Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Greyson Thornhill, was not a man easily startled.
He had weathered scandal, death, and ducal responsibility since youth. That meant that very little in the world had the power to shift his composure. Yet finding a young woman standing directly in his doorway with her cheeks flushed and her chest rising too quickly struck him silent.
For a moment, they simply stared at one another.
The first thing he noticed was her freckles, warm and vivid across her nose and cheeks, like motes of pollen in the sunlight. The second was her lips, soft and lush in a way that made his chest tighten with something dangerously unfamiliar.
Then those lips parted.
“I… I did not mean to be here,” she blurted, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush.
“I swear it. I was simply… well, passing by, because my sisters were behaving like little devils and someone needed to stop them from doing something utterly silly as a dare, and then—oh, this is all far more foolish than I can explain, and I am terribly sorry. Truly. If you would just… if you would simply step aside, Your Grace, I shall go at once and trouble you no more.”
Her voice, though flustered, held a natural firmness beneath the panic. There was a steadiness in her that might have soothed him, had her presence in his private chambers not defied all reason. But she was flustered and blushing, and for some maddening reason, he found the blush captivating.
She moved as though to slip past him. Instead of stepping aside, Greyson stepped forward. She instinctively stepped back. And then the door closed behind him, leaving them both inside his bedchamber… alone.
Her eyes widened. Her lips parted again. The flush on her cheeks deepened until it warmed every freckle crossing her skin. He was not a man prone to fascination. And yet, he found himself fascinated.
Greyson let the silence stretch just enough that she shifted nervously.
“You mean to tell me,” he inquired, “that you are in my bedchamber… because you were dared to enter it?”
Her entire expression collapsed into bewilderment. “What?” she breathed, as though the idea were preposterous and mortifying all at once.
Her already vivid blush darkened further, blooming across her skin like spilled rosewater.
“I… I never said, I mean certainly not… well, not exactly,” She stammered into a hopeless tangle, her composure unraveling the longer he watched her.
Greyson had never particularly enjoyed watching a woman fluster herself. But with this one, he couldn’t look away.
“Not exactly what?” he inquired further.
The woman opened and closed her mouth once, then twice, before finding any words at all.
“I was not dared to come here,” she said firmly, though her voice betrayed her nerves. “I was trying to prevent someone else from attempting such a thing.”
Greyson’s gaze swept the room. It was empty, save for the two of them. There was not a single misplaced cushion to suggest company.
He raised an eyebrow. “Someone else? Fascinating. And where, pray tell, is this mysterious intruder you were valiantly rescuing me from?”
She stiffened. “Well… they are not here now, obviously. They left before you arrived.”
“Mhm.” He took a leisurely step closer. “How convenient.”
She blinked rapidly, and her lovely freckles shifted with the motion. “I beg your pardon?”
Greyson allowed one corner of his mouth to lift, albeit barely. “Tell me, my lady… are you certain you did not simply imagine these supposed trespassers? A convenient tale to disguise your own desire to enter my bedchamber of your own accord?”
Her gasp was immediate, scandalized, and quite possibly the most endearing sound he had ever heard.
“What?! Absolutely not! I would never desire such a thing!”
“Would you not?” His tone deepened into amusement. “You seemed rather determined to be here.”
“I was not determined.” Her voice pitched higher with outrage. “I was trying to leave until you stepped in and trapped me!”
“Trapped you?” Greyson echoed, leaning just enough that she took another flustered step back. “You could have passed me if you wished.”
Her eyes flashed. “I tried! You stepped into the room like a… like a wall!”
His brows rose. “I am compared to masonry now?”
“A particularly obstructive piece of masonry,” she snapped.
He almost laughed. Almost.
“And you,” she continued, as her cheeks blazed hotter by the second, “have no right, none at all, mind you, to imply I came here for any purpose other than preventing trouble.” She crossed her arms with impressive indignation. “I do not make a habit of sneaking into men’s bedrooms.”
“I imagine not,” Greyson drawled. “You do not seem the type.”
She hesitated. “Well… thank you. I think.”
He stepped closer again, compelled by some instinct he did not care to name. “And yet here you are.”
Her breath hitched. “Temporarily.”
“Mhm.”
“Against my will.”
“Of course.”
“And only because you blocked the doorway.”
“Entirely my fault,” he agreed, not in the least repentant.
She glared at him, with her lips pressed into a pert line that only made him more curious.
His voice lowered. “Tell me, then, who was it you were saving me from?”
Her eyes darted to the door, then back to him. “Two very foolish girls.”
“Foolish enough to trespass in a duke’s chambers,” he mused, “but wise enough to flee before returning owners appear. How efficient.”
She bristled. Then, she drew herself up with a steadiness that did not match the furiously mesmerizing color in her cheeks.
“What I did was wrong,” she said at last. “I know that. I should not have been here. I acted foolishly and put myself in a compromising position.” Her chin lifted. “But I have had quite enough of this nonsense, Your Grace. I wish to return to the party.”
Greyson tilted his head. “Why?” His voice dripped with quiet amusement. “This is far more interesting.”
Her eyes flashed so fiercely he very nearly laughed outright.
“This is not interesting,” she snapped. “This is mortifying. And entirely inappropriate. And I have endured more than enough embarrassment for one evening, thank you very much.”
Greyson focused on the pulse at her throat, beating fast.
“You may be the Duke of Callbury,” she continued, meeting his gaze without flinching, “and you may be accustomed to getting your way with everyone. You may intimidate half the room when you walk into it.”
A bold statement, and entirely accurate.
“But I,” she assured him, “will not cower. Not because of your title. Not because of your temper. And certainly not because you seem to enjoy cornering people with your questions.”
Greyson’s eyebrows rose. “You talk of leaving, yet you keep staying.”
She ignored the jab entirely.
“I entered your room,” she said firmly. “That is my fault, and I offer my full apology. You deserve that much. But I will not stand here and be teased when I am trying to correct my own mistake.” She stepped past him and actually brushed his shoulder, almost as if in an effort to prove he had no effect on her by words or touch.
A pity he couldn’t entirely say the same for himself.
Then, she reached for the door handle. “I bid you a good evening, Your Grace.”
But instead of storming out, which was what he expected her to do, she stopped in the doorway, almost as if pausing to gather her breath.
Greyson should have let her go. He truly should have.
Instead, the words slipped out. “Have you changed your mind already?”
She didn’t turn around to allow him another look at the blaze in her eyes.
And only once he looked past her shoulder, did he realize that they had not checked the corridors.
So now, standing directly before her with their mouths parted in identical expressions of delighted horror, were two of the ton’s most infamous gossips: Miss Honoria Greeley and Miss Prudence Dale.
It was as though mischief itself had conjured them. Miss Greeley was clutching a lace handkerchief as though she lived in a state of perpetual swooning, while her friend, Miss Dale, stood by her side, soft and cherub-faced, though no Cherub had ever wielded such lethal curiosity.
Both of them stared at the woman in the doorway, at the duke, and finally, at the bedchamber which loomed like the great beyond, threatening to swallow them whole.
Greyson closed his eyes with the long-suffering air of a man pushed beyond reason.
“For goodness’ sake… not today.”