Chapter 1 #2
And when he stopped in front of her, so close that the warmth of him met her skin, he bowed his head just enough to mock politeness.
“Lady Hyacinth,” he greeted, his voice low and velvet-smooth. “You look… remarkably out of place this evening.”
She arched an eyebrow, ignoring how her name sounded different on his tongue. “And you look remarkably late, Your Grace.”
“Touché.” His smile grew. “I was detained. Whitmore’s wine collection insisted on an introduction.”
“Then perhaps you and the bottles will get along splendidly,” she said.
“I do hope so. They are less sharp-tongued than certain young ladies I know.”
“Only because they can’t speak.”
He let out a laugh, deep and quiet, drawing a few curious glances from nearby guests. “Still merciless, I see. I should have expected it.”
“Then you shouldn’t look so surprised, Your Grace.”
He studied her for a moment, the candlelight glinting in his eyes. “You’ve grown bolder since I last saw you.” His voice dipped slightly, not quite flirtation, not quite a threat. Just something in between.
Hyacinth lifted her chin. “I’ve had cause to be.”
“Trouble?”
“Opportunity,” she corrected.
He said nothing.
The silence that fell between them wasn’t empty. It almost breathed.
She watched him. He always had that effect, an ability to make ordinary words sound like a challenge.
Before he could finally answer, a light voice called, “Your Grace!”
Hyacinth turned her head.
A slender young woman hurried over, her gown of soft blue moving like water. The recognition was instant.
Irene Turney, the Duke’s sister.
Yet, even with her presence, Maxwell didn’t look away from Hyacinth. Not immediately. Not until his sister spoke again.
“You promised you would not disappear the moment we arrived.”
He turned to her. “I was delayed,” he said, offering the faintest smile. “By Lady Hyacinth.”
Irene blinked, and then she bobbed a polite curtsey. “I hope the evening delights you, Lady Hyacinth.”
“I can’t imagine why not,” Hyacinth replied, returning the curtsey.
Maxwell’s grin flashed. “Which is why I suppose you look lost in the middle of the hallway,” he teased, his gaze lingering on her face.
His words made her burn. Not with anger, but with that constant reminder that this was supposed to be the end.
She had never had to converse with the Duke of Larcher for so long. Nonetheless, as the music grew louder, as the laughter continued to ripple through the guests, something dangerous stirred within her.
It was something bold. Something reckless.
Her plan resurfaced in her mind. She turned her head away, not wanting to act impulsively.
No, Hyacinth. We simply can’t ask him.
But her mind didn’t want to forget the heat that lingered at the base of her spine. Every inch of her skin was acutely aware of him.
God, no. This is foolish. This is reckless.
Yet, she looked back at him. Those green eyes were still watching her. And something about them made her breath hitch.
At that moment, someone called for the guests to move toward the dining hall. Hyacinth knew she needed to ask fast.
Taking a deep breath, she took a step closer. His reaction was clear. His eyebrows rose slightly, and his mouth twitched with both curiosity and amusement.
Standing so close to him, her heart hammered with an emotion she refused to name. Every sense seemed to be aware of him. The faint scent of his cologne, the warmth that clung to her skin simply from standing too close to him.
She hated the way her body noticed him before her mind had decided to.
Foolish. Absolutely foolish.
Nevertheless, she didn’t want to bounce back. If she were to pull off her plan, she needed a man who could draw every eye, who could turn whispers into scandal with a single smile.
He was perfect. Infuriatingly, dangerously perfect.
Gathering her courage, she allowed him to catch the faint tremor in her voice.
“Your Grace,” she said quietly, “after dinner, might I have a word with you? I have a proposition.”
His eyebrows rose. Slowly. Like a man enjoying the burn of fine brandy.
“A proposition?” he repeated, the hint of a smirk returning. “You certainly know how to keep a man curious, Lady Hyacinth.”
There was tension in the air now. One so thick and taut that it seemed it was waiting for a certain something to snap.
But before she could answer, the servant’s voice rang out again, directing guests to dinner.
Maxwell’s green eyes lazily followed the guests who began to move, before landing on her face again.
His smirk grew. “After dinner, I suppose,” he murmured, his rich baritone voice reverberating deep within her.
Hyacinth knew she had no choice but to wait until then.
Still smiling with an air of charm, he offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Her blue eyes flicked down to his arm. She hesitated only a moment before resting her hand on his sleeve.
Instantly, the warmth of him seeped through the fine fabric. And it seeped deeper than it should have. Into her skin. Into her thoughts.
What am I doing? Playing with fire.
And yet she followed him. Not because it was unwise—her pulse was unsteady, her lips curling into the faintest, most dangerous smile—but because the game had just found its first move.