Page 4 of His Duchess of Scandal
“What if Ares broke up a happy marriage?” he challenged. “Or at least a content one.”
“Surely Aphrodite would not have yearned for Ares’s arms if she were happy,” she countered.
That made the stranger pause again. He cupped his chin in his hand and nodded.
Quickly, Hermia added, “Regardless of the artist’s motive, it cannot be denied that it is provocative.”
“Do you enjoy that?”
“Only by the side of somebody who challenges my thoughts respectfully,” she said, giving him a sly smile.
“You are an art enthusiast, then?” he asked, his voice lowering into something richer, less pensive, and more alluring.
“I dabble,” she allowed.
Josephine had told her the rules of the party:use an alias, do not linger too late if you do not want to be swept up into a very suggestive group activity, and do not reveal anything too notable about yourself.
“And you?” Hermia asked.
“I also dabble,” the stranger answered.
She wondered if he had sensed her lie as much as she sensed his.
His eyes dropped to her glass. “Your glass is empty.”
“Indeed,” she agreed, leaning further into that boldness to see where it might take her. “And you have no glass at all.”
“A shame.” His voice all but dropped to a purr. “Such a shame I am inclined to ask if you’d like to accompany me to the refreshments table.”
Hermia glanced at where it was set up. The wine poured from a server into a fountain of glasses, as dark as blood. In a place like this, such a thing looked tantalizing.
“I would,” she murmured.
The stranger nodded and turned to lead her across the room.
They sidestepped dancers, guests who were falling into one another’s laps, and Anton, who threw her a wink when he caught her with her new acquaintance. He was puffing on a cigar again, always offered by another person—a man, a woman, one on each side.
Hermia watched long enough to see him grab the jaw of the man at his side and pull his face closer. With one last look at her, he smirked and pressed a finger to his lips. And then he kissed the man, only to then kiss the woman and push the two towards one another while he smoked.
Hermia felt her face flush. She should have been furious at Josephine for bringing her here, but she had never felt so alive, so unburdened. Deep down, she felt like giggling, for her mother would faint into a grave if she learned of this debauchery.
At the refreshments table, she went to reach for a glass of wine, but the stranger stopped her without touching her. He merely extended a hand across her path and offered her a glass.
For a moment, she thought of Anton and the proffered cigar from another person’s hand, his mouth lowering to the head.
Her face burned, and she quickly pushed aside the thought of doing the same with the glass of wine.
“Thank you,” she said quickly.
But the stranger paused, as if he knew she had some sort of impure thought.
Please do not ask, please do not ask.
“You are welcome,” he answered, his eyes falling to her mouth.
She always had a habit of wetting her lips before she took a sip or a bite. Her mother despised it.
“So, you are a fan of Aphrodite’s…” the stranger trailed off as she took a sip of her wine.
