Darcy did not see his grace at any events over the next several days. She put it down to the duke being embarrassed over what she’d seen him doing and the state of his dress and appearance. Not to mention what he’d told her of his brother, which in his inebriated state may not have been on purpose.

But it was not so, and now, after too long a time, Darcy wanted to see him, something she’d never thought to imagine if only to see for herself that he survived his night of drunkenness and was well again.

Back to his normal self of insulting matrons and scaring the breeches off young bucks who acted without decorum. This evening she’d not even seen her god mother whom she’d been told had returned to the family’s country estate after coming down with a cold. Darcy would have to write her well on the morrow and wish for her speedy return.

Darcy’s heart thumped when the master of ceremonies called out the Duke of Athelby. She turned to see his grace making his address to their hosts.

He searched the crowd as he walked through the gathered throng before his gaze caught hers and did not shift. Darcy smiled at him, nodding slightly and he, in turn, came toward her, the sea of people seemingly moving out of his way, so his progress was swift and without incident.

Darcy curtsied, holding out her hand as he bowed, kissing her fingers slightly. “Lady de Wolfe, I hope I find you well this evening?”

“And I you, your grace.” Understanding dawned in his eyes and he laughed. Darcy stood mute for a moment. The duke had a wonderful, rich laugh. A laugh that lit up his eyes and changed his stoic look to one of animated delight.

Damn it all to hell.

“I am very well, and I promise to only drink non-spiked punch this evening.”

She smiled. “You know, there is no crime in having whisky, champagne or wine, your grace. As long as it is in moderation.”

“And this is from a woman who not a week ago was in her cups.”

Disappointment stabbed at her that his grace’s attitude had not changed. Here he was, back to his cutting jibes within five minutes at arriving at the ball.

“I may have been foxed, but I did not have the pleasure of regurgitating it like others are wont to do.”

His jaw clenched. “Touché, I cede your point.”

“I do hope you do.”

Lord Aaron joined them and bowed before Darcy.

“I believe this next set is mine, Lady de Wolfe.”

Darcy dipped into a curtsy before the duke, not missing the flash of annoyance that the marquess had asked her to dance. It sparked a little devil inside of her to play up to his lordship and irritate Athelby more than she ought.

“It is, my lord.” Darcy took his hand and let him lead her to the dancefloor as others set up to join in a quadrille.

The dance gave Darcy the opportunity to find out why the marquess had played such a trick on his friend. “Did you know that the punch you gave his grace last week was anything but punch, and was, in fact, some sort of beverage that made him foxed?”

The marquess grinned, laughter in his eyes. “I did know, but my sister’s cook is very clever indeed, and anyone drinking the brew had no idea that too much of it will leave you in your cups.”

“I thought the duke and yourself were friends. How could you let him get into such a state knowing he is against those sorts of vices?”

“Because,” the marquess said, growing serious. “If he does not loosen up a little, see life for what it is, that it is to be lived and enjoyed, it will end with him a lonely, bitter old man. I do not want to see that for him. He deserves better.”

“That, my lord, is something that we at least agree on, but I would ask you do not trick him in such a way again. It was not becoming of you.”

The marquess seemed suitably chastised. “I promise I shall not, but what of you and your concern for him. I did not think you even liked Athelby.”

What the marquess said was certainly true, they were not close, nor was she very fond of him up until the night she found him vomiting onto roses. But she was associated with his family as a young girl and owed it to his grandmother to look out for him if she had to. “Out of my love for his grandmother and our friendship as children make me say these things, do not read into that concern any further, my lord.”

The dance took them from each other for a few steps before they were reunited. “Well, you may not be attentive in the duke, but he’s certainly taking notice of you. Even now, he’s watching, probably trying to find fault with both our steps.”

Darcy frowned. It was not very becoming of his lordship to laugh at his friend so. Having had enough of him, she stepped out of his hold and dipped a quick curtsy. “If you’ll excuse me. I find I do not wish to dance with you, my lord.”

He raised his brows, clearly shocked. “You do not?”

“No, she said, “I think you’re a dolt.”

The few people about them gasped, some of the gentlemen laughed before she walked over to the duke and took his hand, pulling him onto the dancefloor. “Shall we?” she asked.

Athelby, with elegance and ease guided her back into the steps. They were silent for a time before he said, “You seem displeased. Is anything the matter?”

“Only that you have very strange friends, your grace. If I were you, I would watch what you say around the marquess. He does not seem true to me.”

“If what has your feathers ruffled is solely due on my behalf, my honor, do not tax yourself. Aaron is just as honest as I am, if not a little less cutting and if he’s teased me before you, and said something that seems beneath our friendship, I would not worry about it. For I shall not.”

“He said that you have a concern in me, beyond that of a friend.”

The duke looked down at her, and she was shocked to recognize desire in his grey orbs. Who would’ve thought the too proper duke even had such emotions in his indifferent body and mind?

“He is mistaken.”

Really… Darcy narrowed her eyes, not believing that for a moment. “I’m relieved to hear it.”

