Page 35 of To Dare a Duke

“Do you still wish to dance with me?” she asked, sounding breathless, her voice an urgent undertone.

“Of course,” he replied, a little startled. “But the dancing is over.”

She shook her head, a determined movement as he became aware she had pressed a slip of paper into his hand.

“I dare you,” she said, and then gave a little laugh, as if she couldn’t believe she’d said it. Before he could reply, she’d hurried away.

Robert curled his fingers about the paper and moved back, seeking a private spot away from prying eyes. Once he was certain he was unobserved, he raised the crumpled slip to read the strangely bold writing.

Dance in a garden at midnight.

What the devil?

He stared at the message, nonplussed. Why on earth would she want to do such a thing? Most women would want to dance with him in full view of the ton. A duke, even one whose reputation was as tarnished as his was, could only elevate their consequence. Dancing with him alone in a garden, however… she’d be ruined if they were discovered. Why risk it when he had offered her marriage? What did she have to gain?

Unless the illicit nature of it gave her a thrill.

A shiver of unease rolled down his spine. That was exactly the kind of thing Lavinia would have adored. He knew that all too well. He’d caught her at it.

Robert crumpled the note in his hand. There was something going on here. Something he didn’t understand and liked even less.

Furthermore, she could have been a little more specific. The gardens around St Clair’s vast London home were bloody enormous. How the devil was he supposed to find her? Feeling increasingly irritated, he considered the grounds. There was a private garden, a beautiful spot with a fountain that any woman with romantic notions would surely approve of. He’d just have to try there first.

Chapter 10

Do you ever feel like your life is spinning out of control? That all your careful plans are unravelling and coming apart like a torn hem? What if you can’t mend it? What if you discover you’re not even sure you want to?

―Excerpt from a letter from Miss Prunella Chuffington-Smythe to Miss Matilda Hunt.

***

Midnight. 20th April. A garden. At a ball given by Jasper Cadogan, the Earl of St Clair.

You’re an idiot, Prue cursed herself as she lurked in the shadows. What on earth made you think this was a good idea? Even if he comes, he might not find the right garden. Why didn’t you give instructions, for heaven’s sake?

Though, surely, this was the obvious choice. It was a lovely spot, small and intimate with a large three-tiered fountain at the centre. It was closed in on all sides by thick hedges, and lit by lanterns, their soft light warming the darkened space, and making shadows dance as a breeze rustled the leaves. There were only two ways in and out of the garden, and Prue lingered in a shadowy corner on the opposite side she expected the duke to arrive from, assuming he found her. Assuming he came at all.

He came.

Her breath caught as he entered the space, looking somehow larger and broader than she’d ever seen him, which was utterly nonsensical, she assured herself. He was the same size he always was. Her reassurances did not stop her heart from pounding, though, or her eyes from denying the truth. He was larger and broader, more powerful than she’d ever noticed before, and she was an idiot for ever thinking this could be a good idea.

“Are you going to hide there all night?” he said, his tone suggesting he was bored by her already. “I thought you wanted to dance?”

“You are the one who wanted to dance, your grace,” Prue said, finding her courage rise with indignation at his cool manner. She had the sudden urge to shake him out of it, to make him angry. That was why she was here, after all, to give him a disgust of her, so he’d leave her be. “I have done nothing but give you the opportunity. If you don’t wish to take it, I am not about to delay you.”

There was a taut silence.

“Come where I can see you.”

Prue folded her arms. “I’m not yours to order about.”

She heard a sigh of irritation and smirked in the darkness. “You ordered me to come here didn’t you? If you can do it, so can I.”

“I did not order you,” she said, the words precise and clipped. “I dared you. There is a significant difference.”

“Very well. Miss Chuffington-Smythe, please would you reveal yourself? I cannot dance with a shadow.”

Prue swallowed down her nerves and stepped into the lamplight. “You’re always in the shadows, though,” she said, watching him, the golden glow illuminating the harsh planes of his face. He did look a devil tonight. “Your life of late is lived entirely in shadow, in the gambling dens, with ladies of the night.”