Titus guided her out onto the terrace, then down the pair of steps into his stepmother’s garden. “It might be small, but Lady Satterfield prides herself on the roses in particular. You should see the gardens at their country home.”

He was fairly certain his attempt at small talk was pathetic in the extreme, but his brain was having a difficult time outpacing his body at present. The touch of Nora’s hand on his arm, the sensuous curl of her lips as she spoke to him, the provocative slant of her tawny eyes—all of it triggered an exquisite need.

Walking with her in the garden was a bloody terrible idea. But he was doing it anyway.

He steered her toward the roses he’d mentioned. They weren’t blooming yet, but in a few weeks, they’d be a riot of color and a buffet of gorgeous scents.

She inclined her head toward the neat row of shrubs. “We have roses back in St. Ives. Tending to them was one of my favorite summertime activities.”

He envisioned her alone in the country, clipping at rosebushes, perhaps pricking her fingers on their nasty thorns. Somehow that seemed a metaphor for Society—beautiful but treacherous. “Will you miss that? I’m sure my stepmother wouldn’t mind if you wanted to tinker with these.”

She smiled. “Thank you, but I think she will have me too busy with other things. She’s quite committed to ensuring I have a Season to remember.”

Complete with a husband. He barely managed not to scowl.

They walked for a moment in silence. He should leave. He’d only come to dinner because he enjoyed dining with his stepparents. Except now, that dinner came with a beguiling woman who occupied far too many of his thoughts. A woman he’d pledged to avoid but couldn’t seem to.

She tipped her head toward him. “I hope you won’t find me impudent, but I wonder if I could ask how you ended up with the nickname of the Forbidden Duke.”

He stopped and pivoted toward her.

She winced and withdrew her hand from his arm. “I’m sorry. Lady Satterfield has indicated you’re a man who values his privacy. Forget that I asked.”

“It’s not as if I cultivated the name,” he said. “At least not on purpose. I can’t say I dislike it either. People cut me a wide swath, which means I don’t have to suffer banality. For that, I am quite relieved.”

She laughed. “My goodness. I can’t decide if you’re a snob or just intensely aloof.” She slapped her hand over her mouth, her beautiful eyes widening.

He laughed with her, delighting in her honesty even while acknowledging that if anyone else had said that to him, he’d give them the cut direct. “Probably a bit of both.”

Her eyes lit with mirth. “So you enjoy being forbidden?”

“I enjoy being left alone. If not for my responsibilities in the House of Lords, I would hardly come to London.”

She sobered. “I see. I am just the opposite, I’m afraid. I’ve been alone for so long that I’m quite eager to be among people.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact, but there was something else lurking in the depths of her eyes—an uncertainty or perhaps a sadness. Whatever it was, he wanted to banish it. He moved closer to her, drawn like a raindrop to the earth. His blood was roaring in his ears in a thoroughly primal fashion.

Again, he thought that he shouldn’t be here with her. This moment could be a scandal in the making.

Only if there was a witness, his mind whispered.

“I enjoy talking with you,” he said. “It’s a crime that you were alone for so long.”

Her lashes fluttered. “I enjoy talking with you too.” Her voice was low, unintentionally seductive.

He desperately wanted to touch her, determine for himself if her flesh was as soft and warm as he imagined. So he did.

His fingers grazed her jaw. She sucked in a breath, and the sound evoked an even greater physical response, sending his body into complete abandon.

“We should return to the house.” Her words were barely audible, scarcely more than a breath.

Yes, they should, but he hated the ton’s stupid rules. Right now, he wanted to rebel against them. “We should. Only…” He wanted to kiss her. So badly. But he couldn’t. Not because of the rules, but because of what she’d already been through nine years ago.

He edged backward and was shocked when she placed her hand on his lapel. Her touch was light, hesitant.

“Would you…kiss me?” she asked softly. “I’ve only ever been kissed that one time, and it was awful.” She blinked rapidly and snatched her hand away. “Never mind. I’m far too brazen.” Her face colored, and he could practically feel her embarrassment.

He didn’t want her to be embarrassed. Nor did he want to deny her request. “You are not. It’s a sin that you haven’t been kissed properly.”

He stepped closer and lowered his head. He went slowly in case she changed her mind, but thankfully she did not. When his lips met hers, a dark pulse of desire swelled through him. He worked to keep a rein on himself. It would be so easy to get lost in her kiss.

