Chapter 2

CHAPTER2

Violet coughed violently, trying to get the bubbles out of her nose as Eleanor produced a handkerchief for her and Grace clapped her on the back. But Grace in her distraction, clapped Violet more on the shoulder than the back.

“Can it be?” Eleanor whispered to the others. “The Duke of Barlow? He has not been seen in public for years.”

“Well, that is him, is it not?” Grace said, her voice just as eager.

“Where is he?” Diana called, standing on her tiptoes to try to get a better look.

Violet took a deep breath, managing to clear her nose, at last. She was equally desperate for a look. She could not believe it was possible after she had been begging the heavens for a moment of inspiration, for the man who had inspired her story before to be entering the ballroom now.

She placed her glass on a nearby table and stood on her tiptoes, too, trying to see over the guests’ heads to where the Duke of Barlow stood, but she was so petite that the challenge was an impossible feat.

She and Diana exchanged a look, and the two scurried back a few steps. Nearby was a staircase leading to a mezzanine, where other guests gathered. They exchanged stories, gossip, and champagne. Most had now stopped talking to glare over the balcony at the new incomer, though.

Violet and Diana stood on the bottom step of the staircase, now with a better view of the ballroom. Violet’s eyes found the Duke of Barlow, and she felt that same familiar flutter in her stomach she had experienced the year before when she had met him in the bookshop.

He was dressed more formally tonight, his cravat tightly fitted beneath his chin, though his suit was as richly black as before, as dark as a stormy night. His hair was wild, and he had clearly not bothered to shave, with the same stubble across his angular chin as before.

His mother and his sister were at his shoulder, talking animatedly to their hosts. He didn’t join in but returned the glares of many in the ton, his icy blue eyes darting across the ballroom with slow purpose.

“Wow,” Violet whispered, amazed at the power he could have over the room.

Diana merely nodded at her side in agreement.

Abruptly, the room turned away from gazing at him, as if they were all frightened to be caught staring. Some began dancing again, with Celia amongst them. Others returned to their conversations, though many ladies stole more glances by raising their fans to their faces and fluttering them madly.

Behind them on the stairs, such conversation struck up that Violet couldn’t help overhearing it.

“How dare he?” a man’s voice declared with vigor. “After what he did… after he killed that poor girl.”

“Calm your blood, dear,” his wife said.

“I will not be calm.”

“And you shouldn’t be.” Another lady joined in the conversation. “It is disgusting to see him attend a ball held by his ex-betrothed’s parents. The audacity. The unashamed manner of it all. It is quite appalling!”

Violet huffed and took Diana’s arm. They stepped off the stairs and returned to Eleanor and Grace’s side, who were now whispering together.

“Is it not mad?” Violet asked, looking between her friends.

“Which part?” Eleanor asked with a smile. “The fact he is here, or the fact a man cannot walk into a room without causing gossip that spreads like a tidal wave?”

“The latter,” Violet hissed. “Nothing was ever proven, was it? If the man is guilty of murder, would he not have hung from the gallows for it?”

“You are imagining a world where justice is always achieved.” Eleanor wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “From my readings, I think, sadly, it does not always happen.”

“Yet, nothing was ever truly proven,” Violet insisted with sudden passion. She stood on her tiptoes, craning her neck for another desperate look at him.

She caught just one glimmer as a guest moved to the side. She saw the handsome face, those intoxicating blue eyes, and then someone else moved in front of him, and she lost the view.

“You seem eager to defend him,” Grace noted, with wide eyes. “Perhaps because he is your inspiration?”

“It is not that. It is just…” Violet sighed, glancing around the room. “It piques my sympathy when I see an entire ballroom set against one man.”

“I know what you mean,” Diana whispered, her voice so quiet, as it usually was, that the other three stepped toward her to hear her better. “It is almost like cornering an animal.”

“He looks like no cornered animal.” Eleanor snorted with laughter. “On the contrary, I rather think that he is the hunter, rather than the hunted.”

Violet swallowed around a suddenly dry throat at the words. She grappled for her champagne glass and took a hefty sip, trying to calm the beating of her heart and wet her dry mouth, though it did little to help.

She seemed changed now that the Duke of Barlow had entered the room, as if everything had shifted and gravitated toward him.

Her body acted of its own accord, and she craned her neck once more, trying to steal a glance at him, but she was not so lucky this time. One thing she knew for certain—any man, any hunter, as handsome and as feared as he was, would certainly be the death of a wallflower like her.

* * *

I can’t breathe.

Xander could hear his breathing, sharp and labored, as he looked around the room. His mother and sister had drifted away already, and he could no longer see them through the crowds.

