Her stepmother’s warnings sounded in her mind. What of her sisters if she could not secure a match this season? It would be the end of her, and the disgrace of her youngest sisters.
And scandal? It would make things worse. She should know better.
The Duke of Redmoor was not courting her, she told herself. He had a bit of a reputation, but most of it was because he was Scottish. So far, she had not seen him indulging any other woman’s attentions. Then again, those things happened behind closed doors.
She blushed at the thought. She tried to ignore the way her chest tightened at the thought of him with another woman.
Of course, he’d eventually choose someone to be his duchess one day.
The night was moonless, as if it knew the illicit nature of her little adventure.
When she reached the servant’s entrance of the Duke of Redmoor’s home, her heart was galloping in her chest.
Earlier, her maid said,“Be careful, miss.”
Now, she was alone. She had a cloak on to cover her face and hair, but she didn’t feel protected.
A footman met her at the servant’s entrance. He was silent and discreet. He didn’t even greet her by name. Instead, he quickly guided her through the dimly lit corridors until they reached a parlor.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her manners overpowering her need to be anonymous.
How many women had traversed these corridors before her? The footman seemed used to it.
She stepped into the room with quiet hesitation. The furniture had been pushed back, clearing a wide space at the center, as if for some secret ritual. Candles lined the walls, their flames dancing shadows across the floor. A woodsy, spiced scent curled through the air—earthy and warm, like smoke tangled with pine and something darker.
This was his domain, unmistakably, and she had crossed its threshold willingly.
“Ye made it,” the Duke said softly.
Did he truly give her a choice? He looked as though he’d drifted to sleep and woken again just to meet her: his hair tousled, his clothing creased and careless. The top of his shirt hung open, revealing the ridge of a broad, powerful chest—honed and solid, like something meant to be leaned against.
There was an ease to him, a quiet confidence, as if he already knew how this night would end.
“I told you I would, Your Grace,” she said simply, removing her cloak and resting it on a chair by the wall.
“We should start with the dull part first. We might have too much fun with the dancing later. You can give me my lesson first,” he said.
“More etiquette?” she asked. “You sound properly enthused. I am guessing the first lesson went well.”
“Aye, it did. But there’s still more to learn,” he said, “and I love being corrected. Especially by ye.”
Elizabeth felt more prepared this time. She’d rehearsed her greetings, braced herself for barbed remarks, and armed herself with calm replies. She wasn’t just ready to endure him; she was ready to manage him. She would teach him how to disarm rather than provoke, to charm rather than challenge. If he tried to spark a quarrel, she’d simply shift the wind.
“If someone calls you a brute, what would you say?” she asked, planting her hands firmly on her hips.
“Thank ye for the compliment,” he snapped, his voice dry and defensive.
Elizabeth tilted her head, unbothered. “Mm. Or you could say you’ve heard worse from other men. It’s pointed, perhaps even amusing to some. It deflects without escalating.”
He let out a frustrated breath, his accent thickening with his irritation. “There’ll come a day when I can tell these bastards exactly what I think of them. One day, mark me words.”
She frowned. “You dislike most of the lords. Possibly all of them. You mock even the kindest of them. Think of Pomfrey.”
The Duke halted mid-step and frowned at her.
“So why try to wedge yourself into their world?” she continued gently. “Why push for their approval, their company? You don’t need their wealth or titles. You could marry well if you wished.”
He stood frozen, eyes shadowed by flickering candlelight. The play of flame carved hollows into his cheekbones, catching the edge of his jaw, casting darkness into the depth of his gaze.