Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
T he Duke smiled, and Juliet felt certain he meant to comfort her. Guilt twisted in her chest. This man seemed every inch the gentleman. Holding himself with restraint despite countless opportunities to do otherwise. He seemed to go out of his way to keep a proper distance between them—a distance she found herself wishing he would abandon.
There was no doubt of his handsomeness now that he had removed the mask. Silken brown hair fell to his shoulders, swept back to frame high cheekbones and pale blue eyes, clear and luminous. A strong jaw and aquiline nose gave him the bearing of a nobleman, a figure worthy of ancient Rome. Juliet found herself aware of his rigid body in a way that she had not been before.
Sitting next to her, she felt dwarfed by him. It was frightening, his height and breadth. His sheer maleness—physical and inescapable. It reinforced to Juliet the power of self-control he wielded. Such a man could overpower her in a moment. She would be helpless before such strength.
But… he did not.
How could she ever have thought this man capable of assaulting a woman, of forcing himself on her? No sooner had she thought that than she reminded herself that she did not know him. Either now or then. His magnetism was such that she had to keep reminding herself to maintain her guard.
A knock came at the door and Juliet jumped. She realized that she had been staring into the Duke’s eyes, lost to reason and perfectly content. He, too, jumped, his startlement carrying him to his feet and a few steps away from Juliet.
“Come!” he said, loudly.
The door opened to admit a servant.
“A pot of tea with honey at once,” the Duke rapped out an order.
The maid curtsied and left the room, closing the door behind her.
“I am sorry to put you through such trouble,” Juliet said.
“Not at all. I am only sorry that you felt so unwell at my ball. It is important to me that my guests enjoy themselves.”
Juliet frowned, looking up at him. “Yet you leave them to their own devices,” she said before considering what she was saying.
The Duke smiled. “I admire and enjoy your directness, Miss Fothering. Yes, I want very much for the Ravenscourt Ball to be talked of positively, but have little stomach for the duty of socializing. I only wish I could delegate the task.”
Juliet pondered his words for a moment, then said, “You could . Employ a man to wear a mask and pretend to be you.”
The Duke opened his mouth to reply but stopped short. He sank back onto the settee beside her, his gaze fixed not on her, but somewhere beyond. Juliet studied the sharp, arresting planes of his face, illuminated solely by the flickering candlelight. Her pulse quickened, her breath shallow as she forced her hands to remain clasped in her lap, her knees pressed primly together—to appear demure and ladylike.
In reality, she felt wanton and wild. Whatever thought she had put into his head, he was now considering it and was quite taken with it. She had not been completely serious and wondered if he was giving it serious thought.
“Of course, it would have to be a man unknown to the ton,” the Duke said slowly.
His eyes met hers, and Juliet felt her heart stutter to a halt. She forced herself to breathe, praying the rapid cadence of her breaths wasn’t as loud to him as it seemed to her own ears. Heat crept up her neck as his icy gaze lingered, unrelenting, drawing her in. Though a few feet separated them, she could catch the faint trace of his cologne—warm and woodsy, with a subtle, musky edge. It was intoxicating, a perfect echo of him. Her fingers twitched in her lap as a dangerous desire unfurled within her.
For one reckless moment, she imagined herself leaning closer, breathing him in, her eyes drifting shut.
“You have given me much to think about, Miss Fothering. A manner to satisfy my obligations to my House and avoid mixing with those I would rather avoid.”
“I should be glad to show you the countryside around Wetherby then. It is rather wild but very beautiful. And replete with wildlife,” Juliet said out of character and somewhat breathlessly.
A faint smile tugged on the Duke’s lips. “As you may have noticed from my own home, I prefer the wilds to the horticulture of mankind. I should very much like that, I think.”
Juliet returned his smile shyly, tearing her eyes from his, feeling as though she had been staring into them for too long. This was a dream. No, a fairytale. A story such as her mother would tell her when she was a little girl. Stories of princesses rescued from wicked stepmothers by a handsome and noble prince.
