Page 12 of A Lady's Beastly Duke
Low, murmuring talk surrounded him as he walked out into the cold night air. There were already a few people standing outside on the big stone terrace that overlooked the street. Sidney made his way to the railing, drawing in gulps of cool air. The night was dark, punctuated here and there by light to help the guests to see. He leaned on the cold stone of the railing, feeling the cool, scratchy surface under his palm.
Noises from the rest of the town drifted to him as he shut his eyes—a coach somewhere, people whooping as they stumbled out of a public house. A dog, barking. He could hear music closer, and the low murmur of chatter. He opened his eyes. He wanted to cry, but even here there was not enough space to do so privately. He stared out over the city, blinking at the flickering candle lights and wishing that he could run away somewhere far, where he would never have to face London and its cruel populace again.
He stood silently, gazing out over the city and then he turned as he felt a slight breeze. Someone else had come over to the railings. He widened his eyes, staring in surprise.
It was the lady he had met at the art gallery.
Chapter 5
Anastasia gasped in surprise. She had not noticed there was a man standing at the railing until she was almost there, and then when she turned to look at him, she could barely believe who it was. It was the man she had met in the gallery; the one with the striking eyes and the unusual scarring. The Duke of Willowick.
“Sorry your grace,” she murmured, as his eyes widened in apparent alarm. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“Not at all.” He shook his head. She frowned. He seemed to be smiling, but perhaps that was just her imagination. His green eyes were hard to read in the half-light of the terrace, and they were mesmerizing enough to make them hard to read anyway. She felt a little like a rabbit, staring at an eagle. His gaze stunned her, held her in place.
“I didn’t see there was someone at the railing,” she explained, remembering how to speak.
“I was standing still,” he said, a tilt at the edges of his lips making her sure he was grinning. “It’s hard to spot me when I stand still. I’m rather good at it.”
She giggled. “It’s a good talent to have. Remaining motionless, I mean.” She smiled at him. “I am rather unskilled atit, I fear. Should I hear a melody, my foot begins to tap before I can suppress it, and then there is no hope of achieving stillness thereafter.”
He laughed. The sound was so bright, so unexpected in light of his somber expression, that she felt a shiver of joy.
“I am pleased to hear that you have an appreciation for music,” he remarked warmly. “It appears that but few individuals attend soirees with the intent to dance, or to truly savor the delight of dancing.” A touch of melancholy clouded his gaze.
Anastasia grinned. “I have come to just the same observation as you. I do believe that all present are gathered here to display their ostentation before one another.”
His smile lit his green eyes. In high contrast to his hair, they seemed like emeralds in his pale face. She felt her heart thump hard in her chest.
“I think that you have deciphered the key to London society. It is a display of vanity.”
She giggled. “I’m afraid so,” she agreed, her happiness wearing off a little at that thought. It was, sadly, absolutely true. Thetonwere forever parading in front of one another, trying to outdo each other in their performance of Perfect London Elite.
She looked up from her contemplation of the town to find his gaze on her. His green eyes held hers with an intensity that made her shiver. She did not feel afraid, though, as she did when Lord Ridley looked at her. She felt, instead, a tightness inher heart that had nothing to do with fear. It was closer to the anticipation she felt before an event she loved than it was to fearfulness.
“You are wise,” he murmured.
Anastasia’s cheeks flared and she giggled. “No. Truly no.” She laughed at the thought. “My friends all tease me for getting distracted even by butterflies or the candles in the candelabras. No. I am not wise.”
“It is wisdom to observe the small things,” the duke countered. “Or that is what I have always believed. To value the small, simple things in life is the road to contentment. That is what my father always said.”
Anastasia felt her blush deepen. Her body was heating up, a mix of embarrassment and delight making her want to twist her skirt in her fingers, a habit she had when she was just a little girl. His words made her soul sing, since she agreed with them absolutely.
“Your father seems like a wise man.”
“He was.” The duke swallowed hard.
“You must miss him a great deal,” Anastasia said gently.
He nodded, his eyes glistening with tears. “Every day,” he murmured. “I think of him often.”
Anastasia felt her heart twist. Though she was not close to her father, she could not begin to imagine what it might be liketo lose him, or her mother, to whom she was extremely close.
“I am sorry,” she said softly. “To lose someone so close to you...it must be terrible.”
The duke nodded. His eyes were damp, and he looked upwards so that the tears did not fall. “It is...confusing,” he said slowly. “It is almost too confusing to feel pain—at least for the first year.” He sniffed. “I almost wished I could have felt more.”
Anastasia nodded. “I think I understand,” she said slowly. “It is too huge, too unbelievable.”
