Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“Excuse me,” the duke said gruffly as he passed her, the brush of his sleeve against hers so light it might have been accidental.
Might have been. But wasn’t.
Elizabeth felt the contact like a spark beneath her gloves. Her breath caught, then held as the man walked on, silent and purposeful, weaving through the crowd with the quiet intensity of someone who didn’t need attention to command it.
He didn’t turn, didn’t glance back. But he paused just enough to make her wonder.
Was that an invitation?
She stared at his retreating form: broad-shouldered, sure-footed, at ease in the way no London gentleman ever quite managed. Her spine prickled. The man was infuriating. And yet—
She reached for her lemonade and drained the glass in one long gulp.
Then, fanning herself, she leaned toward Lady Grisham. “Lady Grisham, may I take a moment to gather myself? I’m feeling a little warm.”
Lady Grisham narrowed her eyes. Her lips parted, doubt already forming into refusal—
But Wilhelmina stepped in like a well-trained cavalry unit. “Mama! Lady Forbes is here with Sarah. We must greet them, or she’ll think we’ve grown too proud to acknowledge her.”
Without waiting for permission, she looped her arm through her mother’s and began steering her away, with all the cheerful insistence of a daughter too winsome to be refused.
Elizabeth met her sister’s gaze across the crowd. Wilhelmina gave her a subtle nod and a dazzling smile.
No words were needed.
Bless her.
Elizabeth slipped away while the crowd swallowed up her family, her heartbeat thunderous. The ton was a blur around her—the rustle of gowns, the clink of crystal, the strains of music fading as she passed from light into shadow.
She wasn’t sure what this was. Curiosity, certainly. Recklessness, maybe. Desperation, most of all.
But she told herself it was for her sisters. For Wilhelmina. For Daphne. For Victoria. Not for herself. Not for the man whose nearness still burned on her skin.
Her slippers barely made a sound as she followed the path the duke had taken, down the length of the main hall, past murmuring footmen and oil paintings, into a velvet-draped corridor that muffled the world behind her.
And there, in a quiet room, lit low by flickering sconces, stood the Duke of Redmoor, waiting.
Their first lesson was about to begin.
“Ye came,” he declared, mock surprise etched on both his voice and face.
“Well, I’ve been summoned, have I not?” she asked, tilting her head as her right hand fumbled with her skirts to temper her shaking fingers.
“Oh, but it’s yer choice. I daenae deal with lasses who are nae willing,” he said simply, the smirk still on his face. “I merely nudged. Then, ye responded.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Yes, she was annoyed. But not enough to leave a handsome, infuriating man alone in a dark corner.
Something fluttered in her chest, sudden and unwelcome. She blamed it on nerves, and perhaps the lemonade, which was all she’d managed to swallow. Her stomach had been too knotted to face food.
“I’m already regretting my decision,” she said softly, looking around the room.
“We’ve not even begun yet, Lady Elizabeth,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing at her as if assessing her.
Would she be strong enough for the next step? Brave enough?
“Tonight’s lesson is all about appearance,” he said.
Elizabeth stiffened, her brow knitting. That was unexpected and insulting. Of all the faults that society found in her, her looks had never been a problem. If anything, she’d always been told she was pretty. Not dazzling, not a diamond of the first water, but objectively pleasant to look at.
“What exactly is wrong with my appearance, Your Grace?”
“Well, yer appearance does matter, it does,” he continued, as is he could not hear the shock in her voice. “It’s yer most vital weapon, lass, and ye need a weapon because courtship’s a war. Ye’ve got to ken how to seduce, or no one’ll cast ye a second glance,” he finished with a slight shrug.
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped, and a cold rush swept through her, draining the color from her cheeks.
Did he just say that?
Her heart quickened in a strange, reluctant flutter. His words were brash, unforgiving even, but beneath that, an undeniable truth. She fought to steady herself.
This is no time to feel flustered by a compliment.
“I—I beg your pardon?” she managed, voice trembling just slightly.
“Ye’re bonnie, that much I’m sure ye ken yerself,” he said softly, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper.
Elizabeth’s breath caught. The compliment was unexpected, stirring something both thrilling and terrifying. Yet she forced herself to respond, reminding herself that this was a lesson, nothing more.
“Er, thank you?”
“However, ye might start wearin’ dresses that’ll show off yer figure to best effect,” he added casually.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise, and she crossed her arms instinctively, only to catch the sharp dip of his gaze tracing the curve of her bosom as it pressed against the fabric.
“What do you mean, to the best effect?” she asked, cheeks flushing, both startled and caught off guard by his boldness.
