Chapter One

The new Duke of Salsbury hardly noticed the guests as he took each hand, welcoming them into his London townhome. Christmas boughs lined the entry where he stood. The smells of his favorite Christmas punch should have warmed him, brought back memories of childhood. He supposed he said all the niceties and guests responded in kind, but in truth, his mind was elsewhere. The Asters had come to his ball. All morning his mother festered and worried as to why they would accept the invitation. It was a curiosity for certain, but not one to exert oneself over. Though, he admitted, news of their arrival did tighten his throat in a familiar sorrow. The formal mourning for his father’s untimely death finished last month. He didn’t think his mother would ever be finished mourning . . . or urging him on to all sorts of pursuits she felt vital to his well-being.

She nudged him. “Lady Fenningway has arrived.” His mother insisted he do his duty by dancing with this new debutante. His father had set up an alliance with her family before he passed, a powerful meeting of two ducal houses. He hoped Stephen would court and marry the woman. Her family hoped the same. Unfortunately, Stephen did not share the general enthusiasm for the idea of marriage to the big-toothed, awkward twelve-year-old he had met years ago.

He did, however, have a strong sense of duty. The music for the first set began, the three-step of the waltz. He turned in the direction of his mother’s demanding finger just as the footman finished announcing an auburn-haired beauty. A daring lilt lifted her chin. Her eyes sparkled, and a half grin warmed her face. Her dress draped down around a slender figure, her arms rested gracefully at her sides. His smile grew. Perhaps a union with her house would not be as tedious as he at first envisioned. Had they not met as children? Surely he would recall such a face. Did his father not allude to mediocre looks but a sharp wit? He couldn’t remember, and he had considered all talk of marriage most decidedly not urgent, so, regretfully, he had only listened with half an ear. But this woman could never be described as mediocre. She attracted him and many young men around her, immediately.

He approached the lady, her creamy skin in beautiful contrast with the red tint in her thick, dark hair. He bowed over her hand, placed it on his arm, and led her to the floor.

They began the waltz without yet speaking. She fit remarkably well in his arms, just the right height, not exactly eye level, but he imagined he could rest his chin on her head in an embrace. He stepped closer, his body tingling with a new awareness. His hands were aware of every shift of her fingers in his, of the rise and fall of her breath under his palm at her back. Suddenly the very air around them created a sensation on his skin.

She cleared her throat.

When he met her eyes, he was surprised to see a raised eyebrow and an aura of expectation.

He had been so caught up in these new sensations, perhaps he had assumed she was equally taken away. “You look lovely tonight.”

She smiled. “Thank you.” Her smile lit her face. A soft pink colored her cheeks. The prospect of courting and marrying this woman became more enticing to him the longer she danced in his arms.

Strange she didn’t say more.

He tried again. “I’m happy you could come.”

“Thank you. My grandma arranged it for me. It’s a lovely ball. I’m quite taken with the décor.”

Her grandmother. He thought they had sent the invitations to her father. He nodded absentmindedly. Something about this lady’s eyes, a spark of intelligence, intrigued him. Certain she could talk of much more than ballroom décor, he asked, “Have you been to any of the operas lately?”

“Oh yes. I go to every one I can.” Her eyes sparkled up at him. “Do you also enjoy the opera?”

“I’m pleased to hear it. I, too, enjoy the opera. Of course we shall attend together. And the museum? Art? What are your other interests?” Perhaps their courtship would be less tedious than he thought, were he to court her. The more he thought on a life with this beauty in his arms, the faster his heart picked up.

But her face did not look as pleased as he would hope. Her eyebrows lowered, and a cloud of confusion darkened her eyes.

As they twirled through the room, he nearly stumbled at the sight of his mother’s deep scowl. He glanced back, and the pinched disapproval of his uncle’s face surprised him. All around them, covered whispering mouths clustered together, and wide eyes tracked his movement.

On the other side of the room, others held an abnormally strong interest in him and Lady Fenningway. He would expect to create a bit of a stir to declare his interest by dancing the first set with the lady, but the reactions in the room were not positive, and his mother’s face was most disturbing of all. Was he not doing her bidding?

The lady in his arms tilted her head, seeming puzzled.

He cleared his throat. “We’ve created quite a stir.”

“I imagine we would.” She titled her head to the side as if it were obvious.

He frowned. “Why is that?”

“We haven’t been introduced, for one—”

“Haven’t been introduced? Of course we have, admittedly as children. Or rather, who did you suspect that I was?” Could she not remember? They had actually met. Years had gone by, naturally, but that didn’t signify. They had agreed to the first set this evening.

“I’m sure we haven’t. I would remember.”

He raised his eyebrows, and she blushed prettily. She looked so charming, perhaps he could overlook her absentmindedness.

She waited, again expecting something from him. When he continued in silence, unsure what she would have him say, she huffed. “Well, I’m Lady Catherine . . .” She paused.

He sucked in a breath. “Lady Catherine? Are you certain?” How could she be Lady Catherine?

“Yes, quite. And you are . . . ?”

He stammered. Hadn’t his mother pointed to this very woman? He looked for his mother. Her frown, still present, created deeper lines on her face. A mealy, pasty woman stood at her side, eyes red and swollen. He turned his attention back to the woman in his arms. “So you are not Lady Fenningway?”

She laughed. “No, I’m most decidedly not Lady Fenningway.” She indicated the mealy, pasty woman.

His affront grew. “But they announced you as Lady Fenningway. If you are not her, then why are we dancing?” He couldn’t have anyone pretending to be his intended if she were in fact going to become his intended. Great disappointment increased his irritability past the bounds of politeness. His new hope that the word intended would forever describe this new beauty in his arms was dashed unfairly in a matter of seconds.

“You ask why we are dancing?” She scoffed, her breath coming faster. “Because you placed my hand upon your arm without a word and dragged me out on the dance floor.”

“What! I did nothing of the kind. We had it all arranged. I merely came to collect you for our dance.”

“If I had agreed to dance with you, that would make perfect sense.”

They continued their waltz, the obvious surprise of many in the room beginning to settle unnaturally in his stomach.

She cleared her throat. “And you still haven’t told me who you are.”

“Confound it, you don’t know. I’m the eldest Harrington, Duke of Salsbury.”

She gasped. “You’re a Harrington? Salsbury himself?” She paled and stopped dancing, pulling away.

“Well, we can finish the dance.” His arms longed for her, the sudden distance between them chilling him.

Another couple whirled by them. Not expecting anyone to stop, they nearly ran into the duke.

“Here now, let’s move off the floor in a respectable manner.”

Her face had whitened, and she made a great effort to swallow. “Don’t come near me again.” She whirled around and ran from the room.

He didn’t move for several moments, couples dancing past him, as he watched her retreating form. Confound the woman. His arms ached to hold her. And he puzzled. What had gotten into her? He had never experienced such a look of fear and abhorrence from a woman. He was left with a decided discomfort and yearning. He was torn between retreating to his study and running after her, pleading her return.