Page 37 of The Duke and the Darkness

She pulled loose the tie at her neck and slipped off the velvet and silk-lined cape to hand it to a footman. Her gaze driftedaround the entry hall and took in the gilding that decorated the walls and the black and white marble checkerboard floor. She didn’t remember any of it.

The butler gestured her deeper into the house. “This way, if you please, miss.”

She followed him through the stair hall with its cantilevered stone steps, its walls painted a delicate robin’s egg blue to contrast with the elaborate white plaster work on the ceiling. Various rooms led off the central stair hall, but the butler led her to the front reception room and paused to rap his knuckles on the open door before stepping into the room.

“Your Grace,” he announced. “Miss Wentworth has arrived.”

Devlin stood at the drawing room fireplace, with his forearm resting across the marble mantel and a glass in his other hand as he stared down into the fire. He looked up as she entered, and for a moment, his gaze fixed on hers before slowly lowering over her with such deliberate scrutiny that she trembled.

Then he straightened, set down his drink, and came forward to greet her with a small incline of his head.

“Thank you, Jennings,” he said to the butler, yet his eyes never left Peyton. “Please wait ten minutes, then tell the duchess that our guest has arrived.”

“Yes, sir.” The butler nodded and retreated from the room.

Peyton cocked her head. “Miss Wentworth tonight, then, am I?”

“If you want to be.” He paused. “Or I can introduce you as Miss Chandler. The choice is yours.”

“And how exactly do you envision that conversation with your mother going? ‘Hello, Your Grace. Yes, it’s really me. Life is full of surprises, isn’t it?’ Although by then, she’ll have most likely fainted.”

An amused smile crooked at his lips. “It takes a lot more than that to frazzle my mother.”

Peyton arched a brow. “More than a dead woman appearing in her dining room?”

Wisely, he ignored that. “Tonight can be whatever you want it to be.” He crossed to the sideboard and the drinks tray and poured a glass of claret. He carried it back to her and extended it like a peace offering. “And you can be whomever you want to be.”

She nearly laughed. “Your mother will recognize me the moment she sets eyes on me!”

“No, she won’t.Ibarely recognized you.” He lowered his voice. “Even after I was close enough to kiss you. You’ve changed, Peyton. No one would recognize that shy, gangly girl in you now.” He took another long look at her, from head to slippers, and everywhere he looked, heat shivered across her skin. “You look lovely.”

She should have known better than to trust a flattering duke, yet she accepted the claret with a murmured thanks. Then she asked, “And what reason did you give your family for inviting me to dinner?”

“The truth. That you’re an old acquaintance who has recently arrived in London and doesn’t know anyone else here.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you scheming at?”

“What do you mean?” He retreated to fetch his glass of cognac from the fireplace mantel.

“This.” She gestured with her drink to indicate the house around them.

“There’s no scheme.” He gave the fire a jab with the iron poker for good measure before returning to her. “If you’re determined to remain in London to carry out your revenge, then you’ll need to ease your way back into society to make the contacts you’ll need.” His mouth grimaced. “There are better ways of doing that than half-undressing me at the opera and fleecing me of thirty thousand pounds.”

“Thirty-onethousand,” she corrected. “Don’t expect me to give it back.”

He said nothing as he took a slow drink of brandy, but his eyes gleamed.Good.Perhaps he’d realize they were still foes at heart. He might not have been involved with the attack, but he was still his father’s son. A countless number of family dinners could never make her forget that.

“Consider tonight a stepping stone,” he explained. “An evening of normal, polite conversation about the most mundane of topics.”

“A test, you mean,” she countered. “To see if your mother will recognize me or not.” She tilted her head slightly as she called him out on his plotting. “Because ifshedoes, then others in her social circle will, too, and I’ll be no good to move within proper society. Visiting Barton’s and the opera is one thing. But moving in respectable venues is something completely different. If anyone recognizes me, I won’t be able to uncover any information for you.”

“Yes, a test,” he agreed. But no guilt registered on his face at being caught. Instead, he turned somber, “Ofus, to let you know you’ll have the support of the Raines family no matter what you decide for your future—if you choose to reveal your true identity or return to France.”

“And when your mother learns that we’ve lied to her tonight?” she asked quietly against the rim of the crystal glass as she raised it to her lips to cover any stray emotions on her face.

“She’ll be too overjoyed that you’re alive to care.”

“Dear Lord, youaremad,” she muttered and shook her head. “Why are you doing this if not to tell your mother the truth about that night?”