Her hands came back against his chest, but more firmly this time. Her lips pressed into his, evidencing her participation. But then hadn’t she asked him to?

Yes, and he was going to make it good for her.

He tilted his head and lifted his lips briefly before kissing her again. He danced his mouth against hers, keeping himself in check while she acclimated herself to his touch. When her hands crept up to his shoulders, he took it as a sign to go further.

He put his arms around her and pulled her more snugly against him and parted his mouth against hers. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and he worried she would push him away.

Please, not yet.

This kiss was too honest, too beautiful, and he wasn’t ready for it to end. Not until he’d shown her a proper kiss.

He licked along the crease of her mouth, and she opened, perhaps in surprise. When he plunged his tongue inside, her grip became even tighter. Still, she didn’t pull back or shove at him. Instead, she tipped her head to the side, and it was all the invitation he needed.

He brought her flush against him, heedless of any sense of propriety. He stroked along her spine as he plundered her mouth. Her tongue met his, softly at first, but then more purposefully. He wasn’t sure at what precise moment this had progressed from a demonstration to a thoroughly impulsive act, but it had crossed that line, and Titus was in real danger of losing control.

With supreme effort, he pulled his mouth from hers and stepped back. “My deepest apologies, Miss Lockhart.”

Forget Haywood; Titus was the one who deserved a thorough thrashing. And yet, he couldn’t regret kissing her, nor could he stop himself from wanting to do it again.

But he wouldn’t.

She lifted her other hand to her mouth. Her eyes were wary, but something else flickered there—a spark of heat in the tawny depths. “Thank you. That was…quite different from last time.”

He laughed—he couldn’t help himself. “I am glad to have obliged you. But we can’t do that again.”

She dropped her hand to her side. “No, I suppose we can’t.” The look she gave him next brought his cock to full arousal. Her scalding gaze dipped down his frame and then back up to his eyes. “Pity.”

“Miss Lockhart, if you don’t go back inside right now, my self-restraint will be in shreds.”

Her eyes widened briefly just before she spun on her heel and hastened through the garden on her way back to the house. She didn’t spare him a backward glance before disappearing inside.

He exhaled, realizing he’d been holding his breath while she fled. Damn, he was a lecherous beast.

Hadn’t he threatened Haywood for doing precisely what he’d just done? Perhaps not precisely, but the end result would be the same—the ruination of a lady who deserved far better. And she was so close to the life she ought to have had.

A phantom voice in his head said he could give her that life if he married her. No, he didn’t want a wife. A wife was a nuisance, something he should probably have but didn’t particularly want or need, and even if he did, it wouldn’t be her. Once she learned the truth about his past, the role he’d played in her downfall, she would—rightfully—despise him. What sort of marriage would that be?

No, she deserved someone honorable, someone like Dawson, who clearly wanted a wife. He would treat her well, provide her with a comfortable life, and her past would be forgotten.

A small part of Titus hoped she wouldn’t forget their kiss. He knew he wouldn’t.

* * *

The following evening, Nora and Lady Satterfield were on their way to one of the largest balls of the Season. Hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Colne, it was bound to be a crush from everything Nora had heard. And she’d heard plenty that afternoon at the park.

Lady Satterfield looked through the window and craned her neck to try to see down the street. “My goodness, we’re backed up already. This is going to be quite a throng.” She looked at Nora with an animated expression. “I do hope Satterfield can find us.”

Lord Satterfield would be joining them later after starting the evening at his club.

With a sparkle in her eye, the countess turned her attention to Nora. “Tell me, who do you most hope to dance with tonight?”

Kendal.

But Nora didn’t say that. He wouldn’t be here in any case. “I expect I’ll dance with Mr. Dawson, and perhaps Lord Markham or Mr. Gilchrist.”

“Mr. Dawson seems taken with you. Do you feel the same?”

He was charming and witty and reasonably attractive. But he was no Kendal, whom she couldn’t stop thinking of since last night’s kiss. “He’s quite pleasant.”

Lady Satterfield brushed at her skirt. “I see. Well, that is not a glowing declaration.”

“I didn’t mean to disparage him at all. I do like him.”

