Page 25 of In Scandal with the Duke
“Bette, you must keep attending the balls. You might meet someone entirely unexpected and find love and happiness,” she urged gently, her voice soft but insistent.
Elizabeth sat up, facing her mother. “Mother, I am decided,” she replied firmly.
The resolve in her voice left little room for argument, but her mother was not so easily dissuaded. She frowned. “It is not like you to give up! I have always known you to own a spirited and determined nature; why must you now be stubborn in this?” her mother said, her tone a mix of bewilderment and exasperation.
“I’m not giving up, Mama,” Elizabeth countered, her voice rising slightly with emotion. “I’m choosing not to continue something that brings me no joy. These balls, the endless scrutiny, the whispering behind fans, the conversations that feel more like interrogations than genuine interactions—it’s all sotiring.”
Her mother sighed, taking a moment to choose her words carefully. “I understand it’s tiring, darling, but don’t you think you might be closing yourself off too soon? Not everyone will now be interested because of your wealth.”
“Truly?” she drawled caustically. “They were absent before; could there be any other reason now to flatter me with their regard? I am not interested in that kind of attachment. It’s transactional and superficial. I want more than that.”
“Love is not something that happens at our convenience, and sometimes, it’s found in the most unexpected places, even in a marriage that did not start that way. I fell in love with your fatherafterI married him. I want you to keep that in mind. Your father would hate to see you so disheartened.”
“I know,” Elizabeth whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Her mother sighed. “I can see the stubbornness that has been defining you more and more of late in your eyes.” Finally, she nodded slowly, a reluctant acceptance crossing her features. “Then, my dear, you must do what you feel is right. But promise me this—if, at any moment in time, you felt a spark of connection when you danced with the duke or the earl, let me assure you, it is worth finding out what it might lead to. For the chance at the happiness you deserve, enjoy the rest of the season.”
Elizabeth felt a tear slip down her cheek, quickly brushed away by her mother’s thumb. “I promise, Mother,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her.
Her mother kissed her cheek and departed her room. Elizabeth lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
A spark of connection. She had felt it for the first time in her life with the Duke of Basil. Only her brother was so certain the duke would never marry. The longing for something wild and exciting in her life had always seemed so elusive. Somehow, sitting in the dimly lit gardens, sharing whisky and conversation, had been an incredible experience. There had been something deeply comforting about his presence, a feeling that was inexplicable considering she hardly knew him.
Given the duke’s reputation, he did not fit into the expectations she had.
Yet he makes my heart ache for … something. The ambiguity of his interest and her own conflicting feelings left her uneasy.
I must never be so foolish as to ever be alone with the Duke of Basil again. Elizabeth felt a surge of guilt, for she knew her logical reasoning was not enough to keep her away from the duke.
Or, since I know life in England is not for me, perhaps I should chase the spark before I return home.
CHAPTER8
It had been three nights since James last saw Elizabeth, and tonight proved once again that the mastery he once had over his thoughts was obliterated. James found himself in a rare state of introspection as he lay in the darkness of his bedchamber, unable to sleep, for Elizabeth Armstrong kept him awake and restless. This feeling of uncertainty, of not knowing what to think or feel, was entirely foreign to him—a man who had navigated life with confidence and ruthless control. Yet, Elizabeth had pierced through his control with startling ease and with a single, chaste brush of her mouth against his.
“It was not even a bloody kiss,” he snapped.
There was no justification to still feel the soft press of her mouth against his skin, or the feel of her body against his … and the clasp of her fingers that could not encircle his cock. Or hear her teasing tone and light laughter in his sleep.
She was refreshingly unpretentious, a trait that shone brightly in their conversations, setting her apart from the many who had paraded through his life. This was undeniably her most appealing quality. It was a novel experience for him. In his thirty years, flattery had always been a constant undertone in the interactions he had, a predictable melody played out by those who sought his favor or feared his displeasure. But Elizabeth spoke with a directness and sincerity that cut through all pretenses.
Pushing himself off the bed, James glanced toward the mantle where the clock showed it was nearing midnight. He had planned an early night in preparation for an important morning meeting with his solicitors and business partners, one of whom was Brandon Armstrong. With a deep sigh, he rang for his valet. When the valet entered his bedroom, he swiftly assisted James in dressing in dark evening trousers and a jacket, complemented by a silver waistcoat that conceitedly enhanced the grey in his eyes. The outfit was impeccably tailored, fitting his form with precision and a touch of vanity that James didn’t mind admitting to himself.
Once dressed, he called for his carriage and soon stepped into the cool night air, directing his coachman to head toward Aphrodite. As the carriage rolled through the streets, James kept his thoughts calm, for he had learned a calm mind did not make mistakes.
Arriving at the pleasure palace, he was greeted by the sounds of revelry and laughter that filled the halls. Madam Rebecca was hosting her own decadent ball that night, and the air was thick with music and the scent of perfume. Ignoring the gaiety around him, James cut through the crowd, his eyes scanning for a familiar face. He spotted Radbourne on the upper floors, deeply engaged with a lady. With a subtle gesture, he indicated he wished to speak to him. Patiently, James waited as Radbourne excused himself from his companion and made his way over.
“I did not expect you tonight,” Radbourne greeted, his expression curious.
James accepted a glass of whisky from a passing server, her gown provocatively clinging to her curves, and took a healthy swallow. “Is Armstrong here?” he asked, getting straight to the point.
“Yes.”
“I need a favor,” James continued, his voice low.
Radbourne’s eyebrows shot up. “You need a favor?”
It was well known among his circle that James preferred to handle things on his own, his independence a shield forged from past betrayals and hardships.
