Chapter 3
Fresh air washed over Thalia. She let out a ragged breath, tilting back her head and letting the night breeze tickle her skin.
I hate balls. And parties. And musical evenings. Especially musical evenings.
That wasn’t to say that she hated music. Quite the opposite. Thalia adored singing and had a fairly good appreciation for the talents of others. But a musical evening like this, hosted by her brother, had only one aim, and that was to show her off to suitors. Especially Mr. Pembroke.
Ugh. Even the thought of the wretched man made her want to shudder. Anybody who Jonathan described as ‘a dear friend and a fine man’ was not the sort of man she wanted to marry.
Her escape would only be temporary. Jonathan would tear through the house in a fury to find her. Doubtless he would go first to the library, and she prayed he wouldn’t find her dance card tucked in the book she had been reading. He’d find her, sooner rather than later, and that would be that.
Heaving a sigh, she crossed the balcony, resting her elbows on the stone balustrade.
The gardens below were swathed in darkness, with just a few torches lighting up the pathways, which were absolutely necessary.
Jonathan had a great fear of anything improper happening at one of his parties.
After all, it would reflect poorly on him as the host.
Worse yet, it would reflect poorly on her and could—horror of horrors—reduce her eligibility for marriage. And that simply would not do.
The breeze stirred her hair, tugging a stray strand out from behind her ear. How long would she have in her new sanctuary? Ten minutes? Five?
Music drifted out of the ballroom, the sound of a young woman singing slightly off-key. No doubt Jonathan had deliberately picked less talented women in the hope of making her look better.
She hated such nonsense. Men did not pick women on the basis of their singing talents. And even if they did, she did not want to be picked.
Letting out a ragged sigh, she dropped her face into her hands.
Will I manage another month? Jonathan is clearly determined that I will not.
Bile crawled up her throat. How awful to miss her own freedom by a matter of weeks. She’d spend the rest of her life regretting it. Not that Jonathan would care, of course. After all, he’d have her money, wouldn’t he?
“I do hope you’ll forgive the interruption, but have you a moment?” An equable, cool male voice came from behind, making her jump into the air with an undignified squawk.
She spun around, ready to scold whoever it was. Everybody knew that ladies and gentlemen should not share a balcony unchaperoned. Their balcony was not large, and he must have seen her before he stepped out.
The words died in her throat when she saw who stood there. Tall, black-haired, with a smile that made her think of a tiger deciding whether it wished to bite or not.
“Your G-G-Grace,” she stammered.
Oh, no, no, not now! Not after all the money poor Jonathan spent to eradicate my stutter.
The Duke of Thornhill sketched a smooth, neat bow of exactly the right depth. “Lady Thalia. Forgive me, we have not been introduced.”
“N-No,” she choked out. “It is not proper. You had better g-go inside.”
“I will, shortly,” he responded with a quick, easy smile. “But first, let me congratulate you. Your performance was outstanding. I believe everybody in the room held their breath, myself included.”
She gulped and tucked her shaking hands behind her back.
This is the fellow who ruins ladies for fun. I had better get away from him as quickly as I can. If only he wasn’t standing in front of the door. And, of course, once I go back inside, Jonathan will pounce on me.
“Thank you, you are very kind,” she murmured. “But I can take no credit. I did not write the song nor compose it. I only sang it.”
“Well, a voice is to opera as blood is to a body, I’d say. One will not work without the other.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I am not sure that is true.”
“Yes, perhaps the metaphor does not quite stand up to scrutiny. But enough of that.” He stepped forward, and she froze.
The balcony was not large enough to permit very many steps forward or indeed in any other direction.
There was nothing more than a small, square space, rounded on three sides by the stone balustrade, which currently dug into the small of Thalia’s back.
The fourth wall was occupied by the door, and she noticed that a curtain had been drawn across it.
Was that the Duke’s doing?
On the one hand, it would prevent curious eyes from spotting her out here with such an infamous rake. On the other hand, it meant that the consequences, when they were finally caught, would be immensely worse.
“You speak German, do you not, Lady Thalia?” he continued abruptly.
She frowned at him. “I sang in German.”
“Ah, yes, but you might have learned the piece by rote. I have known people to learn Italian and French arias piece by piece, practicing their pronunciation until the song rolls along very nicely, but they do not understand a word of what they are saying.”
