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Her uncle had been right. Thorndon was a fine figure of a man. Objectively speaking, the finest she’d ever beheld.
Tall as a door frame, with a face hewn from the same granite as the rugged Cornish coastline.
A face rendered seductive by contrasts: sharp cheekbones and curved, sensuous lips. Gleaming ebony hair brushed his collar. His eyes were a light, gold-tinged brown—the only warm thing about him.
He owned this ballroom. Literally. And he owned everyone in it by dint of his oversized presence and the cold, unsmiling arrogance scrawled across his face.
He didn’t even follow the dictates of fashion, preferring plain black attire to the white pantaloons and gaily-colored waistcoats of the other gentlemen.
Why should he follow the dictates of fashion? Everyone should follow him.
“When you’re introduced to Thorndon, pray speak as seldom as possible,” Grizzy whispered. “Attempt to appear biddable and do try to recall my decorum lessons. Remember, no one in London knows anything about you, thank the Lord.”
Mina had seen several polished, elegant young ladies staring at her, nudging one another and whispering. She was an outsider, a usurper, her proper place in the social hierarchy not yet established.
They needn’t worry. She had no designs on their prize duke. And she was about as unpolished as a debutante could be—as rough as an unsanded plank. If anyone touched her they might get splinters.
She longed to shed her country skin swiftly and emerge as the sophisticated social butterfly her mother had been. But she knew that it would take time, observation, and experimentation.
Her first flirtatious conversation, first kiss, first taste of brandy, first adventure... it was all ahead of her.
She couldn’t wait to taste it all.
“There are many lovely young ladies here but we have the advantage,” Grizzy continued, “because Sir Malcolm has already written to Thorndon about you. The duke will regard your secluded country upbringing favorably as he’s seeking a bride able to thrive in the wilds of Cornwall.”
He wanted a biddable lady that he could control—a secretary he didn’t have to pay. An investment expected to produce a return in nine months’ time.
“Are you listening to me, Wilhelmina?” asked Grizzy. “You only have one chance to make a favorable first impression. Pray do not squander this precious opportunity.”
“I’m planning to be absolutely memorable.” Memorable for her utter lack of desirability.
Grizzy sniffed. “Nottoomemorable. Practice restraint, delicacy—your speech must be measured, your laughter modulated. Not one flash of temper.”
“I’ll do my best,” Mina said sweetly. She’d do her best to be everything the duke disdained.
Thorndon was everything she was escaping—duty, restrictions, and boundaries. He was the jailer her uncle wished her to wed—could legally force her to wed.
A huge, unyielding obstruction of a duke, standing between her and her true target.
She was merely biding her time until Lord Rafe arrived. She’d done her research. He never appeared anywhere before midnight, preferring to make a fashionably late entrance. Once he arrived, she could set her plan in motion.
She would evade Grizzy’s sharp gaze long enough to secure a private audience with Lord Rafe in the moonlit gardens. During which, Mina would propose an espionage partnership in such a compelling way that Lord Rafe would accept her offer immediately.
Her life of freedom and adventure began tonight.
But first she must repel the duke.
As soon as one dewy-eyed debutante left Drew’s arms, his mother introduced another one.
There seemed to be an endless supply of them. All encased in frothy layers of white or yellow or pale pink. All with impossibly slender waists and delicate arms emerging from enormous ruffled sleeves that reminded him of abandoned wasps’ nests.
Hair adorned with bows and feathers.
Eyes adorned with fear.
They touched him gingerly, as though he were made of eggshells and might crack in front of them. Which made him irritable. So he growled and glowered but it only made them smile with more determination, bat their eyelashes harder, and pile on the flattery.
He shouldn’t have agreed to attend the ball. He was exhausted from days of hard travel and frustrated by his conversation with Rafe—which had gone nowhere, damn him. His brother had stubbornly refused to admit anything and had escaped at the first opportunity, literally leaping from the carriage and racing away.