Athelby could see by Darcy’s disbelieving lift of her brows that she did not agree with his statement, and she would be right. After her help the other evening, and the lack of rumors concerning his embarrassing slip of etiquette, she’d proven to him that she was trustworthy. More so probably than his oldest friend Lord Aaron.

“Did you know that there are two bets on me at Whites as to who I’ll take as a lover or even a husband?”

He pulled her closer than he ought, blamed it on the crush of dancers around them. “I do, and I have stated to those who have placed a bet that they are vulgar and not gentlemen in the least.”

She smiled up at him, and the breath in his lungs seized. Blast it she was so beautiful, so kissable that it hurt to deny himself. But she was not for him, the de Wolfes were too wild, non-manageable, and certainly did not play by the rules in which he set his life.

But to taste her, if only once would surely sate him for the rest of his days.

“How do you know of this bet in any case?”

This time she laughed, a rich, intoxicating sound that almost undid his years of strict decorum and made him seize her here and now. Kiss those smiling lips until they were both lost to each other and noted nothing and no one else around them. Athelby ripped his gaze from hers and stared steadfastly over her shoulder. Anywhere but at the temptation that was in his arms which would lead him to ruination just like his brother.

“I know everything that happens in your little secret Whites, and I may have at first been a little put out about the bet, but I now find it quite amusing.”

He couldn’t see anything remotely comical about the bet. It was belittling to her and anyone who partook in such scandalous behaviour. Darcy did not deserve to be the butt of jokes and games of his fellow man. “I do not.”

“I can tell by your face that you do not. But should I play the little game that all the gentlemen at Whites are betting on me to do? Who would you suggest that I marry? Or, alternatively, who should I make my lover?”

He stuttered, unable to respond straight away. “I wouldn’t know how to give such advice.”

She harrumphed, and he refused to look at her. How could he when he didn’t want her thinking of any of the gentlemen of the ton in that way. Not that she was for him either he reminded himself, simply he thought it best for Darcy to remain a spinster for the remainder of her days. Perhaps travel the continent and become an expert in embroidery. Anything but to marry again where he would have to watch her from afar.

“So, you’re not able to tell me which men I should consider and those that I should keep well away from. You’re around the gentlemen when they’re ensconced in their little club. I should think you’d hear everything they really think and mean, certainly more than any woman would ever know.”

“Even if I did know of a few gentlemen who’d be suitable, I could not in good conscience tell you of such things. It’s against my moral judgement.” He lost contact with her for a few steps before he pulled her out of the dance to stand beside a partially open window.

“Tell me, your grace, do you think your high moral judgement will keep you warm in bed? Do you not yearn for the comfort of a woman, to have her love you in all ways that a man and woman should?”

Athelby swallowed. This conversation was well beyond his knowledge, and he tugged at his cravat that was suddenly too tight. “You should not say such things.”

Darcy moved closer than she ought now that they were no longer dancing and yet, to his dismay and pleasure he did not pull back, move away to where he was safe. Damn it, he was turning into his brother. A man who could not say no to a woman.

“Would you, do you think your grace, be suitable as my lover?”

He turned and looked at her, and damn it, he could not hide what he’d tried to for so many months. To tell her that she was all that he thought of when alone. That when she’d been married to that coxcomb Earl of Terrance, that the thought of her with him in his bed, of lying with him, night after night had tormented him. The stoic, cold man that he was could not wholly be blamed on his reckless sibling, a lot had to do with his jealousy of the Earl and who he had as his wife.

But as much as he longed to have her, he would never succumb to the baser elements that haunted many fellow man, not just himself. He was not a rake, a rogue to have any woman he wished, only to discard her when he no longer had use for her. Or engage in stupid carriage races where you ended up dead.

The woman he married would be an upstanding, well connected, virgin. A woman of impeccable manners. Not the bedevilling minx staring up at him right at this moment, daring him with her crystal blue eyes to bend down and kiss her before all the ton.

“Never, Lady de Wolfe. We would not suit.” His words were cutting, and he tore his attention back to the gathered throng so to ignore the flash of hurt, the flash of despair that had entered her eyes.

“What about your friend the Marques of Aaron. Maybe I should take him to my bed.”

He clasped her harm, pulling her to look at him. “You will not, and nor will he.”

She raised one brow in disbelief. “And you know this how?”

“Because I told him to keep his filthy hands off you.” Athelby strode toward the supper room doors just as a footman announced the short repast was ready. He did not turn back, and yet the burn of Darcy’s gaze against his shoulders scolded him and did not abate for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

Darcy found it hard to sleep that night and many nights after what the duke of Athelby had said to her, before he scuttled off like an injured wolf.

It wasn’t to be borne. He could not just say something like that and then leave! And no matter how much they might dislike one another, there was an odd attraction between them that they both needed to admit to.

