Page 22 of His Duchess of Scandal
“My Lady, it was an accident,” the Duke said. “I swear it on my daughter’s life. It was never, ever supposed to be shown. I could not get you out of my mind, and I usually process that by taking it from my thoughts and putting it on canvas. It was an innocent mistake.”
“Hardly innocent, given the nature of the painting, the lack of my approval, the public unveiling,andhow we met.”
“Lady—” He broke off.
Hermia realized she had not given him her name, but she deigned not to answer yet.
The Duke looked at her as though he expected her to answer, as though he was used to being greeted with stubborn silence. Or perhaps he was, but not for it to last very long.
Hermia held his eyes stubbornly. In doing so, she realized just how close they were standing.
“Lady Hermia Dennis,” she finally told him. “Daughter of the Earl of Wickleby.”
She saw the flash of recognition in his eyes, the quick blink. As if he was surprised to connect the lady he had met that night with the Wickleby name, or perhaps even her if he knew her name.
“I looked for you everywhere,” he admitted, his voice lowering. “The Aphrodite who had such strong opinions on art.”
His eyes dropped to her mouth before rising back to her face.
“The what?” she asked.
“Aphrodite,” he repeated. “Well, I never got your name, and we met at the lovers’ painting, so I called you that in my head.”
Hermia laughed, shaking her head. “And I have dubbed you the Ares from the art show.”
She was not happy about it, not when she was still vibrating with fury at what he had done.
“Well,” he answered, amused by her admission, “I looked for you, regardless. You did a good job of hiding yourself in London.”
Because I was sent to the countryside the following morning.
She did not tell him that part.
Heavens, he stood so close—close enough that she could see brown flecks in his eyes, the shade of the dark, mysterious parts of the ocean.
Swallowing hard, Hermia forced herself to step away, before thoughts of how his lips had once parted around the birthmark apparently depicted in the painting, how he had let his hands wander before his mouth did, and how he had coaxed noises from her she did not know she could make, could overwhelm her.
Her face burned, and she busied herself by pretending to adjust her cloak.
“I will do everything in my power to restore your family’s reputation,” he promised. “I will meet with your father. I have sold several antiques to him during my auctions over the years.”
That part was true; her father had mentioned it to her.
“I will make a public announcement, claiming your innocence,” the Duke continued. “I will pay off the scandal writers and speak with connections. Everybody will know that you are completely innocent, that you and I have never met before today. A coincidental likeness.”
“We have met, though,” Hermia pointed out. “That was my last defense, and now I have lost it. I never imagined the audaciousduke who painted me to be the… the man who knows where my birthmark is.”
At that, he looked away and cleared his throat.
“Regardless,” he said thickly, “I will restore your family’s name. I have some expertise in the area.”
Still dubious, Hermia studied him. But her attention eventually drew his own back to her.
He didn’t look away from her, but the longer she stared, the more helpless she felt. Somehow, she didn’t trust the words of this man, no matter how safe he had made her feel that night.
One night, she had dared to live for herself, and this was the consequence.
There always was, and she should have known better.
