Chapter 8
Proof Of Lies
Prim was happy for once that her parents loved socializing so much that they were often the ones who left the balls last. She really didn’t want the night to end.
One thing was the estate itself. It was grandiose and beautiful and elegant.
What the Duke and Duchess of Blackwell had offered was simple, artistic, and meaningful.
Many of the ton missed it, but even the most ignorant could feel the light atmosphere.
She also enjoyed Abigail’s company so much. Prim felt obliged to the Duchess for supporting her and her sisters. The twins were already enthralled by Abigail, and so was Prim. They had enjoyed their little talks as they mingled, and for the first time in her life, Prim felt she had a friend.
“We most definitely need to dance,” Leo’s voice was heard so close to her. “Preferably before everyone is gone. Our performance requires an audience after all.”
That part of the ball, she hadn’t evaluated yet. The Duke did his due diligence, paraded her in front of the ton, making sure everyone saw him offer her too much lemonade. And he introduced her to the Duke of Greyhaven.
“I think we walked around enough, arm in arm. Must I suffer more?” Prim said.
“It is just a dance,” Leo bows in front of her in perfect form, except for the mischievous glint in his eyes.
There was something inside her that told her that she should decline. Feign that her feet hurt, or she had a light headache, all these well-worn excuses that the ladies of the ton wisely used to avoid socializing.
“Fine, one dance,” she was surprised to hear her own voice.
The Duke guided her to the center of the dance floor.
“Do you suffer much if you are not in the center of attention?” She hissed as she took his hand.
“Actually, I do not enjoy it as much, but I do need to make a point, don’t I?”
Prim looked away as he settled his hand on her waist. She had to tighten her jaw to keep her body from jumping up.
“You might want to change your expression into something that looks less like a walk to the gallows,” the Duke chuckled.
“More like a dance to the gallows.”
“Is dancing with me that unpleasant, Miss P.J.?”
Prim looked up at him, frowning.
“This little performance would work so much better if you gazed upon me with a little… fascination at least.”
“Let’s stay within reason, Your Grace. I am known to be sensible.”
He threw his head back and laughed, and that deep, husky sound became her worst enemy in this moment.
“Can you just try a bit harder?” The Duke provoked.
“The best I can do for you, Your Grace, is polite attention.”
The look on his face got darker, and the challenge she issued was gladly accepted.
Prim realized that perhaps she was poking around the lion’s den far too freely.
She would hate to see what happened when the Duke was thoroughly provoked.
His response was to drag her closer to his body with one fluid motion.
“Perhaps take a step back, Your Grace,” Prim panicked.
“You may have a reputation of being sensible, but I am not known to be one, Miss P.J.”
“Your Grace.”
“Am I not the besotted suitor?”
“You are most definitely not.”
“But I do pretend to be one,” he leaned closer. “That means holding you close.”
Prim felt his hand on her waist tighten, and now she could feel each individual finger through the layers of fabric. She got so startled that she looked up to him. A capital mistake.
Under the bright light of the great chandelier, there was nowhere to hide from him.
The Duke was infuriatingly built to be looked at.
And he was almost lethal in such proximity.
It was a good thing that the Duke avoided dancing with the ladies of the ton.
There would have been a barrage of ladies losing their senses.
Prim noticed his cheekbones first. It was as if a sculptor thought of the most dangerous thing in existence and then got carried away.
Right before he decided to create those fleshy lips to soften the blow.
This close, Prim could see that his lips were slightly too big for his symmetrical face, but the effect was equally scandalous.
“You are staring, Miss Jenkins.”
Prim lost a step from the sheer embarrassment. He caught her studying him, and his smug expression told her that he knew what the outcome of her assessment was. Prim regrouped as best as she could. The Duke was not beneath weaponizing the slightest slip of her composure.
“You provide little else entertainment, Your Grace.”
Another bout of laughter, only this time, their proximity echoed that sinful sound all over her body, his chest drawing nearer, his exposed neck a newfound land of fascination.
Prim’s first response back when she found out about the cursed sheet was correct.
It could have been anyone but him. Any other gentleman who was not this much… him.
“A scalding review, Miss Jenkins,” he sounded deliciously amused. “Let me see if I can change that.”
He swirled with her in his arms with determined grace.
