Page 93 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
Kit plucked one of the blooms from the vine. “We had them growing near our home in New York.”
He watched as she deftly pinched the stem of the flower,pulling the delicate string from the bloom, along with a drop of nectar. The honey for which it was named.
“Honeysuckle is strong, resilient,” he told her in a raspy whisper, bending another flower from the vine. “It climbs high, and it doesnae break.”
Kit popped the drop of nectar into her mouth, her tongue darting out to swipe across her lips, catching the style. Thorne felt his trousers tighten.
“Just like ye, Kit.”
As she lowered the bloom, those evocative eyes wide with surprise, he reached up to tuck the flower he held in one of the swirls of hair expertly pinned in place with glass.
“Ye are beautiful, Kit, and strong, and ye dinnae break, or stop. Ye are determined, and capable, and delicious, just like the honeysuckle. And did I mention beautiful?”
“You did,” she whispered, two spots of color appearing high on her cheeks.
His hand fell to rest against the side of her throat. “Ye’re the most Goddamned beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Kit, and I cannae wait to dance with ye tonight.”
It was the truth; he’d been looking forward to dancing with her—vertically, in public—for days now, but the truth was also a reminder of what was to come.
He saw the change cross Kit’s expression as she realized the same thing. She settled her shoulders into a sort ofreadyposition, taking a deep breath.
When Thorne offered her his arm, she settled her hand atop it, and allowed him to lead her down the stairs. They moved slowly, but he needn’t have worried about her.
Despite having spent the last months in trousers and men’s boots, this lover of his moved with all the grace of a dancer. Or a debutante, ready for her formal presentation.
Looking at her tonight, no one would believe ye hired her as a valet.
No one would believe she was anything but the legitimate daughter of an Earl.
And Thorne wished to Christ he had found the ballocks to tell her that before this damned plan.
They paused in the foyer for Titsworth to drape a wrap around Kit’s shoulders, for propriety’s sake. They were already skirting the edges of propriety by having an unmarried duke escort her, but they’d determined doing so would throw Blackrose out of step.
But to hell with propriety. To hell with a Society who said a duke needed to marry a simpering young miss bred for flirting and dancing and nothing more than fluff in her head.
Damnation, that’s not whatThornehad been bred for!Hewanted a woman who was as resilient and special and strong as the honeysuckle she wore!
Kit turned a questioning look his way, and Thorne forced himself to get his shite under control. “Are ye ready, love?”
“Yes,” she murmured, slipping her hand through his arm once more and lifting her head, looking for all the world like a conquering queen. “Let’s go fook over my father.”
Chapter 19
Kit kept her head high,although inside she trembled as so many faces and gazes turned her way. She remembered what Thorne had said about her strength, her bravery…and vowed not to prove him wrong.
“Are ye ready?” he murmured, and she managed a strangled sort of agreement.
With a steadying breath, he led them down the steps to the Stallings ballroom.
She imagined she could hear the whispers behind the fans. She could absolutelyseethe women shooting daggers with their eyes, gazes darting between Kit and Thorne.
Remembering what Thorne had told her about the matchmaking mamas of Society, she assumed these were women who had hopes of making a match with the devastatingly handsome Duke of Stroken either for themselves or their daughters. They knew he needed to marry, and they wanted their claws in him.
Well tough shite, ladies, Thorne’s mine.
But was he?
Kit lifted her chin even higher, trying to keep her gaze serene.