She had not been rescued, not forever. Just for this evening. And he was not a prince. But a handsome Duke was as welcome.
For a fleeting moment, Juliet wondered if she might simply savor this man’s company and conversation for the rest of the evening. If no one noticed her absence or cared enough to seek her out, what harm could it cause? Her aunt and uncle surely hadn’t spared her a thought. Cousin Frances would be too preoccupied with dancing to notice her disappearance, and as for Cousin Edith—well, Edith might miss her, but she could be trusted to keep silent.
The tea arrived soon after, and the Duke made a cup for her, applying honey liberally. Juliet sipped at it and found it immediately reviving. Archie was safe and her symptoms were receding, the terrible weakness that swept over her for the moment vanquished. Despite her ruse, the night was progressing rather splendidly.
“Would you like to see something of the castle?” the Duke asked when she had finished her cup, “If you are well enough, of course.”
“I think so,” Juliet smiled. “Yes, I should love to see the castle. Truthfully, I might take a tour of Mayfair too if it delayed my returning to the ball. It is not an occasion at which I feel my best.”
The Duke shrugged and held out an arm. “Nor I. It is an obligation only.”
Juliet set her cup down, abandoning hopes of a second as she realized this was a man who moved as the moment struck him. Deciding to follow his lead, she let a smile bloom on her lips as he guided her from the room.
She had braced herself for tonight to be an ordeal—a test of endurance spent dodging notice and waiting for it to end so she could retreat to her quiet life. Instead, she found herself swept away by the night. The memory of how she had wronged this enigmatic man still pricked at her conscience, stirring a desperate desire to make amends. Yet, she couldn’t summon the courage to confess her true identity. To see his brilliant blue eyes clouded with anger or hurt would be more than she could bear.
If they returned to the gathering, the dreaded moment of revelation would come far too soon. But here, in the privacy of their wandering, she could delay the inevitable. Her knees trembled slightly, and she masked the weakness by pausing now and then, feigning interest in a painting or a view. Frankly, it required little pretense. The views from the upper windows of the castle were spectacular. In one direction, there loomed dark hills swathed in forest. In other, a sprawling woodland stretching for miles. The paintings, judged by Juliet’s strictly amateur eye, seemed in many cases to be by the same hand as had painted the guests whose portraits appeared in the gallery.
“Do you have a resident artist?” she asked, innocently.
They had paused before a painting of a cluster of dancers, all clothed in finery and masks. The swirl of color suggested motion. It was skillfully done, capturing the joy of the dancer’s movements.
“Yes… in a manner of speaking,” Ravenscourt said. “I suppose I am the resident artist.”
Juliet looked up at him in astonishment. He chuckled.
“Is it not permitted for a Duke to be a painter in your world, also?” he asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” Juliet breathed. “I am not so sure why I’m surprised.”
The Duke was so physical and towering, it seemed bizarre to think of him standing before an easel and applying delicate brush strokes. Far simpler to view him on horseback charging into battle with a saber drawn.
“Though I would kindly ask you to keep it a secret,” he added sweetly, hands clasped behind his back. “It is a private hobby and not one that I wish to be the center of gossip.”
Juliet furrowed her brows. “Why ever not, when you are so talented?”
The Duke gazed at the painting, expression shadowing with a tinge of melancholy, and then shrugged. “I relay that question to your lack of knowledge of my past. For the sake of my family’s legacy, I try very hard to fit society’s expectations of me. To give them what they expect from a Templeton and the Duke of Ravenscourt. The annual ball, for example.”
“But surely they would expect their host to be among them, in that case?” Juliet asked.
“Ah, see, that is where my courage fails me,” Ravenscourt said candidly. “I suppose now is as good time as ever. I was the victim of a scandal in my youth which destroyed my reputation and threatened my family’s good name too. The accusations were false, entirely so, but it makes it difficult to go among those same people who believed and spread the lies in the first place. The annual masquerade seemed the perfect solution. Again, I would ask you not to share that.”