“But do you like him enough to accept a proposal should he offer for you? It’s one thing to like a gentleman, and quite another to agree to spend your life with him. For some women, that sentiment is enough. For others, they might prefer to marry for love or…passion.” She gave Nora a meaningful look.

Yes, passion. Like the kiss she’d shared with Kendal last night. No matter how pleasant she found Mr. Dawson, she doubted he could make her feel like that. Furthermore, she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

“Anyway, you needn’t settle on Mr. Dawson—or anyone else for that matter—any time soon. Your popularity is only increasing, and I expect you will have several suitors clamoring for your attention.” She smiled widely as she leaned forward and gave Nora’s knee a quick pat.

“Thank you,” Nora said, grateful for any reprieve. Everything was moving so quickly. She’d gone from needing a job to provide for her future to being the toast of the ton.

She was having a hard time deciding what to wear. Selecting a potential bridegroom seemed a dizzying task.

Indeed, she found herself missing her quiet life in St. Ives—her roses and her books. Visits with her sister. She wrote to Jo nearly every day and eagerly awaited her sister’s replies, which came at the same pace. Jo was happy for Nora’s second chance, while at the same time astounded, like Nora, that she’d been given such a boon. Her father, on the other hand, had written only once—to say that he was now settled with his sister and brother-in-law. Nora felt sad to think that there was now nothing for her to go home to. In fact, she didn’t really have a home, unless she considered the Satterfields’, and she supposed she must.

“So what sort of marriage do you think you’d prefer?” Lady Satterfield asked. “I’ve been fortunate enough to fall in love twice. I admit I’d like to see the same happen for you.” She spoke with warmth and sincerity, and Nora was nearly overcome with gratitude and appreciation. In many ways, Lady Satterfield had become a surrogate mother, and, honestly, she was the best thing about all the abrupt changes in Nora’s life. The memory of Kendal’s kiss rose in her mind. Perhaps not the best thing…

“Love would be nice,” Nora said. “However, I have no illusions at my age. I should be quite happy to find companionship and mutual admiration.”

“Don’t settle for something you don’t want. The right man is out there. I’m certain of it.” Lady Satterfield looked out the window again. “Ah, we’ve finally arrived.”

The footman opened the door and helped the countess step down from the carriage. The night was cool but dry.

Nora took the footman’s proffered hand and stepped from the carriage. Then she followed Lady Satterfield to the door of the massive town house. Situated in the heart of Upper Grosvenor Street, the Colnes’ address was exceedingly fashionable. It was a place Nora could never have hoped to visit during her prior Seasons. Now, however, she seemed to have infiltrated the uppermost circle and could rub shoulders with the Untouchables. She felt like an utter fraud.

As they made their way inside and through the receiving line, Nora allowed her mind to wander. She paid just enough attention to the proceedings so as not to make a fool of herself, while indulging the fantasies taking root in her brain. She thought of a future where she didn’t have to choose a husband at all, but could instead be independent and carefree. In that dream world, she’d kiss whomever she wanted with impunity.

“Miss Lockhart, you are a vision!” Mr. Dawson greeted her with a grin, his brown eyes lighting with appreciation. “I do hope I’m the first to claim a dance this evening.”

“Indeed you are.”

“Excellent, I shall find you when the set begins.” He gave her a brief bow before taking himself off.

Over the course of the next quarter hour, Nora collected enough dance invitations to last her the entire evening. She ought to feel excited. After all, this was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it?

Except now that she had it, she wasn’t at all sure she was satisfied. It suddenly felt as though she’d taken her life of the past nine years for granted.

She danced with Mr. Dawson and tried to imagine a marriage with him. The passion Lady Satterfield had mentioned was nonexistent. But at the same time, he would make a perfectly acceptable husband.

That sounded so dull.

She danced with two more gentlemen before the supper break. When the music stopped, her partner led her from the dance floor, apologizing that he wasn’t going to stay for supper. Nora was suddenly quite glad, because there, standing beside Lady Satterfield, was the last person she expected to see tonight—the Forbidden Duke.

Kendal watched her approach, his green eyes dark and seductive, almost beckoning her. She felt a pull to walk directly to him, the memory of his lips on hers propelling her forward.

“Good evening, Miss Lockhart.” His voice was deep and captivating.

