I may thank you properly?”

“No need,” Duncan replied, moving toward the door. “Perhaps it is best we stay strangers.”

As his hand closed around the doorknob, the woman’s much smaller hand suddenly landed over his. Her soft touch sent electric currents into his hand, a sensation he’d never felt before, and he gasped as he froze.

Slowly, he turned toward her and saw her green eyes watching him. His pulse quickened.

“Wait,” she whispered.