She puffed out her chest a little, glowering at him. “Well, you’re wrong. I speak German. I speak it very well, actually.”
She didn’t bother telling him that Jonathan had flown into a rage when she insisted on learning German instead of French. He had said that French was a ‘prettier’ language and more suitable for a lady.
Was that one of the first times she had properly defied him? Perhaps it had been. It certainly had marked the beginnings of the end of their comfortable relationship, their change from brother and sister to tyrant and victim.
No, I am not a victim. And even if Jonathan is a tyrant, I know he does not think of himself as such. Surely my brother is in there somewhere.
“I am glad to hear it,” the Duke responded, that same smile still on his lips.
He had not glanced away from her once since their conversation had begun. Had he even blinked?
Perhaps I could slip past him. Surely, he would not grab me?
She let her gaze trail down his large frame.
Some dandies tended to pad out their bodies to attain an ideal shape.
She’d seen fellows with cushions beneath their shirts to give the impression of broad shoulders and a thick chest. Apparently, padding would even be used to give the impression of muscular calves.
Men seemed to care a great deal about the shapes of their calves.
This fellow did not seem to be using padding of any sort. His suit, made of visibly expensive fabric even in the unforgiving moonlight, stretched across wide shoulders. He had a chest which even the most ambitious dandies could not attain, and his waist narrowed naturally of its own accord.
It belatedly occurred to her that she ought not to be considering the narrowness of his waist, and she dragged her gaze up to his face once more.
There was that infernal smile again! She could have sworn that he knew something about her, some secret that made him want to chuckle aloud.
“We have a mutual friend,” he said, startling her out of her reverie. “My sister, Laura.”
Thalia eyed him uncertainly. “Yes, Laura and I are friends.”
“I dare say she has spoken about me at length.”
“No, not at all.”
A muscle pulsed in his cheek.
Had she said the wrong thing? It seemed likely.
Her stutter seemed to wait at the back of her tongue, ready to tie up her words and make her seem like an imbecile. Jonathan had always said that she sounded like a simpleton when she stuttered.
The Duke spoke again, eyes narrowing. “Is Laura staying with you? And do not lie to me, Lady Thalia. I’ll know.”
I believe you, she thought, swallowing.
“Do you think my brother would allow such a th-thing?”
He paused, lips pursing, considering.
“No, I imagine not,” he responded, yet he continued staring at her.
He is not telling me everything, she thought, heart hammering.
She dared not think of Laura. Why wasn’t she here?
I suppose Jonathan was too spiteful to invite her.
Whatever the Duke saw in her face seemed to satisfy him. He grunted, and his piercing gaze finally flitted away. She let out a subtle sigh of relief.
“I had b-b-better be getting back in,” she managed uncertainly. “My brother—”
“Let’s not pretend that you are keen to rejoin the party,” the Duke interrupted coolly. “So, you speak German? Good. In that case, Lady Thalia, I need you.”
She blinked at him. “You… you n-need me? If this is some strange way to seduce me, Your Grace, I should warn you now that I am not—”
“You misunderstand,” he interrupted again. “I do not use foreign languages to charm people. I would certainly not use German.”
She balked. “German is actually a particularly pleasant and pretty language. Their use of vowels…”
“Yes, yes, vowels. We clearly have very different ideas of what is charming and what is not.”
“And you are happy to be incorrect. I suppose one of us has to be. How gentlemanly of you to volunteer.”
He stared intently at her until she began to feel uncertain. The wretched man gave away nothing of what he was thinking. In her experience, people generally kept their emotions written on their faces. Displeasure, uncertainty, plain fear, or even anger. It was all there, ready to be considered.
But not this fellow. No, his face was as calm and smooth as ever.
“I need your help, you see,” he continued, tilting his head.
She stared up at him. Was it a joke? She considered asking him but then decided against it.
“I cannot imagine what I could possibly do to help you,” she snapped. “Now, I really must leave.”
Gathering her courage, she shouldered past him. He made no attempt to grab at her or hinder her in any way. She was just congratulating herself on a neat escape when he spoke.
“I need your help to find my sister, Lady Thalia.”
She froze with one hand on the doorknob. Beyond, she could hear chatter and laughter from the ballroom. The music had stopped, at least for now.
Slowly, she turned.
“Your sister?” she echoed. “Do you mean Laura? What has happened to her?”