Page 175 of Dukes for Dessert

“Yes,” his mother nodded. “Yes, you would. You’ve proven yourself to be ruthless and commanding,” she spoke those words as though she approved of a son who was reviled and feared by all.

There was merit to her charge. He’d long welcomed the distance he’d placed between himself and other members of Society. He’d accustomed himself to the subservient fear. Until Theodosia. She’d forced him to confront the reality that there really was nothing honorable or admirable in a coolly aloof person who prevented himself from feelings and emotions. It was safer. But it was also a good deal lonelier. “What benefit would there have been in publicly shaming the lady and having her removed?” Other than removing the one happiness he’d found this night. Any night, since their first meeting two nights past.

His mother planted her arms akimbo. “Society noted your interest. Whispering to her. Staring at her so. Why, if I didn’t know you detested her for her connection to the Rayne line, I’d believe you were enamored of the young woman.”

Oh, Christ. He resisted the urge to tug at his cravat as a dull flush climbed up his neck.

A rustle of skirts met his mother’s pronouncement.

“What was that?” his mother asked whipping her head about.

“What was what?”

“I thought I heard,” she gave a flounce of her curls. “No matter. I am here to remind you of your obligations to Lady Minerva. Did you at all consider how your betrothed should feel about your stalking off and partnering that Rayne chit?”

A loud knock punctuated her words. The sound of flesh meeting wood and he’d wager what remained of his sanity that Theodosia had hit her head in the hiding space she’d made for herself. His mother’s erroneous words regarding Lady Minerva cast aspersions upon every kiss and exchange to have occurred with Theodosia and he abhorred the idea that she should believe he’d merely dallied with her while being pledged to another.

He folded his arms across his chest. “There is no betrothal,” he said coolly, the words for Theodosia.

“Of course there is nothing official,” his mother said with a frown. “But—”

“There is no betrothal,” he cut in, freezing whatever words she’d utter with a stare. He’d considered his obligations to every other member of his family, before his own, and not once did he regret those sacrifices. Then there had been no person who’d opened his eyes to the possibility of more. “Now, I have matters of business to attend before I return to the ballroom.”

She opened and closed her mouth several times as though she wished to protest, but then said, “Very well.” With that she spun on her heel, strode to the door and then pulled open the wood panel. “Damian?” she asked, turning back once more.

By God. Would she not leave? “Yes,” he said, keeping his tone deliberately flat.

“Why is the sword on the floor?”

“Broadsword.”

She furrowed her brow.

“It is the Theodosia broadsword.”

When it became apparent he intended to say nothing else on the matter, a frown marred her lips. With that, she left.

9

Chapter Nine

The door had closed several moments ago. Several very long moments ago. The lock had turned, indicating privacy once more from Damian’s horrid mother with her unkind words and cruel expectations for her son. Yet, Theodosia remained frozen.

He was betrothed. From her spot, crouched under Damian’s desk, she rubbed the top of her head, a poor, wounded head she’d quite solidly thwacked upon hearing those shocking words voiced by his mother. Oh, she’d heard mention that the powerful, evil Renshaw line inevitably bound their members to other powerful, evil families. But that was before she’d known Damian and now, knowing there was another… She touched the knot on her head and winced. It mattered not. Not at all. Well, the knot on her head did but who Damian wed and when he wed or why he wed was as insignificant as what food she’d break her fast with.

Liar.

Two gleaming black boots appeared in her line of vision and she jumped, knocking her head once more. “Bloody hell,” she complained. Must he be so blasted silent? With his impressive size and power, he should, at the very least, be noisy with his footsteps.

Damian fell to a knee beside the desk. He peered into the darkened space, a faint smile on his lips. She was very glad that at least one of them found the entire circumstance amusing. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she bit out, sitting back on her heels. “You are free to attend whatever important business you have to see to.” As he’d pointed out several times to his mama.

“You are my business.”

Her lips parted with surprise.

He held a hand out and she eyed his fingers a moment and then reluctantly placed her fingertips in his. Damian drew her out and up, and they stood there beside his desk, their bodies a hairsbreadth apart. “You are betrothed.” She winced as the almost accusatory charge tumbled from her lips. “Not that you are not entitled to be betrothed.” Be betrothed? Surely there was some rule about two be starting words being paired? Silence your mouth, Theodosia. “But you really shouldn’t go about kissing ladies while you are betrothed to another.” Especially another who was trim and blonde and all things lovely where Theodosia was not. “It isn’t done,” she finished lamely when he still said nothing.

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