Page 87 of The Duke
Florence looked a little startled at Celine’s vehemence and said, “Of course. You have my word.”
“Good.” Celine said. “Now, did none of you realise I was there on Bond Street the day Lord Royston misbehaved?”
The girls all gasped and listened avidly to her account, which painted Lord Royston as somewhat less of a scoundrel, the girl as entirely less compromised, and the duke as every inch the hero she had been.
Thinking of her, Celine looked over to the duke and felt suddenly as though she’d been caught, suspended in the burning heart of a star. The duke had been looking at her. The duke was looking at her still.
She couldn’t remember what she had been saying. The rest of the room seemed to fall away. Only the duke existed, her eyes holding Celine’s with a spiritual claiming.
“Miss Genet, might I beg a word? Miss Genet?”
Her name. That was her name. She wrenched herself away and saw the gentleman she’d expected and dreaded all evening. Lord Burnley. She made herself take him in and focus. She was shaking. She had come where she didn’t belong and inserted herself into a world that wouldn’t have her. It was impossible. There was no point wishing it were otherwise.
This was not her reality. The small, sparse room she had rented for Louise, where she visited her every day—that was her reality.
It was time.
“Of course, My Lord. Shall we retire somewhere more private?” She felt the duke’s gaze follow her from the room; Markham’s, too.
The room Lord Burnley found for them wasn’t far from the festivities, and he left the door open. She felt a flush of guilt. It had been necessary to keep him in the dark, but it was one of many things she regretted.
“My Lord,” she said, turning, and startled when she found him closer than she’d expected.
“My dear,” he said, availing himself of her hand. He kissed the back of it through her glove, his eyes closing for a moment. “I am sure what I have to say will come as no surprise to you.”
“No indeed,” she said gently, and covered his hand with herown. “And were I free to accept, you must believe I should do so happily, and know myself a fortunate woman. But I am not free, My Lord. My heart belongs to another.” Admitting the truth aloud made her heart soar, even as it was breaking.
Lord Burnley blushed very deeply, but never lost the calm kindness that characterised him. “Then allow me to spare you from saying any more, Miss Genet. I have understood you.”
But she didn’t let him go. “If you’ll forgive me, I must beg a favour.”
He frowned. “And I shall grant it, if I am able.”
“Just for this evening, don’t tell anyone what my answer has been. It must seem an ungrateful request, but please believe me when I tell you it is vital you do not.”
“You are asking me to lie.”
His voice was grave, almost disapproving, and she had to swallow down a swift annoyance. The duke wouldn’t have hesitated. Royce wouldn’t have hesitated. “If anyone is impolite enough to enquire, you could perhaps tell them you don’t wish to make what is private public tonight. This much is no lie.”
He hesitated, then bowed his assent. She would have spoken again had she not become aware of another person joining them in the room just then. Such was the aura of leashed violence around this person that at first, she mistook it for Markham. But when the figure stepped farther into the room, the odd resonance disappeared. It was the duke.
And she was livid.
“Get out,” the duke said.
“Very well.” Celine attempted to make a quick escape. Being alone with the duke would go badly for her.
“Not you,” the duke bit out in French, never taking her eyes off Lord Burnley. “Him.” Switching back to English she said, “I wish to speak to my ward. Alone.”
“You and I have nothing to say to each other,” Celine said, “that Lord Burnley cannot also hear.”
The duke did look at her then, with a burning, possessive lookthat promised the dukewouldspeak in front of Lord Burnley and anyone else who didn’t get out of her fucking way. Celine’s heart began to pound, sick with longing. She wouldn’t survive what was coming.
“Go,” she said to Burnley, squeezing his hand then releasing him. “I will deal with this.”
“I cannot leave you to—”
“If you stay, you will only make things worse. Please go.”