Act on…

She lay back in her bath, splashing water on to the floor. What am I to do with this absurd attraction? Athelby was not the kind of man who indulged in liaisons. Something tugged inside of Darcy. Had he ever been with a woman at all, in any way, not just intimately, but even a simple kiss?

After what he’d told her of his brother, she doubted he would’ve allowed himself the slightest slip in giving into the base desires of man.

Tonight, was the Fox’s masquerade ball, a sought-after event that marked the middle of the season. She had not attended when married since Terrance had forbidden her to. Of course, his denying of her own entertainments did not stop him himself from taking part and often returning home with ripped clothing, a missing mask and numerous love bites over his neck and body.

The door to her room opened and closed just as quickly before the light footsteps of her maid pattered across the Aubusson rug. “Your gown is ready, my lady. Would you like me to help you out of the bath?”

“Yes, thank you,” Darcy said, standing, and taking her maid’s hand as she stepped out. The gown of royal blue with a second skirt of embroidered gold thread would suit her dark colouring and golden mask. “I’ll wear my hair half down this evening, Jane.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Within a couple of hours, Darcy found herself in the ballroom of the masked ball. The terrace doors were open and allowed the hundreds of revellers to walk the lawns and gain some air should they wish it.

The abundance of candles, the patterned gowns, and beautiful masks would make finding anyone she knew difficult, and yet there was only one person that she really wanted to find.

Darcy danced a couple of reels and the first waltz with a gentleman who played as coy and secretive as she did. For her first masquerade, Darcy found she was enjoying it very much. To be incognito was liberating, and she was pleased to find her flirting abilities had not died along with her husband.

It was while dancing a jig, where many a partner was changed during the movement of the dance, that a shiver of awareness ran down her spine. Her new partner clasped her hands and moved her along with the dance.

She looked up and recognised Athelby’s grin. “We meet again, your grace.”

“I see my mask has not fooled you.” He did not sound pleased, but Darcy paid no heed to his tone. Tonight, she would kiss this man if it were the last thing she did, and once and for all, she would see if this absurd attraction she had to him was warranted or some figment of her warped imagination.

“I would know you anywhere, Athelby.” And if she did not recognize him by sight, her body alerted her to his presence. Just as it had this evening, and if she were honest, for many years before.

Athelby frowned down at Darcy. Anything, but let the little minx know that having her in his arms again left him reeling, warring with his morals on what he desired to do and what he ought to do.

The biggest conundrum he had, and one he hated to admit to, was that Darcy made him nervous. Each and every time he was around her he fought not to babble like a fool. And after their discussion about who would suit her best as a lover or future husband, something told Athelby that his nervousness would only increase.

“I find that hard to believe, Lady de Wolfe.” He used her title, not her given name. The less intimacy between them the better. Or so he told himself. Even though the dance commanded he change partners, he simply kept Darcy in his arms.

“Do you? I simply have to look for the angriest looking gentleman, the one who’s scowling at everyone and I know I’ve found you. Even behind your mask you ooze annoyance. You’re like an elephant trying to hide behind a stick.”

“Really, what an absurd similarity.” Athelby tried to take offence, and yet he found his lips twitching to smile. He would discuss this maddening attraction to a woman who wasn’t suitable to be his duchess at his next visit to Dr. Duncan. Surely there was a pill of sorts one could take to cure themselves of feelings.

The dance ended, and he walked her toward the terrace doors. “Would you care for a stroll. You seem a little flushed.”

“As long as you do not try and seduce me duke.” Darcy grinned up at him and slid her arm about his, leading him outdoors. The air was chill, but refreshing after the stifling ballroom.

“Your reputation is safe with me. I should say, you’re probably the safest woman in England right about now.” Not exactly true… Watching her out the corner of his eye, she looked up at the stars, and his gut clenched at how very pretty she was, the mask no impediment to her beauty.

They strolled toward the back of the garden, the sound of running water and some whispered voices all that could be heard. With the Fox’s estate backing onto Hyde park, the gardens were quite extensive, and there were many places people could disappear to for a tryst or stroll.

Athelby would not be one of them.

A marble bench glowed under the moonlight, and Athelby led Darcy toward it to sit for a time. Taking the opportunity, he pulled off his mask and was glad to see Darcy did the same.

“Have you ever kissed a woman, your grace?”

The question caught him by surprise and he sputtered before answering, “Of course.” He’d kissed his grandmother hello and goodbye, and other family members too. So, in all truth, what he stated was not a lie. Not really… But he understood her question and that truth was no. He’d never kissed a woman with passion. To make them both yearn and crave where kisses were won’t to lead people. His brother kissed too many women in his younger years, his foolish actions all in the name of women led to his early demise. He would not make the same mistake. He was the last surviving Athelby heir. If he died, the ducal title would with him.

He could feel Darcy’s regard on him, and as much as he wanted to not look at her, he couldn’t help himself. He turned, and the pit of his stomach clenched in the most intoxicating way. A feeling he’d never suffered before but wanted to. Again, and again.

“Would you like to kiss me, Athelby?”

God damn it yes, he did. “No.”