Page 7 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
And now she was dressing the man, forced to look at the man’s perfectly sculpted naked body on a daily basis. “These shoes, Your Grace?”
He shrugged. “They’ll do.” He threw himself into one of the chairs. “No’ as if I’m going to be doing much besides standing around, avoiding the dancing.” He lifted a foot.
Kit went down to one knee to place his foot on her bent leg, and slide the shoe on. The Duke had beautifully formed feet, strong and lithe, like the rest of him.
Can you hear yourself? You’re admiring the man’s feet?
Well, why not? Some people were into that sort of thing.
Well, yes, and I’m not kink-shaming, but he’s wearing socks. At least if you’re going to have a foot fetish, do it properly.
In an effort to block out her subconscious, Kit blurted, “You don’t like to dance, Your Grace?”
He snorted. “Iloveto dance. I love the freedom and the movement, it reminds me of—”
When he bit down on what he’d been about to say, Kit darted a glance his way to see him frowning at the ceiling. Dancing reminded him of what?
Likely something sexual in nature.
The Duke cleared his throat. “I love to dance. Idinnaelove the rules and judgement that go along with these silly events. When I was merelyThorne, I could show up at these events, dance with a different lass each set, laugh and tease until my cheeks hurt, shock but not surprise the other guests with my bluntness, and go home kenning I’d made someone’s night a bit brighter.”
It sounded…maudlin. Tying his laces, she snuck a peek at the way he had one palm across his eyes, slouched as he was in the chair. “And now?” she ventured.
“Now…” He sighed. “NowI’m the bloody Duke of bloody Stroken. The Duke of Stroken cannae havefun. The Duke of Stroken cannae laugh and flirt and charm the lasses, because all the match-making mamas are waiting to trap him—me—in something salacious with their precious debutantes then cry scandal and make inane demands.”
Kit gently placed his foot on the carpet, and picked up the other. “Marriage?”
“Marriage, aye. Which is fine for some—hell, it would be fine for me. If I could find a lass who could love me forme,no’ the bloody title. I dinnae want to marry because some witch spreads a rumor about me dancing with the same lass more than twice. Or trips me into a closet so I’m caught in her arms. Or claims to be carrying my bairn to trap a duke.”
The bitterness in his words was hard to ignore. “Whydoyou want to marry, Your Grace?”
The question hung in the air between them as her fingers worked his laces, and she didn’t realize she was holding her breath until he abruptly sat up, startling her.
His grin suddenly flashed, too large, too bright to be real. “Why, love, Kit,love!”
He bounded to his feet, leaving her to scramble up after him, gave himself one more look in the mirror, and ran his fingers through his hair to achieve his typical windswept look.
Then he smacked her on the shoulder, gave her a little salute, and said, “Dinnae bother waiting up for me, laddie. I’ll see ye tomorrow.”
He scooped up his evening cloak and sauntered out, whistling between his teeth.
And Kit wondered if anyone else this evening would see through his good cheer to the pain he hid beneath.
Chapter 2
How in thehell did he ever get anything done before Vivaldi?
Kit was amaestro. Was that the right word? Thorne frowned down at the paper he was reading, realizing he was no longer focused on it, but rather the notes floating through his soul.
Maestromeant any master of music, right? Not just a conductor. He needed to figure that out.
Either way, Kit was a brilliant player of the violin, was what he meant.
And the last fortnight, with the lad playing for him in his study as he worked, Thorne felt as if he was finally flying through the responsibilities the dukedom had heaped upon his shoulders.
Since his cousin’s death and becoming his uncle’s heir, Thornethoughthe’d understood what running a dukedom would entail…but he’d been woefully unprepared for the stress, the minutiae, the constant demands on his time. The letters, so many letters. For the last six months, he’d felt as if he were treading water, barely keeping Stroken afloat, and the responsibilities threatened to drown him.
But today… There was something about music which had always lifted him, balanced him. And having Kit play for him, right here in his study where he needed that balance the most…it was ideal.