“I will not,” Juliet said, fervently.
She felt honored that he was choosing to trust her, to confide in her. It gave her a feeling of immense privilege. There is an intimacy when one shares their innermost thoughts and fears with another. It thrilled Juliet to think that this extraordinary man was allowing intimacy between them. It also made the confusion in her mind considerably clearer. No matter how hazy her memories of that fateful night, she could not believe that this man had been in the process of attacking a defenseless woman when she saw him. It did not seem that it could be in his character. They walked on through the castle, the Duke sharing with her its history as well as his own anecdotes from a childhood growing up in the place. She listened and contributed some stories of her own life. He seemed genuinely interested, listening intently. All the while, she held his arm and his hand rested upon hers.
That alone made it difficult for her to concentrate on his words. The feel of his bare hand on the back of hers was a thrill that demanded the whole of her attention. Her hand became the center of her awareness, the nexus of her nerves. His touch was warm and strong, comforting.
As they walked though, Juliet felt increasingly lightheaded. She found herself exerting all her strength not to lean on the Duke for support. If she did, he would surely notice and insist on sending for her aunt and uncle at once. That would end everything. They would reveal her true name and he would feel that she had been playing him for a fool. She wanted to delay that moment for as long as she could, so she gritted her teeth and fought through the feelings of weakness. Presently, they emerged once more into the gallery above the Great Hall.
“And here we are once again. I thought it prudent to make a short detour to check on my guests, see that they are enjoying themselves. I hope you don’t mind,” Ravenscourt said, releasing her arm, entirely oblivious to her condition.
“Not at all.”
The blurry silhouette of him disappearing into the door beyond the archway that led to the ballroom below was all she saw.
Juliet put a trembling hand to her forehead. The weakness was now accompanied by a dizziness which she was finding increasingly difficult to ignore.
“Oh dear…” she murmured faintly.
Suddenly, her footing faltered. She stumbled, her left hip colliding sharply with the cold stone of the balustrade. The jarring impact set a canvas teetering at the edge—a pencil sketch poised precariously. She lunged for it, fingers just brushing the air as it fell beyond her reach.
A startled scream pierced the air below as someone saw the object fall, followed by the sound of hurried feet scurrying clear. The crash of the canvas meeting the ground echoed like a gunshot in her ears. Juliet clutched the curtains adorning the balustrade, swaying dangerously as her vision blurred. A wave of nausea swept over her, and before she could right herself, her body pitched forward.
A gasp erupted from the onlookers below, dozens of masked faces staring up in horror, their fingers pointing. She tried to steady herself, her hand scrabbling against the stone, but her grip wavered. Her balance gave way, and a shriek tore from her throat as she felt herself tipping over the edge…
Just then, an arm seized her about the waist and drew her back. In doing so, her legs became entangled and she fell to the floor. Juliet swooned, but when she awoke, she was lying on her back with the Duke crouched over her. He gently stroked strands of tresses stuck to her damp face and was calling out a strange name.
“Elisa? Elisa!”
Her eyes focused, and she remembered the false name she had given him. His face was close to hers and concern was painted across his handsome features. She gazed into his blue eyes, so bright and full of emotion. As she opened her mouth to speak, a strident voice rang out from behind the Duke.
“Juliet! Unhand my niece at once, Your Grace!” Aunt Margaret shrieked.
The Duke looked back, and Juliet saw Aunt Margaret stepping into the gallery, her mask removed. She looked horrified and outraged at once. Behind her were Uncle Gilbert, Cousin Frances, and others. All staring at her bared face and that of the Duke.
Aunt Margaret’s words hit Juliet then.
She had called the Duke by his title. He had left his stag mask behind and Aunt Margaret had recognized him. With horror, Juliet realized that, for the second time, she had embroiled the Duke in scandal.