She offered him a curtsey. “Good evening, Your Grace. It’s a pleasure to see you here.” She didn’t intentionally infuse the comment with any sort of question, but dearly wanted to ask why he’d come. His attendance was bound to cause a stir.

The edge of his mouth ticked up. It wasn’t a smile, but she recognized it as him understanding her unasked query, particularly because his eyes seemed to glow with a suppressed emotion. She had the sense he was amused by this situation, and she longed to ask why.

“I was hoping to claim the next dance.”

Oh dear. Disappointment curled through her. Her popularity had never been more of a nuisance. “I am, unfortunately, already committed, Your Grace.”

The look in his eyes dampened. “Well then, I shall have to settle for a promenade.”

“Yes, after supper,” Lady Satterfield said.

Nora had all but forgotten her presence. In fact, she’d all but forgotten that they were at a ball. It had seemed that just she and Kendal existed. How absurdly delightful.

Lord Satterfield joined them. “Kendal, this is a shock. Are you trying to set the ton on its ear?” He grinned at his stepson before turning to his wife. “Shall we go in to supper?”

“Indeed.” Kendal presented his arm to Nora, and they preceded the Satterfields to the dining room, where a lavish table was set. Nora had never seen such a display. The sheer quantity of dishes, silver, and glasses was enough to make her head swim.

She tipped her head toward Kendal. “What a staggering amount of crockery.”

She kept her voice low, preferring their conversation to be as private as possible. She could feel the eyes of the room staring at them, could hear the questions and comments the guests were striving to keep quiet. She preferred to pretend that she and Kendal were alone in the garden at the Satterfields’. Or anywhere else, really.

He guided her to a chair next to Lady Satterfield. “I can’t imagine supporting an event of this size. My stepmother’s annual ball is quite daunting enough.” He situated Nora in the chair, and then his touch was gone, leaving her cold.

Lady Satterfield looked at Nora and then her stepson. “It isn’t so different. Of course, I don’t have the space or retainers to carry off a ball of this proportion. But if I did, I would.” She smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Nora, when you are wed, you may find yourself the hostess of a ball like this.”

Nora had dreamed of such a thing in the early years following her ruin, but had never imagined it would come true. Even now, sitting amongst the ton’s most elite—the Untouchables—and enjoying a level of acceptance she’d never imagined, she couldn’t quite believe it was possible. Furthermore, now that it was, she wasn’t at all certain that was what she wanted.

Kendal indicated the footman should pour him some claret. He turned to Nora. “Claret or Madeira?”

She looked at the footman. “Madeira, please.”

A woman seated on the other side of Kendal spoke. “Kendal, it is such a boon to find you here this evening. You seem to be quite the man about town this Season.”

Nora hadn’t ever seen him converse with people. On the occasions she’d seen him publicly—at Lady Satterfield’s ball and the picnic—he’d spoken only with his stepparents and Nora. She waited to see what he would do.

He turned his head toward the woman, and Nora would’ve traded her pin money to see his expression. She strained to hear what he would say.

“Yes.”

The single word seemed to convey a wealth of meaning, the most important of which was, Don’t speak to me again.

Or so it seemed.

He turned his head toward Nora. “Have you enjoyed the ball?”

“Yes, thank you.” She darted a look across the table and saw that people, as expected, were watching them. She did her best to ignore them and wondered how Kendal did it. He seemed utterly immune to those around him. “How do you do it?” she whispered.

“What?” It wasn’t quite a whisper, but the word was soft, and the bass tone made her shiver.

“Shut them all out,” she said.

“Ah. That, I think, is a conversation for another time.” He barely smiled. “But I promise we shall have it.”

Lady Satterfield took over the bulk of the conversation while they ate supper. As the meal drew to a close, she peered around Nora. “Kendal, will you be staying?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been here long enough, don’t you think?” The elevation of his eyebrow lent a note of humor to his question.

His stepmother chuckled. “Indeed. It’s a shame you can’t dance with Nora, but I daresay she doesn’t require your assistance any longer.”

There it was. Nora had long suspected Kendal was only showing interest in her because Lady Satterfield had asked him to, and now she knew it was true. Why, then, had he kissed her? She dashed a glance at him, feeling suddenly unsettled.

