Page 20 of Not the Duke's Virgin

Madeline squeezed her hand again. “Do not lose hope. If this is meant to be, you will find a way.”

Victoria did not see how. But Madeline’s calm presence soothed her anxieties.

Victoria injected some cheer into her voice, hoping to steer the conversation to safer grounds after confiding in Madeline about the turmoil of the evening.

“Enough of my woes,” she said. “How was your evening, dear cousin? Meet any intriguing gentlemen?”

Madeline laughed, a musical sound that lifted Victoria’s spirits. “Oh, you know these Society events are not much to my taste,” she replied. “I much prefer the simplicity of the countryside to these stuffy London balls.” Her expression turned bashful. “Although… I did have a pleasant conversation with Lord Ashford. He was quite charming. And ever so handsome.”

A becoming blush rose to her cheeks.

“Lord Ashford?” Victoria arched an eyebrow. “I did not realize you were acquainted.”

“We were introduced tonight by Lady Dalrymple,” Madeline explained. “He is a childhood friend of her son’s, newly returned from abroad.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Rumor has it he will soon be inheriting his uncle’s estate up north, which includes a rather substantial fortune.”

Victoria smiled and patted Madeline’s hand. “How delightful for you, dear. Perhaps a summer romance is in the cards?”

Madeline’s blush deepened. “Oh, heavens, it is much too soon for such talk! We only shared one dance and a brief stroll through the gardens.” She gave Victoria a playful look. “Although… he did ask permission to call on me. So we shall see what comes of it.”

“How exciting!” Victoria said. “We must discuss fashion and help prepare you for his calls. I shall delight in living vicariously through your courtship if one ensues.”

“You tease me so,” Madeline protested with a laugh. “Tell me, did any gentlemen catch your eye this evening?”

Victoria’s smile faltered. “Alas, no. My dance card remained woefully empty, aside from one requisite set with His Grace.” She tried to keep her tone light, though the mention of his name made her stomach churn.

Madeline gave her a sympathetic pat. “Do not lose heart. Once your engagement with Lord Oliver is announced, you shall have many suitors clamoring for your hand.”

“One can only hope,” Victoria replied wistfully.

In truth, her only hope was escaping this engagement with Oliver. But she put on a brave smile, determined not to dampen the mood.

Though still troubled in her heart, Victoria felt lighter for having confided in her dear cousin. She knew not what the future held, but with Madeline by her side, she felt she could face it with courage.

Victoria bid Madeline goodnight and retired to her room. There, she removed her dress and unpinned her hair, considering all that had transpired that evening.

Letting down her hair and preparing for sleep made her vaguely aware of the girl she had been not long ago—youthful, trusting, and innocent. Life had shifted so suddenly, and she wondered if things would ever be simple again.

As Victoria drifted off, the image of piercing dark brown eyes lingered in her mind. A pair of lips against her own. And a feeling she dared not name, even in the silence of her heart.

CHAPTER6

Simon strode purposefully through the dimly-lit London streets, his boots clicking sharply against the cobblestones. He drew his cloak tighter against the chill of the night air as he made his way toward the most dangerous part of the city—Whitechapel.

It was no place for a gentleman, much less a duke. Yet, desperate times called for desperate measures. Ever since overhearing his brother’s blackmail scheme against Lady Victoria Hatcher, Simon’s mind had been racing, plotting, and scheming.

Two could play at that game. Simon was determined to outmaneuver his scoundrel of a brother, no matter the cost.

The echo of Oliver’s threats spurred Simon onwards into the seedy neighborhood of Whitechapel. Though he hadn’t heard the vile comments toward Lady Victoria directly, they proved to him beyond doubt that his brother had become deeply unsuitable, requiring intervention.

He wound his way through narrow alleys reeking of refuse, keeping a wary eye out for cutpurses and footpads. At last, the glowing windows and raucous noise of The Black Rat gambling hall emerged from the gloom.

Simon hesitated only a moment before pushing through the doors into the main hall. It was just as crowded and debauched as he remembered from his rare visits here during his youth. Back when he was foolish enough to be tempted into vice. Shaking off the memories, he stalked toward the back, ignoring the dice games, prostitutes, and general air of dissolution.

Two burly men blocked the way to the private rooms. “You’re a long way from Mayfair, Milord,” one rumbled with a leer. “What’s your business?”

Simon fixed the brute with an icy stare. “The Duke of Hayward is here to see Mr. Dalton. Now step aside.”

The guard’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he nodded and turned to mutter to his companion. After a moment, the second man disappeared through the doors to the back rooms. His name still carried some weight, even in the underworld. Simon waited, radiating impatience, until the guard returned and gestured for him to follow.

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