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Spencer…the thought of the wonderfully kind man was a heavy sadness weighing in her chest. The news of his death had reached her last September, and she couldn’t believe her ears. She missed her conversations with the duke. They had similar tastes in art, and he encouraged her greatly to pursue her goal. He was the only one she had confided in about her ambition, and he’d supported her. It had seemed as if they could talk about anything. He’d told her how admirable her independent views were, that a woman didn’t need to get married, and that he thought a woman should enjoy the same privileges as a man.

Of course, she knew he’d never been interested in her beyond that. He was a known rake, and the women he’d pursued were much more experienced than she. But Papa didn’t like her talking to and spending time with him. He had lied at least twice when the duke had come calling on her, telling him she wasn’t at home.

The duke had introduced his grandmama to her, and if only she had a chance to free herself from the circle of men that now surrounded her like flies, she could take those ten steps and greet her. The Duchess of Grandhampton would surely introduce her to the Duchess of Ashton.

She was forced to dance the three dances she had promised. As she danced, she noticed that almost every man stared at her—old and young. Talking to each other. Eyes glistening with something. Staring at her chest, at her legs moving under her ball gown as she danced.

What had happened? During the previous two Seasons, she had done her best to avoid any romantic connections because she was afraid a husband would forbid her from painting like her papa did. How could she have turned from one of the most insignificant young ladies on the marriage mart to the very center of attention?

Finally, her last dance ended. Thanking her partner, she applauded the band of musicians while scanning the guests for any sight of the Duchess of Grandhampton.

Alex came to join her. “How was it?” she asked softly, leaning close.

Before Penelope could answer, the applause died and every person in the ballroom stilled, staring towards the doors.

The crowd separated in front of a man like the sea before Moses, and a shiver went through Penelope. He was tall, and so handsome it was hard to look at him. Hair as dark as Spencer’s, cut in a fashionable, windblown style with short sideburns. He had chiseled features, a square jaw, and a straight nose. Under a high forehead, strong brows swept low over beautiful deep-set onyx eyes with long, curly eyelashes that any lady would die for. His mouth was straight and wide, with full lips and a prominent chin.

The hostesses, Lady Jersey, Lady Castlereagh, and Countess Lieven, the patronesses of Almack’s, rushed towards him.

“The new Duke of Grandhampton,” whispered Alex as she and Penelope watched the three ladies greet and bustle about the duke. “The richest man in England. The biggest rake.”

Not as terrible as his older brother was. Spencer had told her about his brother Preston. And she’d seen him at balls. Seaton was a highly respected name, a noble line dating back to the War of the Roses. Arrogant and gorgeous, all three brothers had notorious reputations. Although everyone wanted their daughter to marry into a duke’s family, these men were considered more likely to ruin daughters than marry them.

And yet, at the back of their minds, every matchmaking mama no doubt dreamed of her daughter taming one of the rakes and becoming the wife a duke.

“I know,” said Penelope, her heart drumming in her ears so loudly she could hardly hear her own voice.

He barely acknowledged the women around him, looking over the crowd and making his way through the people.

When his eyes landed on Penelope, her heart trembled in her chest like a rabbit before a cobra. She’d always found him mysterious, brooding, and intimidating. It seemed he held a deep dislike for her. Whenever their gazes met, she felt as though the flames of his hatred were burning her to cinders. Though she could not understand why he despised her so.

As the duke approached her, Papa appeared next to her as though out of thin air. People threw odd glances at the duke and at Penelope, making unease crawl down her spine.

“Lord Beckett,” said the duke when he stood in front of her papa.

“Your Grace,” said Papa in a strange crackling voice. His foot tapped nervously against the floor, one knee shaking. He seemed to avoid looking straight into the duke’s eyes. Penelope could understand why. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

The duke was at least a head taller than her, looming over her like a dark tower. “Hm” was the duke’s reply, and then his black eyes found her again.

There it was—the strange, cold fury at the depths of his eyes. She felt like she needed to run away from him but stood transfixed. The vast, glistening, sparkling ballroom suddenly seemed like a shrinking cage around her, and it became difficult to breathe.

“Would you not introduce me to the two young ladies, Lord Beckett?” he said, still trapping her with his gaze.

Papa’s jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth.

“My daughter, Miss Penelope Beckett. My niece, Miss Alexandria Beckett. Duke of Grandhampton.” Papa took her by the elbow and tugged. “Forgive me, Duke, I have to introduce my daughter to—”

But the duke interrupted. “May I have the honor of your next dance, Miss Beckett?”

Penelope swallowed. Every instinct screamed for her to run. But if she said no to him, she’d have to say no to everyone else. And she’d offend him. She couldn’t offend Spencer’s brother.

Sadness over Spencer’s absence was like the stab of a needle deep in her heart.

It would be fine. She’d just get through the dance, and then it would be over. Then she’d return to her mission: to try to talk to the Duchess of Ashton.

And so, once again, she put her social smile back on. “I should be delighted.”

He nodded and finally tore his gaze away from her. “Ah, Grandmama,” he said, and for the first time since he’d come inside, his gaze warmed. “You’re here.”