Page 11 of A Virgin for the Duke of Depravity
Emma was always so soft-spoken. Margaret wondered if it was the way she was trained to speak to her masters or if the girl’s mild manners were part of her personality.
“What is the best part?” Margaret pressed.
“Oh, probably the parties. Everyone attends them, and even the servants enjoy the music.” A dreamy look crossed Emma’s face at the mention of parties.
It reminded Margaret of her own dilemma. She would be invited to a house party today as well, and her answer should be ready on her lips. But it was not. Not yet.
Emma pinned the braid around the crown of Margaret’s head and told her it was finished. Margaret took one last look in the mirror. There was nothing about her appearance that reminded her of the meek girl at the convent, who would now be scrambling to scrub the floors. She felt like she did not fit in London, in the life Theresa had made for herself.
Maybe it would be better for her to return to the convent now, before she had the opportunity to see more of life here in the city.
But perhaps she could make a life here for herself in time. Perhaps the Duke could show her how to make a life here, protect her from the Earl and his advances.
Margaret tore her gaze away from her reflection and followed the maid out of her chambers and to the breakfast room.
“Margaret,” Theresa greeted with a smile. She was the only one seated at the breakfast table this morning, a rare treat for the girls to have only one another for company. “Wherever did you go yesterday? I gave you the map, but you were not here for dinner.”
“I am starving,” Margaret deflected, taking a seat at Theresa’s left side.
“Here,” Theresa said, passing a plate to her. “I have instructed the cook to make my favorite pastry. At the risk of sounding blasphemous, it is absolutely divine.”
The girls laughed at their little inside joke, two women who once shared a room at a convent and were destined to be women of the cloth before they were swept into London.
Margaret tried to avoid Theresa’s eyes, closing hers as she tasted the strawberry and cream on the pastry.
“You are right,” she said around a second mouthful. “This is the best pastry I have ever had. Much better than what Sister Claire can manage. Not that she would ever consider something so indulgent.”
“Now, wherewereyou last night?” Theresa gave her a meaningful look.
For a moment, Margaret wondered if her friend had guessed. If she knew about thebook clubsthat the Beast was so familiar with.
But she avoided the question when the servants entered the room to let Theresa know that she had a guest. Margaret’s stomach dropped at the prospect of seeing the Duke again, though she could not differentiate between excitement and nerves.
“Surely, the Duke of Devishire is not here to visit me,” Theresa said as she read that day’s newspaper.
Aaron walked into the room, came to her side, and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“Do your friends have no qualms about showing up so early?” Theresa asked with a laugh.
“Beasts are not known for their good manners.” Aaron smiled at her. “Let us not keep Leo waiting. It must be important.”
Theresa took Margaret by the hand and led her to the sitting room, where she knew the Duke would be waiting for her.
Leo, she thought, testing out the more familiar way Aaron and Theresa referred to him. She could not reconcile this cold, calculating man with the warmth that filled Blackwell Manor. How could her friends be so close to a man who promised to be the Devil himself?
“Leo,” Aaron greeted as they entered the room. “What are you doing here so early? You know I prefer to sleep in, and yet you had the maids dragging me out of my chambers before I had breakfast.”
“I came to see your beautiful wife,” Leo said, taking Theresa’s hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Perhaps we can still corrupt her.”
Theresa laughed lightly. “You are out of line, Duke. You know that I have eyes only for my husband.”
“If you have eyes for one of these so-called Beasts, perhaps there is hope for me yet.”
Leo’s eyes drifted from Aaron to Theresa and landed on Margaret, who was hovering on the fringes of the conversation.
Would she be able to pretend that she had no idea who he was? Would her friends see through her act?
A bead of sweat ran down her spine.
