Chapter 1
One
On the outskirts of Lady Pemberton's ballroom, Felix forced himself to assume his brother’s carefree demeanor and snatched another glass from the salver of a passing footman.
He swirled the clear, sparkling liquid about, mimicking Reg’s habit, and sent up a prayer for his brother to return posthaste from the orangery where the bold and marriage-minded Lady Tilly had summoned him.
Felix hadn’t earned his reputation as a rake all on his own.
Reg had been a willing accomplice. But as he stood amongst his peers after three long years, it was becoming rather difficult to ignore the hushed whispers uttered with a mixture of fascination and disapproval about him and his twin brother.
He’d overheard the dire warnings mothers had imparted to their darling daughters on more than one occasion to stay away from the Martin twins, and those same daughters ignored the warnings with predictable regularity.
Felix jumped and nearly spilled his entire drink as Reginald murmured in his ear, "Staring again?"
Ballocks. Having a twin was excruciatingly annoying at times. Reg was able to read his thoughts and even predict them before he was even aware of them. Ignoring his twin’s comment, he remained silent rather than incriminate himself.
Reg snagged a champagne flute for himself and scanned the room.
His brother had perfected the art of portraying himself as a rake, or more accurately, as a gentleman disinterested in everything, having attended far too many balls and affairs.
However, Felix continued to battle with his clumsiness and his inexplicable attraction to a lady who sat across the room against the far wall.
His gaze was yet again trained upon her, ignoring the other wallflowers who resembled a garden of wilting flowers in their pastel gowns.
"Hmmm… do tell… How long has it been?" Reg asked, and when Felix remained silent, he added, "Since you last spoke to her?"
"Three years, two months, and sixteen days," Felix blurted.
Reg choked on his champagne. "Good God, Felix . That's—"
"Pathetic? Utterly mad?" Felix lifted his glass to take a sip of his own drink, but first he muttered, "I'm aware."
"I was going to say specific, but those work as well."
Of course, Reg would manage to find the right phrasing so as not to offend but for Felix, it merely reinforced his belief Reg should be the heir to the dukedom and not he.
Felix’s jaw tightened as a gaggle of ladies passed Nicole, nearly treading on her toes.
The memory of her smiling up at him as she wiggled her poor toes in her dance slippers all those years ago had him choking on the bubbly liquid he was pouring down his gullet.
The recollection was replaced by the image of him, a naive seventeen-year-old, promising to write to her while away at Oxford.
Nicole’s smile had a way of stealing his sanity, and he’d left her full of good intentions, none of which he carried out.
When his father fell ill and took up residence in London, Felix's life had become a whirlwind of new responsibilities and expectations. Juggling his studies and managing the estates, Felix rarely had a moment to sleep let alone attend any of the social events. He’d missed Nicole’s debut, and by the time his father had regained his strength, and he returned to the social circuit, three years had already passed-and Nicole had changed.
Felix blinked and stared at Nicole sitting all alone along the wall.
Gone was the confident girl who'd marched across a mock ballroom floor and declared she’d accomplish what no master could and teach him to achieve the impossible and dance.
In her place sat a young woman who kept her gaze lowered, her posture rigid, her entire demeanor screaming discomfort.
Nicole wore a pale yellow gown that did nothing for her complexion, and her hair was pulled back so tightly it must have given her a headache.
She appeared miserable.
She made herself look small like she wanted to disappear.
The wallflower he was staring at was nothing like the Nicole he remembered.
"You could simply walk over and speak to her," Reg suggested, as he took Felix’s empty glass and replaced it with a full one.
"And say what? ‘Forgive me for ignoring you for three years, but in fact, I've been thinking of you every day.’”
Reg’s right eyebrow arched as he said, "That's actually not terrible. Honest. Women appreciate honesty."
Felix slid his twin a cool ducal look he’d been practicing, "Since when did you become an expert on what women want?"
Reg's gaze drifted across the ballroom to where Lady Anne held court, surrounded by admirers like a queen bee attended by drones. Lady Anne was beautiful, poised, and utterly unattainable—the Diamond of the Season, as the gossip sheets proclaimed.
"Fair point," Reg muttered.
It was true, misery loved company, but Felix’s heart ached as he witnessed Reg’s agony.
