An Innocent Maid For The Duke

A petite woman in a glittering red mask was singing to herself, her scarlet gown swirling around her shapely ankles as she twirled in front of the mirrors, each one giving a different reflection of a gown moulded to every curve of a sinuously lush body moving in time to her humming. The smile on her parted lips was not the forced smile of a courtesan, nor that of a jaded widow, or yet the hopeful smile of a debutante anxious to please a duke. This smile was pure delight. Enjoyment.

Her joy at the simple act of dancing spilled over with an infectious feeling of lightness that unaccountably lifted his spirits. He found his own lips curving upwards in response. Even more surprising, he found himself wanting to be the one to waltz her around the room.

* * *

A movement in the shadows caught the corner of Rose’s eye. She turned and gasped. It was him! The Duke. Though he was wearing his usual mask, she would know him anywhere by his height and breadth and commanding presence. By his dark stubbled jaw and firm chin. By his lovely mouth.

Too many times had she stopped to admire him as he passed her at her work. Of all the owners of the club he was the only one who had caught her attention in that way. He was impossibly handsome, but coldly unapproachable. A proper duke.

Or how one assumed a duke to be.

Not that she would ever mention that she knew who he was. No names were ever spoken. House rules.

Despite his lofty position, something about him had struck her as sad. As if some deep sorrow weighed him down and made her want to offer comfort. A foolish fancy. Someone of her lowly station had nothing to offer a man such as he.

But how often she had dreamed of feeling those strong arms curl around her while she laid her head on his chest. The very idea of it made her feel strangely weak.

Never before had she felt such a powerful attraction, despite knowing better than to get tangled up with a man. Fortunately, he was nothing more than a fantasy. A man who marched through her dreams like a knight in shining armour. As long as she kept him there, in her dreams, she was safe.

But this was no dream. The crushing realisation pressed down on her shoulders. She should not be here. It was against the rules. She glanced around for an escape route. But he was between her and the door and approaching slowly, his bright blue gaze fixed on her face.

His expression did not reflect anger. Indeed, the warmth of his smile, with a glimpse of white teeth, charmed her into remaining still. She released a breath she had not realised she was holding. A sigh really. Of appreciation.

His smile broadened and he bowed. ‘I beg your pardon, my lady. I did not mean to startle you.’

My lady? Her heart fluttered strangely. If only she were his lady. She placed her hand below her throat and shook her head. ‘Merely surprised.’

She’d responded with the careful diction she’d taught herself from listening to those of the upper classes as she moved unseen among them, cleaning grates and scrubbing floors.

‘I have interrupted you,’ he said, cocking his head to the side in question.

‘Foolishness,’ she said, peeping up at him. Heavens, he was taller than she had thought and broader. And so much more handsome close up. She could scarcely breathe and yet somehow the scent of his cologne filled her lungs and made her feel strangely dizzy. ‘I should go.’

‘Not before you give me the honour of a dance, surely?’ His voice had deepened. His eyes, which had always seemed coldly reserved as he went about the business of the club, were bright, sparkling with mischief.

Dance? With a duke? ‘I cannot,’ she choked out.

He chuckled, low and deep. ‘You certainly can. You waltz as beautifully as you hum.’

Heat rushed up from the neckline of the shocking gown, for now with his gaze upon her, she felt almost naked. Flirting. A duke was flirting with her and every particle in her body wanted to allow it. Nay, wanted to encourage it.

Wanton. Like your mother.

She must say no. But it would never happen again, this chance to dance with the man who haunted her dreams. When she was about her work, he never noticed her underfoot. None of the gentry did. They weren’t supposed to. She had long ago realised it saved both the served and the server embarrassment.

What harm would one dance do? This was the first time she had seen the man smile since she started working here. If it would bring him a measure of happiness, and her, too, why not? It would certainly be something for her to dream about for the rest of her life and perhaps tell her grandchildren at some long-distant time in the future.

The night their old granny danced with a duke. The idea of that dream of a family made her smile.

‘You know you want to,’ he said, holding out a hand.

A moment later, she was in his arms.

* * *

The faraway gaze in eyes the loveliest shade of green Jake had ever seen sent blood humming through his veins. Those eyes were limpid and soft as she gazed up at him, as if this was all a dream. To his surprise, not only did their steps meld in perfect unison, it was if they were designed to be partners.

For months he’d been numb to everything around him, going through life by rote, fulfilling required duties and responsibilities hour after brutal hour. Keeping himself busy. But now, here, with this vision of loveliness, he could actually feel the blood coursing through his veins. It was as if he had left a cold dark place to enter a land of light and warmth.

Her light. Her warmth. He basked in it, even though he knew he did not deserve it.

He swept her around a turn at the end of the room, gazing down into her face. What did she look like beneath the mask? Her lips were lush and full, her eyes dreamy, her loose hair a river of thick gilded waves that curled in little tendrils on her faintly flushed cheek.

His body responded to that shadowed glow of pink on her skin. The blood in his veins beat a tattoo of desire.

Her lips parted as if she, too, felt the connection between them. The rise and fall of her generous breasts quickened with each indrawn breath. A pulse beat rapidly at the base of her throat. A place he longed to taste with his tongue.

Awareness sparked in the air. Their steps slowed. Their gazes locked. Hers dropped to his mouth.

With all the old reckless impulsiveness he’d been determined to curb these past many months, he drew her flush against his body. She tensed and, though he wanted to curse, he eased his hold, preparing to let her go. Unbelievably, she smiled up at him and relaxed into his embrace.

A brief kiss was all he intended, a thank you for the respite she’d brought to the darkness of his world, but as the plush full mouth yielded beneath his lips, he lost himself in the pleasure of kissing a willing woman.

Deeper and deeper he delved the soft recess of her mouth, while he felt the warm breath of her sigh against his cheek. A tentative dart of her tongue into his mouth sent a jolt of lust ripping through him.

A groan rumbled up from deep in his throat and he pulled her hard against his body. Feeling pleasure as her belly pressed against his groin.

She gasped and pulled away, staring at him in shock, startled out of her daydream by the evidence of his arousal through the wisp of silk she wore. He cursed his stupidity. Lost in sensation, he’d forgotten the rules of the game. Never rush a woman, especially one he did not know.

He stepped back and bowed. ‘I beg your pardon.’

Fingertips went to her lips, covering her mouth, her eyes wide behind her mask, wary, distraught, but also hazy with desire, which gave him a vague sense of satisfaction.

‘I mean you no harm,’ he hastened to assure her, taking another step back.

‘I must go,’ she said breathlessly, her glance finding the door. ‘I should not be here.’

A married woman then, out for a night of discreet fun. A strange sense of disappointment filled him. Really? This was exactly the sort of entertainment his friends had been recommending would get him out of the doldrums. Before he settled down to find a duchess.

‘Allow me to escort you to your carriage.’

She looked startled. ‘My carriage?’ She swallowed. Smoothed her hands down the front of her gown, caressing the lovely shape that only a moment ago had seared a memory into his skin. ‘Oh, yes. My carriage. No need for escort, Your Grace.’

Inwardly he cursed. She knew who he was. Of course she did. There wasn’t a person in London who didn’t after all that had happened. No wonder she didn’t want to be seen with him. To be seen leaving a place like this on his arm would create yet another scandal.

He schooled his expression into cool reserve and looked down the renowned Westmoor nose. ‘As you wish.’

She cast him a shy little smile. ‘Thank you for waltzing with me.’