Page 27 of How to Seduce a Duke this Autumn
“If you’re going to try to walk the path of establishing a relationship again, be patient.”
He snorted.
“I am patient, thank you very much.”
“Doesn’t look like it from where I am standing.”
Well, being patient and feeling patient were two different things. But Adam didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Because in that moment, as he watched Charlene, he knew the truth. Patience was a trait for the calm. He didn’t have any calm at the moment. Not in his head. Not in his heart. Nor did he know if he could drag some forth from somewhere much deeper within. And that might just be the very thing that would break him.
Chapter Seven
The M-Press, April 17, 1819
Dearest readers,
It would seem that last evening’s masquerade ball, already destined to be the jewel of the season, delivered enough intrigue to occupy even the most jaded tongues across Mayfair. Amidst the sea of silks, satins, and anonymity, one could hardly miss the fairer of a certain pair of ducal twins, whose commanding presence still managed to shine through the disguise of his black Venetian mask. What drew this humble observer’s keen eye, however, was not the duke himself or his fetching Spanish elegance, but the daring creature who positioned herself at his side with rather striking boldness of conversation rather than elegance in quadrille.
This mysterious lady, her identity concealed yet her intentions powerfully laid bare, danced perilously close to a certain duke. One cannot help but wonder how this audacious woman has succeeded in standing between two brothers who, by all accounts, are not known for sharing anything so willingly—even their affections.
And yet, where there might be embers, fire surely had burned. How, pray tell, does one court such mysterious entanglements and yet maintain the appearance ofinnocence? A trick of the masquerade, no doubt—but masks eventually fall, my dear readers, and this one will be no exception. Rest assured, my quill is poised, and I mean to uncover if this lady’s charm is strategic brilliance or merely a reckless wager soon to come undone.
Until the truth emerges, I advise the lady in question to tread carefully.
After all, secrets are never safe from the M-Press.
Charlene had barely been able to sleep last night. Soon, Ashley and Maddie would arrive for tea in the greenhouse and let her know if the society papers or gossip had anything of importance to say. But for now, Charlene couldn’t help but think of him.
She had danced with Adam and was almost giddy with excitement—that is, if she allowed herself such silliness.
Which she didn’t, of course.
Thus, after contemplating the matter instead of sleeping, Charlene grew restless. And as soon as the house finally awoke with servants bustling downstairs, she left her chambers. The soft murmur of household activity greeted her as she descended the sweeping staircase, her hand trailing lightly along the polished banister. The familiar scent of baked bread and lemon polish wafted from the dining room below, yet it did little to ground her thoughts. Her mind still lingered stubbornly on the events of the masquerade, where mystery had danced far too closely with temptation for her comfort. And what bothered her most was that she’d recognized the feeling at all.
No Cross brother should have such an effect on me.
She had barely slept, her dreams tangled with indistinct figures in masks and whispered words that faded before she could grasp them. Yet one sensation lingered, vivid andunshakable, like a shadow cast by firelight. It was the way he had felt—so unwavering, so utterly inescapable.
Adam Cross.
His presence clung to her thoughts, a quiet, insistent pull that made her chest ache with something she dared not name. She wished she could dismiss it, yet even now, in the fragile light of morning, the memory of his touch and the way his gaze held hers refused to fade.
At the bottom of the stairs, the butler, Mr. Aldridge, waited with his customary calm, a silver tray balanced in one hand. His expression was as neutral as ever, though Charlene noted the tiniest arch of his brow. He held out the tray as she approached, a single folded letter resting upon it.
“Good morning, Lady Charlene,” he greeted, his deep voice as steady as a hearth’s hum. “This arrived only moments ago. The courier left no name.”
Charlene paused, her fingers hovering just above the paper of the folded note. “No name?” she echoed, glancing once at the butler’s composed face, as though he might betray some hidden knowledge. “Did he say nothing of its origin?”
“Only that it was urgent and meant for you alone.” Mr. Aldridge’s tone betrayed neither interest nor concern, though Charlene imagined it might take much to surprise him after years of service.
“Hm.” She picked up the note, her fingertips brushing the embossed edges of expensive paper. Without another word, she turned toward the drawing room, already feeling the curious weight of it in her hand.
“Shall I bring breakfast to you, Lady Charlene?” the butler inquired before she could retreat.
“No, thank you. I’ll come to the dining room shortly,” Charlene replied without looking back. Food was the last thing on her mind.
Once seated near the window in the privacy of her orangery, with sunlight splashing through the windows, she unfolded the note with equal parts hesitation and anticipation. Her breath caught as her gaze fell upon the scrawl, each stroke of ink as deliberate and bold as the figure behind the mask the night before.
For the Lady who hides nothing and everything all at once. Meet me…