Women fluttered fans in front of their faces, trying to mask the fact they were glaring at him completely openly. Gentlemen were not so ashamed of their looks, and plenty stared at him, their eyes narrowed. One man even paled and darted away, muttering something very loudly about the guest list tonight being quite outrageous!

Xander struggled to control his breathing as suddenly someone stepped toward him. He stood straighter, shocked, for he had been certain no one would wish to speak to him tonight.

“Xander?”

“Anthony.” Xander bowed, but the moment he did so, Anthony cracked up. The dark blonde hair coiffed back over his head shuddered with the movement.

“Nothing so formal here, my good man.” Anthony took his hand and shook it firmly. With that movement, it was as if a pane of glass cracked between them, and Xander felt his body soften. “It has been too long.”

“That it has.” Xander nodded, his mind running wild.

There had been a time when he was certain Anthony would hate him forever. He was Tilly’s brother and had also been Xander’s dearest friend. To his surprise, though, Anthony had kept writing, even to this day.

“I am not sure this was a wise decision of mine.” Xander nodded at the ballroom and all the people staring at him. “Should I not have come?”

“Nonsense. Ignore them.” Anthony took his shoulder, casting a glare at those around them as he did so. “Come, let’s get you a drink.” He steered him toward the nearest refreshments table. “I’m glad you have come. It has been too long, indeed. I feared you would not show up when I sent the invitation.”

“I imagine your parents are not thrilled that you invited me,” Xander added, watching his old friend’s face closely.

Anthony winced a little but then shrugged as he poured a glass of claret, clearly remembering Xander’s favorite drink as he passed it over.

“I invite whoever I wish to invite,” Anthony said with ease. “They can think what they like, but I know what I think, too.” He smiled encouragingly at Xander, and for the first time in years, Xander felt a true smile spread across his face.

Anthony does not believe I hurt Tilly.

They didn’t need to say the words between them—that look was enough for Xander to know the truth.

“Did you get all of my letters?” Anthony asked with some eagerness. “I’ve sent many.”

“That you have, and I thank you for them.” Xander cleared his throat and lowered his voice. With the two of them huddled together in the corner of the room, his effort to hide in the shadows was proving fruitless, as he could see from the corner of his eye that people were still looking at him. “Those letters brought me back to myself.”

“They did?” Anthony’s eyebrows rose. “Then I am glad I could give you comfort, my friend.”

Xander took a hefty gulp from his glass, not quite telling Anthony that, in fact, those letters had been his lifeline, especially the first year. When all thought him guilty of murder, Anthony was the only one who wrote and believed in his innocence.

“You never replied,” Anthony pointed out. “I feared you would not forgive me for my parents’ accusations.”

“Far from it,” Xander assured him with vigor, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I just didn’t know what to say in reply, but thank you, truly. For everything you said.”

Anthony clapped him on the shoulder once more. “I am glad to have you back. You have no idea how dull these events have been without you these last five years.”

“Dull? From what I read in the scandal sheets, you have a name of your own now,” Xander reminded him.

“Well…” Anthony offered a mischievous smile that lit up his golden face. “Perhaps I have been a little rakish. Nothing you wouldn’t approve of, I’m sure.” He winked, and Xander actually laughed a little. The feeling was almost alien to him after so long.

While Xander was the perfect image of darkness, with black hair, black clothes, and a dark countenance, Anthony was the opposite. Golden hair and honey-brown eyes, with an easy smile and bright clothes. In their younger years, they had both been the center of attention of many ladies.

“Speaking of which, it seems to my mind you could do with a little distraction,” Anthony said, lowering his voice for only Xander to hear. “Or have you had much distraction in the countryside?”

Xander didn’t answer with words but just smiled a little. It was enough to draw a deep laugh from his friend, who tipped his head back and guffawed.

“Ah, I am glad to see you have not changed much these last five years, my friend,” Anthony said with glee. “How come you are here tonight, then? I am glad to have you back, do not get me wrong.”

“Maybe it is time… You have read that story about the Dark Duke, haven’t you?” Xander said calmly, turning from his friend and looking around the ballroom. He didn’t like what he saw. Even some of those who danced were glancing his way with curiosity.

It had taken some persuasion from Helena in the end to bring him back to London. He had eventually decided she was right when the second installment of The Dark Duke had fallen on his doorstep, and he saw that this fictional version of him was a demon, indeed.

Anthony laughed in understanding. “Do not tell me that you…”

“I will admit,” Xander interrupted. “You were right earlier. I could do with some distraction from all these stares.”

Anthony laughed and took his shoulder. “Just like old times, eh? Come, I know who I can introduce you to.”

He steered him away, and Xander looked forward to whatever Anthony had in mind.

This is what I need—to forget the reality with sexual thrills.