Page 65 of From Duke Till Dawn
He turned to her, sharp and handsome in the low light. “Tell me what you’d do with yourself if you didn’t earn your coin from swindling.”
“I’ve got little half-formed ideas tumbling around my mind, but nothing solid,” she admitted. “All I’ve really concerned myself with is keeping my head above water. This can’t last forever, but what happens after?”
“There’s nothing at all you want to do?”
“Maybe own a shop,” she finally admitted. “Or learn to draw, or play an instrument. The kind of things ladies do to fill their time.” She gave a strained laugh. “Been pretending to be a lady for so long, but to reallybeone... I’ll never know what that’s like.”
“I can’t tell you,” he said with a self-deprecating shrug. “Since I’m not a lady.” His mouth quirked. “Lady Emmeline was fond of dancing, pianoforte, and.... I can’t think of anything else.”
“Surely she had passions,” Cassandra objected. A tiny jolt of jealousy coursed through her, thinking of the woman he’d almost married.
“Either she didn’t voice them,” he allowed, “or I’d been too concerned with myself and my need for a suitable bride to ask her.” He shook his head. “Thinking on it now, I’m not proud of how I behaved toward her. Even ifshejiltedme.”
“Powerful dukes probably don’t receive much education in empathy,” she pointed out.
He took two glasses of wine from a passing servant, while she took a few iced cakes for sustenance. They sat quietly, sipping wine and nibbling very good, sugary cakes, as they watched more couples spin around the dance floor. His thigh pressed against hers, reminding her of the intimacy they’d shared—and how much more they had to explore.
“And if you weren’t a duke,” she continued, “what wouldyoudo with yourself? Indulge me.”
He was silent a long while, but then said, “I’ve always been the heir. From the cradle, they told me, ‘This will be yours someday.’ It’s all I’ve known.”
“You can dream now,” she suggested, lightly knocking her shoulder against his. “The Orchid Club doesn’t have to only be about sexual fancies. Give in to your other fantasies now. If you could be anything in the world, other than a duke, what would you be?”
He fell into another pensive silence. They were, she realized, part of what made Alex who he was. He didn’t blurt out answers. He thought, he pondered and brooded, choosing words and thoughts carefully like a man picking through a coffer full of gems.
“A ship’s captain,” he finally said. “Exploring unknown worlds. Sailing beyond the horizon in search of adventure.”
She raised her brows. “I would have thought you’d want to be an architect or mathematician—using numbers and rules to make order out of chaos.”
“I would have agreed with you only a few weeks ago.”
“And now?”
A corner of his mouth tilted up as he gazed at her. “I’m discovering that I like chaos.”
“That can’t be on my account!”
“It surely is.” He smiled, then sobered. “Truth be told, I’m glad I’m a duke.”
“All that wealth and power,” she said, nodding.
“Well, yes,” he allowed. “But when you’ve got the ear of the Prime Minister, when you can argue a law in front of Parliament... it means you can truly do something. You can effect real change in the world.” He glanced toward the curtained window. “The Greyland name has always tried to help the poor. We build schools, try to institute more lenient policies toward impoverished people, give subsidies to farmers.”
“Noble endeavors.” She’d never known this about him or his family. Always, she’d believed the wealthy and influential sought only to keep themselves in power, never to change anything in case they should lose their authority.
“You’ve given me an education,” he went on.
“Me?” She sat up straighter.
“I thought there wasn’t a difference between being a poor man and a poor woman. But you’ve shown me. Being a woman makes life a hundred times more challenging. It’s another world. A greater struggle. There has to be more that I can do to help. Small ways, or bigger ways. Anything at all.”
Unease crept over Cassandra. “The only person I help is myself.”
“People change,” he said gently. “You do, too.”
The redheaded woman walked past them, her attention fixed on several guests at the other end of the room.
“I’m no different than I’d been in Southwark.” She watched the woman handing out more glasses of wine. “Only differences are my clothes aren’t patched and I don’t sleep on dirty straw.”