Twins bonded in ways others couldn’t understand.
He stood next to Reg in companionable silence, united in their inability to approach the women they wanted.
It would have been amusing if it weren't so bloody frustrating.
"I'm tired of switching identities when it only benefits us," Felix said abruptly.
Reg stepped in front of him, blocking out the crowd and his view of Nicole. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… pretending to be you, or you pretending to be me to confuse meddling mamas or to dissuade overzealous ladies has lost its appeal.
" He shoved his still full glass into his brother’s chest. "I've grown weary of it all, Reg.
Tired of the games, the pretense, the endless parade of women who want the title but not the man. "
With a shrug, Reg said, "Then stop playing."
"It's not that simple."
"Isn't it?" Reg downed one of the glasses in his hand and then handed it to a footman whose salver was already full.
With a lopsided grin, his twin continued, "You're the heir, and I’m the spare.
As the future Duke of Strandon, you can do whatever you damn well please, and you know it.
If you want to court Miss Nicole Swyft, then court her. Stop making excuses."
Felix's hands clenched at his sides. "She won’t even look at me anymore."
"Have you given her a reason to?"
His brother’s question struck him like a blade between his ribs.
No. He hadn't. He'd been too busy learning his future responsibilities, humoring his twin by cultivating a reputation as a rake, ensuring that no one—especially not Nicole—could see how desperately he was failing at becoming worthy of the title he was born to.
He needed to escape. "I'm going to the library."
Reg caught his arm. "Felix—"
"Don't." His voice came out harsher than intended. After a calming breath, he added, "Let me go. The ballroom is suffocating."
Reg’s hand fell away, and Felix strode toward the doors, ignoring the curious glances that followed him.
The crowd was most likely debating which of the twins he was and concocting some grandiose reason why he was leaving the ball early.
His actions would be reported in the gossip sheets by morn, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
The foyer outside the ballroom was blessedly cool and quiet. Felix loosened his cravat and headed for the library. He’d discovered its vast collection during his last visit, following an unfortunate misunderstanding with one of Lord Pemberton’s marriageable daughters.
It would be empty at this hour, and he needed—
"There you are, my lord!"
Felix bit back a curse. He turned to find Lady Felicity bearing down on him like a ship in full sail, her pink gown billowing, her blonde curls bouncing with each determined step.
"Lady Felicity." He bowed with perfunctory politeness. "I was just—"
"Escaping the crush? How fortuitous! I was hoping for a moment alone with you." She batted her eyelashes in what she likely believed was an alluring manner.
Felix's stomach sank. Lady Felicity had been pursuing Reg or him; he wasn’t sure the lady knew herself which twin she had single-mindedly tracked for the past month.
She was beautiful, wealthy, and utterly vapid—exactly the sort of woman he and Reg entertained for precisely four weeks before moving on.
But his heart wasn't in the game anymore.
"I'm afraid I must—"
"Oh, don't be tedious, my lord." She linked her arm through his with presumptuous familiarity. "Surely you can spare a few moments for me? After all, we've been seen together quite often lately. Others are beginning to talk."
That was precisely the problem. Felix had been careless, allowing Lady Felicity more attention than he should have. Now she clearly believed herself on the verge of becoming a duchess or, at the very least, married to a duke’s brother.
"Lady Felicity, I think there's some confusion—"
"Is there?" Her voice took on a coy edge, and a shiver ran down Felix’s spine. "I don't know how that could be. You've been most attentive. It was not more than a week ago that you sat beside me at the Rothbury musicale."
He wanted to reply, “Because you cornered me, and I was too polite to move,” but he kept his tongue and tried to free himself.
Only she held on tight and steered him down the hall toward the library with surprising strength for such a delicate-looking woman.
Felix considered simply tugging his arm away, but years of ingrained politeness held him in check.
He would extricate himself from this situation with diplomacy, make it clear that he had no intention of—
Lady Felicity pushed open the library door and all but shoved him inside.
"There," she said, closing the door behind them with a decisive click. "Now we can speak privately."
The library was dimly lit, with but a few candles burning in sconces along the walls. Shadows pooled in the corners, and the scent of old leather and beeswax filled the air. It should have been peaceful.
Instead, he was trapped.
"Lady Felicity, this is highly improper—"