Let's see . . . Dear Monumental Duke, tonight I didn't speak with you because-
"Oh, there's Lady Gloucester." The countess peered across the length of her narrow nose.
"I must hear the tale of Lady Augusta's marriage. A mere officer. Poor as a church mouse. Can you imagine? I always knew she'd marry beneath her."
Her mother sailed away in search of gossip.
A group of young, beribboned debutantes stared at Thea, giggling and whispering behind their ivory fans. She could just imagine their whispers.
Do you see her? That's Disastrous Dorothea. Back from exile.
Really? Let me have a look at her. Why is she so disastrous?
You mean you haven't heard about the jilting?
Thea unclenched her hands and stared up at a copy of Titian's Perseus and Andromeda in its gilt frame, awash with stormy gray and flowing scarlet.
If only a fierce demigod would swoop down to rescue Thea from the sea monster of polite society.
Polite? Hardly. Only a thin veneer of civility masked the snide whispers and scrutinizing glances.
Ten years in Ireland wouldn't have been sufficient to make them forget.
She caught sight of the duke disappearing through the glass doors leading to the balcony with Mrs. Renwick on his arm, no doubt headed for an intimate tête-à-tête.
Now was her chance to approach him with as few observers as possible.
What's the worst that could happen? He could laugh in her face. Someone could witness her latest humiliation.
They've laughed before. Called you names.
Thea's white slippers tapped across the rose-and-gray patterned marble before she had time to change her mind.
Conversation ebbed and flowed around her.
She kept her head lowered, concentrating on swirling white satin.
When it was absolutely unavoidable, when she could see the heels of the duke's black dress shoes, Thea lifted her eyes.
His back was turned to her. He leaned down to whisper in Mrs. Renwick's perfectly shell-shaped ear.
Dear heavens. From across the ballroom he'd appeared slightly more . . . manageable.
He was much, much larger up close.
Monumental.
Thoroughly untoppleable.
This was never going to work. But it was too late to turn back now.
His shoulders stretched far above her head, as wide and tall as an executioner's scaffold.
"Ahem." She cleared her throat in a thoroughly unladylike manner.
He paid her no notice.
She reached up, and then up some more, and tapped his shoulder.
She could have been a fly buzzing around a bull for all the attention she generated.
Mrs. Renwick giggled and swatted the lapel of his black tailcoat with her red silk fan. "You're incorrigible," Thea heard her say.
Thea cleared her throat more loudly this time.
"Your Grace." To Thea's mortification the words emerged as a high-pitched squeak.
He turned.
Good heavens, his eyes were blue. And not a faded blue gray like hers. A ruthless, take-no-prisoners midnight blue.
His forceful gaze held her transfixed. Pinioned to the balcony floor.
Waves of nausea sloshed through her belly.
Had his jaw always been so prominently carved? And that cleft directly in the center of his chin. Had it always been so pronounced?
Dark eyebrows arched.
Thea's palms dampened and her heart raced.
"Ah, there you are, Scheherazade," the duke said with the hint of a smile. "I was wondering when you would make good on your threat."
Not one sliver of a giggle, Thea heard her mother say.
She surreptitiously wiped her palms on her skirts. "Here I am, Your Grace," she said brightly. "And there you are. I'm here . . . and you're . . . well, you're . . . there . . ."
She was dithering. Of course she was dithering. She hadn't once spoken to a gentleman without turning into a complete and utter ninny.
Mrs. Renwick's violet eyes narrowed. "What sort of threat?"
"Lady Dorothea wishes to rummage about in one of my attics." He didn't sound pleased about it.
Mrs. Renwick closed her fan with a disapproving snap. "Whatever for?"
"To uncover lost paintings," the duke replied.
Thea swallowed.
Right, then. She could do this.
"I never meant to pry into your affairs, Your Grace," she said in a rush, attempting to explain before her nerves got the better of her. "But when I discovered the Sleeping Venus in your attic, of all places, I couldn't remain silent. The layers of lapis lazuli Artemisia used to create that particular shade of turquoise must have been very expensive. It was most probably created for a royal patron and is truly a rare example of-"
"Goddesses." A slow, lazy grin quirked up one side of the duke's sensuously molded upper lip. "I'm an admirer of goddesses."
