Chapter 11
Eleven
“April!” May’s voice burst through the hush of the library, followed by the eager patter of her slippers across the rug.
April looked up from the book—Meditations on the Nature of Honor—she had been pretending to read, her mind having drifted long ago to thoughts of dark blue eyes and the man who watched the world as if he held it at bay with his very will.
May grinned mischievously, a slim package in her hands. “I saw the butler receiving this at the door and offered—very helpfully—to bring it to you.”
April arched a brow, setting her book aside. “Offered or insisted?”
May only laughed and thrust the parcel toward her.
Curious, April untied the simple twine and peeled back the brown paper to reveal a familiar binding. The Faerie Queene.
Nestled inside the front cover was a single folded sheet, unsigned, written in a strong, precise hand.
You asked if I admired poetry. I do—but not Byron’s drama nor Wordsworth’s wanderings. I prefer what speaks plainly of loyalty, of trial, of quiet sorrow. I thought you might read it and understand.
No name. No crest. But there was no doubt that it was from Stone.
May leaned over her shoulder like an eager sparrow. “What is it?”
April tucked the note between the pages before her sister could snatch it. “Something… romantic,” she said lightly, feeling a strange tightness in her chest.
May squealed. “Is he wooing you with poetry? Oh, April, this is too perfect!”
Ignoring her, April flipped through the book. Several passages had been discreetly marked with black silk ribbons. She found the first, and every line he wanted her to read had a star drawn beside it with a pencil. She read quietly.
Virtue gives herself light, through darkness for to wade.
She traced the words with her fingertip. Through darkness for to wade. Had he thought of himself or of her when he marked it?
Another passage waited: The mind of each to other’s mind did suit.
Her heart gave an uneven flutter. May plopped down onto the chair beside her, swinging her feet. “Well? Does it make you want to say yes to him?”
April closed the book gently, holding it to her chest for a moment. “It makes me want to know him better.”
“Which is very nearly the same thing.” May grinned wickedly.
April laughed and shook her head though her heart raced beneath her ribs. Somehow, without a single word spoken between them, he had shown her a glimpse of his soul.
April reopened the book, and her thumb found the last passage he had marked: Who having spent the day, his steeds doth loose, forgetting travail past, and former toil.
She read it twice, and then again, the words sinking deep. Perhaps… he was telling her something she had not yet dared hope to believe. She pressed her hand over the page and closed her eyes briefly.
The seeds of something fragile and frightening had been sown—and whether it would bloom or break, she could no longer tell.
April set the volume aside, rose, and crossed to the escritoire by the window. She seated herself and drew a sheet of parchment.
Your Grace,
Your gift of The Faerie Queene arrived this morning, and I value both the volume and the kindness that sent it.
Lady Allenham holds a ball this Thursday. I shall attend and would be pleased if you would join me.
Yours,
Lady April Vestiere
April wished to write more but decided to leave the letter as it was. She blotted the lines, folded the sheet with care, and sealed the edge with a crimson wafer.
May, who had circled like a cat about to pounce, leaned over her shoulder. “Are you writing to His Grace?”
April pressed the wafer. “No, to the Royal Astronomer. I intend to inquire after the moon.”
May’s giggle danced through the shelves. “Then the Duke will be most put out when he learns the moon received his invitation.”
“The moon, at least, answers to no one,” April said, writing his direction upon the outer fold and addressing it with a firm hand.
May perched on the edge of the desk, her eyes glinting. “If he accepts, shall I tell Mother to have your blue silk aired?”
“A man such as the Duke of Stone does not respond to invitations in writing,” April replied, tucking the letter beneath a paperweight shaped like an acorn.
May’s eyes narrowed. “How would you know if he will be attending the ball?”
“Did you read my letter?” April swatted her sister’s arm.
May giggled and evaded April’s next swipe. “You sealed it before I could finish reading, but I did see Lady Allenham’s ball mentioned.”
April shook her head and rose, letter in hand, and moved toward the door.
I ought to draw deeper feelings from him, but which feelings, I wonder?
“Is that jeweled comb crooked on purpose,” June asked, “or have you simply given up?”
“It’s a statement,” April replied, adjusting it again in the mirror. “Though I haven’t decided what it says.”
“That you’ve been mentally compromised by too much poetry,” June offered dryly.
May giggled. “Or by a certain duke.”
April didn’t answer. Her fingers fussed with the arrangement in her hair once more although the comb was perfectly in place, its sapphire stones catching the light like tiny stars.
Dorothy’s voice rang through the room, crisp and commanding. “Girls, if we do not leave in the next five minutes, we shall miss the first dance, and I cannot possibly allow our season to fall behind the Millertons’—not when they have such unfortunate shoulders.”
“We’re ready, Mama,” May called, sweeping up her skirts and giving June a conspiratorial look. “Even if April can’t decide which version of herself to present tonight.”
Before April could deliver a retort, the butler appeared in the open doorway and announced, “Your Grace, the Duke of Stone has arrived.”
For half a breath, no one moved.
“Oh,” Dorothy gasped, smoothing her dress as if preparing for battle. “Show him in. Quickly!”
The butler vanished, and in his place appeared the Duke—immaculate as ever, dressed in midnight black, his presence cool and quiet yet arresting in its intensity.
“Your Grace,” Dorothy said, stepping forward with a curtsy that could have been taught at court. “What a delightful surprise.”
Stone bent to kiss her hand with impeccable form. “Your Grace,” he murmured. May and June curtsied, and he gave them a single, solemn nod before turning his gaze to April.
She felt it land on her before she saw it. His hand found hers, lifted it slowly, and his lips brushed the air above her knuckles.