“Ye need dresses that’ll show off yer assets, just like that there,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, husky whisper as his gaze traced the curve with deliberate intent. “It’d be a sin not to tempt a man with what’s rightfully yours.”
“You’re a cad!” she gasped.
“Perhaps I am,” he admitted shamelessly. “However, I’m a cad who kens how men think, and what they’re after. Do ye really want to get married, or is yer true goal to steer clear of it altogether?”
Elizabeth stood silent for a moment, caught between shock and reluctant agreement.
As crude as his words were, there was truth to them.
The men of the ton were not easily won by beauty alone; they craved more—the promise behind the face.
She was buxom for someone of her slender frame, yet her gowns were always as modest as a nun’s habit, hiding every curve rather than celebrating them.
“All right, then, Your Grace,” she muttered, feeling a little resigned. After all, she’d agreed to this lesson. “What else must I do?”
He regarded her thoughtfully, lowering himself slightly on bent knees to meet her gaze eye to eye.
“Yer eyes. Big and blue and like a man could—” He caught himself visibly, stepping back a pace. His gaze roamed over her once more before he continued, “Use them to make a man feel like he’s the only one in the world for ye. It’s all in the way ye look at him.”
“You cannot expect me to believe that, Your Grace,” she scoffed.
“It works, Lady Elizabeth. Give it a go. Look at me like ye cannae resist me. Go on, then.”
She laughed aloud, but beneath the mirth, a flutter of something unspoken stirred, a pull she was reluctant to admit. The heat of his gaze lingered in her thoughts, tempting and dangerous all at once. Yet she chastised herself: she had to keep her wits about her.
“Ah, that’s not the way to treat yer teacher, lass,” he said, shaking his head in mock-disappointment.
Elizabeth hesitated, then tried to steady her gaze. Her eyes grew wide, uncertain.
Was this really how she was meant to look?
She held his gaze awkwardly, feeling the sudden weight of all eyes in her head, and wondered if she was doing it right at all. Make him feel like the only man in the world… but instead, she felt more like she was fumbling through a dance she didn’t know the steps to.
He blinked at her.
What was that? Was he surprised? Disappointed?
“Ye look terrified, lass,” he murmured. “Think about longing. Yearnin’. Have ye ever yearned for someone, longed to be with him?”
Elizabeth’s breath hitched at his words, a flicker of something unfamiliar stirring deep inside her. Yearning. Longing. She shoved the feeling down, tightening her jaw.
No. Not here. Not now.
“I don’t know what you mean, Your Grace,” she said after clearing her throat, “Desire isn’t… well, it isn’t something a lady speaks of.”
He gave her a knowing look, one that didn’t waver. “Ah, but even proper ladies like yerself hold secret fires. You think they’re just for the reckless or the wild.”
She bit her lip, feeling a strange warmth move through her, a flutter she hadn’t quite felt before. Not until she met him. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, her thoughts tangled with images of him, his voice, his presence, the way his eyes held hers…
But then shame flooded back, sharp and cold, demanding silence.
This isn’t proper. This isn’t right.
She straightened her spine, voice firmer though her cheeks burned. “I assure you, Your Grace, I am quite… in control of my senses.”
He chuckled softly, unconvinced but entertained. “We’ll see how long that lasts, lass. Now, go ahead and try again.”
She tried again.
He sighed, shaking his head. “Ye look like you’re squintin’ into the midday sun, Lady Elizabeth.”
“Perhaps I am, Your Grace. And you’re the sun. Full of ego and blinding light.”
He grinned, unfazed. “No, ye’re hard on me ego, lass. Now I’m startin’ to think I’m a poor teacher.”
“Maybe you are,” she retorted.
He raised an eyebrow. “Try somethin’ else. Flutter yer lashes. Look up slowly. Think of somethin’ ye yearn for. Maybe not a man, but a fine dish. Yer favorite food. Freedom.”
Even as she rolled her eyes, a sudden warmth flickered beneath her skin at his words.
Desire…she had always thought it a foreign notion, yet deep down, she knew it had been simmering quietly all her life, like an ember waiting to ignite.
She lowered her lashes, letting them brush her cheeks in a slow, deliberate flutter. Drawing a deep breath, she summoned the visions of all she longed for.
Freedom. Respect. The chance to truly be seen.
And then, inexplicably, his face flickered through her thoughts, sharp and vivid, sending an unexpected shiver coursing through her.
She lifted her lashes slowly, each delicate beat revealing her gaze until their eyes locked.