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So much for not meeting a gorgeous man tonight.
Kitty swallowed, feeling suddenly out of sorts, and managed a brief curtsy. “Your Grace.”
He lowered the match and removed the cheroot form his lips with a huff, his face obscured by the darkness once more. “Don’t fall back on decorum now, not when you were just starting to get interesting.”
She stared, unsure of what to make of the odd man. Despite her disquiet, a smile tugged the corners of her lips. Making up her mind, Kitty approached the bench. As the distance between them closed, she was able to see his face without the aid of further light and plopped down beside him before her nerves could get the better of her. “You are a very strange duke, if you are indeed the holder of such a title.” It wasn’t a stretch to assume that such an eccentric gentleman might tell a fib or two.
He raised a haughty eyebrow and tilted his head in her direction. The moonlight revealed auburn hair, though she couldn’t tell if it was of a brighter or darker variety. Either would suit him well, she decided. “Are you calling me a liar?” he said.
With anyone else, his tone might be considered icy. Yet, somehow, she could tell he was only teasing. “And what if I am?”
“I could tell you my name, I suppose, though I fear the consequences if I do. I predict you’ll either run for the hills or throw yourself upon me in the hopes of someone passing by and spotting us. I’m a prime piece of meat in the marriage mart, after all.”
A loud, full bodied laugh left her before she could stop it, and Kitty doubled over on the bench.
“You have a horrid laugh,” he said after she calmed down.
“And you have horrid manners,” she replied with a grin.
“I expected you to slap me for that.”
She shrugged. “I am fully aware that I cackle like a witch when amused. I really must know your identity, for I am too intrigued now.”
“Must I reveal it.?”
“I’ll just follow you to your carriage to see the crest if you don’t.” It wasn’t an idle threat, either. Kitty’s curiosity had gotten her into more than a few precarious situations, and she wasn’t about to stop now.
Her breath hitched when he leaned forward in a flash, his handsome face peering curiously at her from no more than a few inches away. “You call me strange, yet I think you are quite possibly the most bizarre debutante I’ve ever met.”
“How do you know I’m a debutante?” She tried to keep her tone flippant, though it was quite difficult to do so under his intense presence.
“You’ve been ogling me from the moment you caught a good view of my face. Most women of experience hide themselves better.”
“Kitty Highbridge,” she blurted out, her face on fire. “My name, that is.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Highbridge,” he replied with a slow smile and moved to back away from her.
Kitty wasn’t quite sure whether it was the way his voice purred over her name, the teasing glitter in his eyes, or her own heated curiosity that compelled her to grab his lapels and pull him back down to touch his lips to her own. All she knew was that she needed some excitement in her life, and if it wasn’t going to fall into her lap than she damn well would make it so. His lips were soft and warm as she clumsily pressed against him, and a shiver went down her spine at the contact. His tongue playfully darted against her mouth, causing her to push back with an embarrassed squeak as her nerves overcame the initial curiosity despite the warmth pulsing between her legs at his action. “I’m sorry,” she stammered out and scooted away before abruptly standing.
“Did I startle you, darling?” His voice was amused rather than offended, much to her relief.
“I startled myself, I think.” She looked down and picked at her skirts, embarrassed to have made such a ninny of herself in front of what was quite obviously a practiced rake.
“A little curiosity never hurt anyone.”
“I think that wound up being a bit more than just a little curiosity.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you really are an innocent.”
She opened and shut her mouth, torn between turning tail or asking him just what he meant by that statement. She only had a vague notion about such things, and when there was a gap in her knowledge about something intriguing, that dangerous curiosity of hers always took hold. She shifted back towards him with determination.
“Kitty! Are you out here, girl?” Her aunt’s distant voice disrupted what had been about to be a supremely foolish decision, and for once Kitty was thankful to be cowed back into line.
“Your chaperone is calling. You’d best go, little minx. I’d be the worst husband in England, I assure you.” Her mystery companion leaned back to light his cheroot again.
A brief image flitted into her brain of his large body looming over her in a darkened bedroom, doing whatever it was men and women did in such a situation. She’d never gotten that far in the books, always too embarrassed to dare a peak, but just the very image of his dark eyes smoldering over her body was enough to make her breathless.
She had to leave. Now.
“Good evening then, Your Grace…sir…whoever you are.” She turned and fled before he could reply, too worried that Lady Smythe would find them together or that she would give into the temptation to stay longer. The last she heard of him was a low chuckle before she emerged near the doors to her aunt’s waiting scowl. It was only when Lady Smythe looped their arms together as they strolled back into the ballroom that Kitty realized the gentleman had never shared his identity. Which was probably for the best, she mused as yet another pale faced dandy was presented to her. She wasn’t sure she trusted herself to be alone with him again without doing something delectably foolish.
“Oh, hello there, Miss Highbridge! I did not think we’d run into each other so soon after I arrived in London.”
Kitty turned at the cheerful voice, affection filling her chest at the surprise sight of Sophie’s older brother. His happy blue eyes were infectious, and she found her mood lightening considerably.
“Hello to you too.”
“Would you do me the honor of a dance?” He gestured cheerily to the floor as another quadrille sounded its opening notes.
“I would love nothing more, Mr. Berrington.”