“I had begun to wonder,” he said in a voice pitched low enough for her ears alone, “if you meant to leave without me.”
“I thought you’d given up on outings,” she teased, her tone light but her heart racing. “After all, the opera was quite a trial.”
“Not the opera,” he replied, releasing her hand. “Merely the heroine.”
Her pulse leapt. She tilted her head slightly. “You preferred the villain?”
A pause. “I preferred the quiet.”
“Then you’ll loathe the ball.”
“I’ve already accounted for that.”
Before she could answer, Dorothy stepped forward once more, her expression bright. “Your Grace, if we are all prepared, shall we depart?”
“My carriage is outside,” Stone said smoothly. “I had intended it for Lady April, but if you are ready, we shall all go together.”
Dorothy beamed. “Oh. Marvelous.”
May and June exchanged glances as April shot them both a warning look which they ignored with the ease of long practice.
The ride to Lady Allenham’s was short but not quiet. Dorothy, adjusting her shawl with purpose, filled the space easily.
“You know, Lady Finch’s daughter is already married. A very good match too. And I heard from Lady Belling that young Miss Granger is now engaged to the second son of a marquess.”
“Mama,” April said under her breath.
“Such efficient girls,” Dorothy continued, entirely undeterred. “No dithering. Simply married and settled. Of course, we mustn’t rush—but a bit of clarity would be helpful.”
“I’m sure clarity’s on its way,” June said, looking deliberately out the window.
“Probably in the form of a special license,” May added, grinning.
April shot them both a look that promised retribution, but Dorothy remained oblivious.
“The thing is, April dear, once a girl is seen to have caught a duke’s attention, everyone begins to assume. Which is very useful if it’s true. Less so if it isn’t.”
“Mama, perhaps now is not—”
“But truly, Your Grace,” Dorothy turned her attention to Stone with the subtlety of a cannon, “you must find all this season business tedious.”
“It is… varied,” he replied.
May leaned in, clearly delighted. “Do you enjoy anything about it?”
“I enjoy riding,” he said. “And I breed horses.”
“For racing?” June asked, surprised.
He inclined his head once. “A few of mine ran at Epsom last year.”
“Did they win?” May’s eyes widened.
“They didn’t lose,” he said.
April glanced at him sidelong. His voice hadn’t changed nor his posture. He sat perfectly straight, gloved hands resting on his knee. Polite. Unreadable. She tried to read his face, to detect anything beneath the cool surface. Nothing. But her heart beat faster anyway.
When they entered Lady Allenham’s ballroom, the shift in the air was immediate. Conversations dropped. Heads turned. A few fans fluttered open with theatrical grace. April didn’t look at any of them.
Then she felt it—his hand, warm and solid, placed at the small of her back. Her breath caught. What on earth was he doing? The touch lingered just long enough to make her wonder if he had noticed the stir. If this was intentional. A silent declaration.
“Now that the ton has seen you arrive on the arm of a duke,” her mother whispered, voice sharp beneath her smile, “you had best see it through.”
April managed not to groan. Barely.
Stone straightened beside her. His expression hadn’t changed, but somehow, she knew he’d heard every word. He turned toward her.
“You will dance with me.”
Not a request. Not quite a command either.
She nodded. “If you must.”
“I must,” he said simply, offering his arm.
They stepped onto the floor as the waltz began, and she found herself drawn into the circle of his arms once more.
“You sent me a book,” she said as they began to turn. “Does this mean you have a poet’s soul?”
“I have a practical one.”
April arched a brow. “So, it was a practical gift?”
“It was an honest one.”
“You marked the passages.”
“I thought they might resonate.”
She looked up at him. “Are you denying being romantic?”
“I am many things, Lady April,” he said. “Romantic is not one of them.”
“Then I shall call it a lapse in character.”
He didn’t answer, but his intense blue gaze remained on hers, heavy enough to steal her breath. The music rose, and their bodies moved in time, her hand barely held in his, his other guiding at her waist. She could smell him. That sandalwood scent combined with the dark mysterious spice.
Her breath hitched. “You’re not as unreadable as you think, you know.”
“No?” He raised one dark brow.
“No.” She tilted her head. “But you are very good at pretending.”
“I’ve had practice.”
The music faded. They stopped. He released her hand—but not his attention.
Before she could speak, their host, Lady Allenham, appeared. “Your Grace, forgive me, but I simply must introduce you to Lord and Lady Worthing. They’ve been begging an audience all evening. My ball shan’t be complete without it.”
Stone gave April a slight nod. “If you’ll excuse me.” As he moved away, the air around her cooled.
She watched their host introduce him to the elderly couple, who appeared to be in transports at the mere sight of him. April had only a moment’s solitude before another man stepped forward.
“Lady April,” he said, smiling as though he could run out of breath at any moment. “You may not remember me, but we were introduced at the Barkley soirée. Viscount Harrow.”
April smiled politely. “Of course, My Lord.” I certainly do not remember you.
“May I have this dance?”
She paused and looked around for Stone. When she couldn’t find him, she returned her attention to the Viscount, placing a hand on his proffered arm. “Certainly, My Lord.”
The Viscount talked as he led her to the floor. “Terrible bore, these balls, aren’t they?” he observed. “But necessary. One must make a match eventually. I’ve recently added three new bloodhounds to my estate. That makes nine.”
“Nine,” April repeated faintly.
“Yes, all from excellent stock. Ferocious things. Would you believe, one of them nearly caught a fox last month.”
“I am stunned.”
April felt it before she saw it. Stone’s gaze cut across the room like a blade. Her eyes found him easily, and he was watching her and Harrow.
He did not smile, nor did he blink. Only watched. Dark and motionless and lethal.