Mrs. Renwick pouted. The duke wasn't paying enough attention to her celestial attributes. She swatted him again with her fan. "La, you do say the most outrageous things, Osborne."
The emphasis she placed on the familiar use of the duke's title was clearly meant to serve as a warning to Thea about poaching on other women's territory.
She needn't worry. Thea was no threat.
The duke held out his gloved hand. "Why don't you tell me all about this Venus while we waltz, Lady Dorothea."
What? She hadn't said anything about waltzing.
Mrs. Renwick's gaze turned positively poisonous.
And Thea's hand did a very strange thing. It nestled into the duke's palm.
Because those midnight eyes mesmerized her.
Because that seductive smile was a formidable weapon and she'd been asked to defend Rome against the Visigoths with only a toy sword.
Because the feeling of his large hand cradling hers was more powerful than nerves.
And then, quite suddenly, they were on the dance floor.
He captured her waist, fingers splaying wide, his other hand still engulfing hers.
One swift nod to the orchestra and the first strains of a waltz march spiraled into existence. He swung her in circles until they careened into the center of the floor and the other couples faded into blurs at the edges of her vision like flickering stars in a Michelangelo sky.
It was like waltzing with a windstorm.
The violins sawed faster, forced to skip directly to the Pirouette and then rush straight into the energetic Sauteuse in an attempt to match the duke's punishing tempo.
Orchestras did his bidding.
The entire world danced to his direction. How supremely annoying.
"You're not easily dissuaded, are you, Lady Dorothea?"
"I can't . . . speak . . . if you spin me so fast," she huffed. Which was true, but Thea also needed time to marshal her thoughts to order.
She hadn't expected to make her petition while held in his strong arms.
He slowed his pace, and the violinists breathed sighs of relief.
Thea filled her lungs with air. She wasn't drowned yet. "About those paintings, Your Grace-"
"Yes, tell me more. This Venus . . . is she"-eyelids lowered over dark eyes-"nude?"
Thea blinked. "Uh . . . she has a diaphanous drapery."
"Diaphanous." His hooded gaze flicked down her body, lingering on her bodice. "I like diaphanous."
His hand tightened around hers, pushing her shoulders back until her bosom was almost touching his chest. That almost contact sent awareness tingling through her body.
His wolfish smile told her he knew exactly what effect he had on her.
He danced so well, with such authority. She didn't have to worry about doing anything disastrous. He'd never let her trip over her skirts.
She shivered, feeling out of her depth.
Obviously he wanted her to know he was in control.
And everything inside her wanted to surrender.
Suddenly she wished desperately for the distance of a letter. She wished she had hours to compose the perfect clever response to his scandalous innuendoes.
And she wished most of all that he wouldn't look at her like that. As if she was the only girl in the room.
She mustn't let him distract her. "Will you be serious for one moment, Your Grace? I believe there may be a lost painting in your attic of great importance."
"Oh, come now, you don't care about the art. Let's be honest, shall we?"
"I'm being completely honest. Why else would I have approached you?"
"Why indeed?" The sarcastic edge to the question drew her full attention.
What did he mean by that?
And then it dawned on her. Of course. How stupid. He thought this was yet another marriage maneuver.
Thea drew herself up with displeasure. "I assure you, Your Grace, trapping you into marriage is the very last thing on my mind."
Burnished hair glinted in candlelight. His head dipped closer and his nose brushed her cheek. For one mad moment she thought he was going to kiss her, until he changed course and his lips brushed her ear.
"Is that so," he said in a husky whisper.
"Absolutely." She nodded in a businesslike fashion. "I truly believe that if you visit Balfry House and see the paintings for yourself you will realize the significance of your collection."
A shadow stole across his face, leeching the light from his eyes and the curve from his lips. "I'll never see Balfry again, so you can banish that notion from your pretty head."
He thought she had a pretty head? Heat rushed to Thea's cheeks.
"And so you truly have a fixation with the ancient masters? I noticed you staring at that Titian earlier." The duke raised his eyes to the wall. "I never thought it was very good. The kraken's not frightening enough. Snout's too rodentlike."
Thea tried not to smile. "It's not his best work. But I was thinking about the coral Andromeda is standing on. Its significance."