Prim swallowed a gasp. She was watching Abigail dancing with her Duke, and she found him so elegant and fluid, a dancer that she envied.
Leo had a deceptive laziness in the way he moved.
But Prim, in his arms, knew that it was only relaxed confidence.
He knew where he was each moment, where she was, where his hands touched. It was disorienting.
“Propriety, Your Grace,” she warned.
“Trust me, Miss Jenkins,” he said with a dangerous shine in his eyes. “I am being very proper.”
“I am so happy you are amused,” Prim tried to sound harsh.
The Duke merely tilted his head and tightened his grip on her fingers. He was so close that his breath fanned her face, and Prim inhaled him. His eyes were now entirely focused on her. Those oceanic blue eyes drowned her with their intensity, and she was lost in a sea of confusion.
Prim knew what she had to do. She had to push back, she had to say something scathing, she had to stop her heart from racing, her breath from catching in her throat. She did none of these things. For one simple reason. She didn’t want to.
Thankfully, the music ended. Prim took a step back, too fast, too startled, as if her life depended on it. She wanted to run away, scream into a pillow, anything to release that knot that had her soul upside down.
A new dance started, and as if prompted by their almost scandalous dance, the dance floor was filled with couples, pushing a stunned Prim around.
“Second corridor to the right, past the refreshments,” Leo whispered in her ear as he helped her away from the crowd.
“Excuse me?”
“At the end, behind the red drape, you will find a glass door to a terrace.”
“Are you reciting random layouts out of boredom, or should someone be worried about your health?”
“I am absolutely healthy and sane. Meet me at the terrace.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I have something important to tell you.”
Prim studied his face, but it had the same infuriating expression somewhere between knowing and plotting, and that vexing lopsided grin.
“Fine,” she said, so she could breathe a little away from his presence.
She didn’t wait for his response, just fisted her reticule and moved to the refreshment table, grabbing a glass of lemonade because she was parched for some reason. Then counted to the second corridor and turned. She found the drape, looked around, and slipped out through the glass door.
The moment she stepped out, she breathed in from both relief and amazement. The cool air was exactly what she needed after that stifling dance. The terrace overlooked a small private garden that had roses of all colors. The smell was intoxicating, the view calming.
Prim heard the door open, and her heart jumped to her throat.
He was here. It wasn’t only that she expected him.
It was that same aura she had felt at the Opera, the same way she felt his presence every time he was near.
And sometimes when he wasn’t. Her good spirits evaporated with each thud of his boots on the marble, drawing closer.
“Good,” the Duke said, smiling. “I knew you’d like it. Abigail’s atelier is there,” He points at a window close to the terrace. “Edwin built this garden for her.”
“So, she could gaze at something beautiful while she worked. And the smell,” Prim said, happy for Abigail. “He must really love her.”
Leo looked upon her with an enigmatic look, and Prim didn’t want to decipher.
“It is just a garden,” the Duke finally said.
“You would not know love, Your Grace, even were it introduced to you with all due ceremony,” Prim exasperated. “This was the act of an amazing husband.”
Leo’s body went rigid for one second, and his usually relaxed face tightened with a momentary flinch. But it all dissolved quickly to teasing arrogance.
“Tell me, Miss Jenkins, in your expert opinion on marital bliss,” his voice had the softness of a toying predator, “would the Duke of Greyhaven build a garden for you?”
Prim’s eyes snapped to his in disbelief.
“Oh, I know,” Leo continued. “He would if it were logical. A very sensible, very efficient garden. No rogue roses. No unexpected scents.”
“You mock the man,” Prim quipped. “The Duke of Greyhaven has a clarity of mind. I suspect you find such a notion offensive. Or merely incomprehensible.”
Leo raised his jaw, his eyes still on her, her defiance a novelty for him. But then he smirked, raising an eyebrow.
“On the contrary. I found your courtship… educational.”
“Educational?” Prim awaited the jest of the joke. “I am afraid to ask what kind of lesson you gained.”
“Merely proof that flirtation suffers when conducted between a man carved of frost and a lady too inexperienced to pretend otherwise.”
“I wasn’t flirting with His Grace,” Prim protested.
“You were. Badly. Is this how you hope to secure a husband?”