Everyone began to stand from the table. Kendal helped Nora from her chair and led her from the dining room. Back in the ballroom, he kissed her hand. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Lockhart. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. I shall.” But not nearly so much as the past hour. Until she’d begun to feel like an obligation. Or a favor the Forbidden Duke was doing for his beloved stepmother.

As she watched him retreat from the ballroom, a part of her protested. Perhaps his interest had started that way, but she didn’t think she’d misunderstood his ardor when they’d kissed or the humor they’d shared in conversation or the promise he’d just made her at dinner. No, he didn’t seem indifferent. But neither did that mean he wanted anything more than to help her on her way to success.

She danced with several more gentlemen, but with each one, she imagined green eyes and a seductive smile. By the time she climbed into the coach with Lady Satterfield, she was exhausted.

“How do people survive an entire Season of such entertainment?” Nora asked. She’d surely have to sleep the day away tomorrow, but likely wouldn’t. She rose early in the country, and had not yet broken that habit.

The countess laughed. “You become used to it, but of course I don’t go out like this every night. I wouldn’t be able to manage. It was different when I was younger.” She studied Nora. “You don’t like it?”

Nora didn’t want to hurt Lady Satterfield’s feelings. She was, after all, providing Nora with an exceptional opportunity, and Nora didn’t want to seem ungrateful. “It’s not that… It’s just different.”

“You’ll get used to it. Once you’re wed, you can dictate your social calendar. Look at Kendal. He doesn’t bother with any of it.” She shook her head. “I’m astounded he came tonight. It will be the primary topic of conversation tomorrow. If it isn’t already.”

“You didn’t know he was coming?” Nora asked.

“No, and I didn’t ask him to. I told him we would be here, of course.”

She hadn’t asked him to come. Which meant he’d attended—sought her out—of his own accord. The unease she’d felt earlier dispelled, leaving a warm feeling of contentment in its wake.

Lady Satterfield tipped her head to the side. “You must think him very odd. I know some people do, but then others recall what he was like before—in his youth.”

Nora leaned slightly forward, eager to know more. “And how was that?”

“He was careless, an utter rake, truth be told. Then his father died, and he became the duke. Kendal—that is, Titus—felt his responsibility quite heavily and worked hard to be the sort of man his father would have wanted him to be.”

Nora was entranced. She longed to unravel the mysteries of the Forbidden Duke. “What sort of man was that?”

“Kendal—my husband, that is—was the smartest man I knew. He ran his estates impeccably and was always championing a cause or five in Parliament. He was a reformer.” She smiled, her gaze looking into the distance as if she were overcome with memories. “He had very little time for nonsense, or what he considered nonsense anyway.”

“What did he consider nonsense?”

Lady Satterfield’s lips curved up. “Balls like this one, though he would’ve made an appearance for supper as Satterfield did.”

Nora noted that Satterfield stayed longer than that before taking his leave. “Did he spend much time at his club?”

“In the same way that Titus does—keeping to his private room for the most part.”

Titus. A strong name that recalled the Greek Titans, it fit him. Nora imagined him in solitude and was surprised to find the image enticing. But then any image with him made her stomach curl with anticipation. She tried to think of the younger Titus, the rake, and found it nearly impossible. “I can’t imagine Kendal as a reckless youth.”

“Yes, well, he was.” Lady Satterfield shook her head gently. “He drove his father mad with his antics.”

“What manner of antics?”

“He ran with a fast crowd—racing phaetons, gambling, everything you might expect. He cut quite a figure. I’m surprised you don’t remember him from when you were out. That would have been about the same time.”

Nora tried to recall him but couldn’t. “I didn’t move in the same circles.” Indeed, her only foray into the upper echelon had been when Haywood had paid her attention, and look at how that had turned out.

“He wasn’t Kendal of course then,” Lady Satterfield said. “He was the Marquess of Ravenglass.”

That name sparked a hint of memory, but Nora still couldn’t place him.

Lady Satterfield yawned as the coach stopped in front of their town house. “Goodness, but I am tired. We shall take a respite tomorrow. I need to summon my energy since I’m hosting a tea the following day.”

Nora was delighted to have a day of relaxation. Even so, she felt restless just now. The name Ravenglass nagged at the back of her mind, but she simply didn’t remember Kendal from her earlier Seasons. When she fell asleep that night, she thought of a rake named Ravenglass and couldn’t imagine how he’d become the Forbidden Duke.