Daring and the Duke (The Bareknuckle Bastards #3)(32)

He met the smile with one of his own. “Are you asking to be ruined?”

Her smile did not waver. Still not Grace, but Grace’s mask, the kind that would not easily be moved. “Who says I’m the one who would be ruined?”

He almost missed a step. “Are you offering to ruin me?”

“Are you asking to be ruined?”

Yes.

She saw the answer. One would have to be addlebrained not to see the answer. She gave a little chuckle that threaded through him, making him hard as steel. Making him ache for this Grace-who-was-not-Grace.

“And if I said yes?”

The words escaped him without thought, but her lips were the ones that that parted, soft and surprised, for a heartbeat. “You don’t know what you play at, Your Grace.”

He wanted to know. He wanted to play.

When was the last time they’d played?

Had they ever played?

Not like this.

The music came to a stop, and so did they, her lush skirts wrapping themselves around his legs, the touch of fabric another temptation. He leaned forward, down the scant inches to her ear. “Show me,” he murmured.

She did not retreat, holding her ground. “Do you not search for a wife?”

No. I have already found her.

“Are you interested in the position?” He forced teasing flirt into the words, when he wanted to rip their masks off, pack her into a carriage, and take her directly to a vicar. To make her duchess, as he’d promised all those years ago.

“No.”

Why would I settle for duchess? The words burned into him, and with them, the singular truth that the girl who’d once loved him was gone, replaced by this woman, strong as steel, who would not be wooed. Would not be chased.

“That is an uncommon response to the offer.”

“That’s because most women see a title and think it is pure opportunity—a line to freedom.”

“And you?”

Her lips curved, but the smile did not reach her eyes. “I know titles are gilded cages.”

The words sliced through him, on a wave of the past. It was the truth—their truth more than anyone else’s. And she did not even know the whole of it.

“Tonight is not for the future,” he said, hating the lie on his lips. Hating the way she breathed it in. Knowing that he had to tell it to keep her there. Knowing, beyond all else, that if she left him then, she would never return.

Knowing that his invitation was an immense risk.

But risk was all they’d ever been to each other.

She turned slightly—just enough to meet his eyes. “Masks are dangerous. One never knows quite who one is when wearing one.”

He did not hesitate. “Or, they make it easier for one to show his truth.”

The wrong thing to say. He heard the bitterness in her little laugh. “Am I to believe this is your truth, Duke?”

The second time she’d used the title, and the second time he had to hold back a flinch. He rushed to keep control of the emotions roiling through him. “It’s closer to it than you might imagine.” He paused. Then, “No one will notice if we leave.”

She laughed at that. “You have been away from society for too long. Everyone will notice. They have noticed you flirting with scores of women tonight.”

“Have you noticed that?” He liked that.

She ignored the question. “And they will notice you leaving with me, and they will wonder about me.”

“They already wonder about you,” he said, knowing he had scant seconds to convince her, before the orchestra began again and she would find a way to leave him. “The beautiful jewel who hasn’t yet realized that I’m the worst choice in the room.”

“That might be the first true thing you’ve said all evening.” Damn her mask for hiding her from him.

The words stung. The tacit agreement that he was not for her. And still, she stayed.

He clung to that. “It’s not the first, but it is true,” he said. “So is this: they wonder about you, but will they know who you are?” They wouldn’t, would they? She didn’t live in this world. He might not know where she did live—what he would give to know her life!—but he knew she was not an aristocrat, and she could remove her mask without hesitation and no one in the room would know her.

But still, he would never deliberately put her in danger.

She gave him a small smile. “Someone might. I have an invitation, do I not?” He loved the teasing words—the way they warmed him. But that wasn’t what he was asking, and she knew it. “They shan’t know who I am,” she agreed, thoughtfully. “They are too deep in their desire for the fantasy you have offered them.”

He clung to those words, rushing to beat the first strains of the orchestra. “And you, my lady?” He met her rich brown eyes. His lady. “What of your desires? What of the fantasy I offer you?”

Time stopped as she considered the question, a single note of the violin seeming to hang in the air around them.

Perhaps he’d never have her without the mask. Perhaps she’d never let him in again. But she was here, and she was in his arms, and if that was all he could have . . . it would have to be enough.

Never.

“Let me be your fantasy,” he whispered.

Let me be everything you need.