“Can I fetch you anything? A tea tray? A pile of cakes?” Beatrice grinned, kicking her feet, oblivious to the true depth of trouble her cousin and uncle were in.
Valeria shook her head. “I think I am going to retire for the night, though I thank you for your care. And, please, do not think that I am upset with you anymore.”
“Very well.” A shyness came over Beatrice as she shuffled backward off the bed, getting to her feet. “It is just that… I do not have many people who are kind to me, and who like my company. I worry when I think I have lost that.”
Valeria nodded in understanding. “I know, dearest Bea. But you shall never lose that with me. I adore you. And… if you could stay with us indefinitely, I would not hesitate to allow it. But?—”
“Mother would never permit it. I know.” Beatrice groaned, sparing Valeria the struggle of explaining the truth. “I shall take to my own chambers, then, but if you get bored in the night, wake me up. Sleep well, cousin.”
Valeria forced a smile. “I will, Bea.”
Waving lazily, Beatrice padded back out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
The moment she was gone, Valeria snatched the note back out from under the coverlets, smoothing out the creases she had formed when she had crushed it in her palm. It was a note she had not expected. A note that should not have thrilled her as much as it did, but the moment it had arrived, delivered by the housekeeper, her heart had not stopped racing:
My dearest dark angel,
Tonight.
Yours,
Lockie
Leaving the apartments had been far trickier than the first time, with Beatrice shuffling around in her room, refusing to go to sleep, but as soon as all was quiet, Valeria had seized her opportunity.
Under cover of darkness, as a distant church chimed out twelve strokes, she hurried through the empty streets of Mayfair toward Duncan’s residence.
The cellar door stood open as it had before, and she followed the path through the silent house, until she was outside the drawing room. She could not breathe, but it had nothing to do with running. Common sense dictated that she should not be there at all—indeed,hehad told her that she should not come, the last time she was in that spot—yet she had not been able to resist.
It was some kind of madness; it had to be. A deflected desperation, brought on by her circumstances. She wanted fervently to think of something else,anythingelse, than the looming destitution of her household. Duncan offered that, if nothing else.
“Is that the fluttering of wings I hear?” his voice drifted from within the drawing room.
Steeling herself, she entered. “It would have been far easier to get here if Icouldfly. You are playing with my reputation again, Your Grace.”
“You did not have to come,” he replied, turning from where he stood by the terrace doors. “Although, I am glad that you did.”
Her heart hammered in her chest. “You are?”
“Indeed.” He began to walk toward her. “I have not been able to stop thinking about you, Valeria.”
The breath abandoned her lungs. “Oh?”
“It is hard to forget the woman who has caused one such pain,” he said, lips quirking into a smile. “I have not been able to think of anything but the throbbing in my foot. Youmustbe held accountable. As such, I felt it was my duty to insist upon those dancing lessons, lest you injure some other poor soul.”
Her heart sank, and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed to curve her mouth into a sarcastic smile. “If I remember rightly, I apologized for that.”
He is toying with me again, and I am allowing it.She sighed, wondering what it was about Duncan that made it so difficult to stay away from him. He was handsome; that was true. He was witty and charming, with an ease about him that she had not found elsewhere. But that did not outweigh his reputation. It should not have done, at least.
“You did, but that does not remedy the problem,” he replied, clapping his hands together, putting on an accent that might have been Russian. “Come, Miss Maxwell—we dance. We turn this clumsy cygnet into a graceful swan.”
She chuckled despite herself, shaking her head. “Why else would I be here?”
He paused, tilting his head to one side, looking at her with a fresh intensity. “I do not know, Miss Maxwell. Why elsewouldyou be here?”
“It was a rhetorical question,” she hastened to say, her cheeks warming as she looked away from him.
In truth, there had been no mention of dancing lessons on the note he had sent. It had just been one word, compelling her to sneak through the darkness to be near him again. She could tell herself that she had assumed it pertained to the dancing lessons, but she feared she might be lying.
