How to Catch a Duke in Ten Days by Violet Hamers
Chapter Sixteen
Hermione wasn’t ready to attend the ball. She was hiding in the drawing room instead, looking out the glass windows and watching as the Duke greeted his guests on the doorstep beside his mother.
He had dressed well for the evening. His suit was deep black with his waistcoat a midnight blue inlaid with silver stars and crescent moons. It flattered him completely, the blue complimenting the color of his eyes and the breadth of his shoulders visible, despite the darkness that lingered from the night sky.
Hermione hovered by the window with a hand upon the glass, watching him. As he laughed with his guests, she looked at his smile, realizing how much she longed to be with him and joining in his laughter.
What she felt for him had far surpassed the flirtation or attraction it had begun as. She was devoted to him, completely. She had a feeling if he asked anything of her, she would give it, for how could she refuse him anything?
Is this… love? She told herself it couldn’t be. For how could she be plotting to entrap a man in marriage and damage his life if she loved him? The two things didn’t add up.
“Why are you hiding in here?” Phoebe’s voice disturbed her, urging her to whip her head round.
“I… erm…” Hermione struggled for words as she sat down on the window frame.
“Oh, Hermione, you look beautiful!” Phoebe gushed, rushing toward her from the doorway.
“Thank you, Phoebe,” Hermione revealed a small smile as she looked down at her dress. It was the gown that the Duke had purchased for her, the Pomona green one with the high waistline, embroidered with exquisite detailing. It was already her favorite gown, and she had been saving it for this occasion.
“There is something wrong, isn’t there?” Phoebe asked, taking Hermione’s hand. Hermione clung to her sister’s grasp, surprised how much she needed the support as she looked behind them out to where the Duke stood.
“Very wrong,” Hermione sighed. “Father wishes me to ruin his life, Phoebe,” she whispered miserably. “If I do this… someday soon he will find out of my damaged reputation, of what happened in London, then he’ll know why we were here. How will he ever forgive me for that? How could I face him after that?”
She could see Phoebe frown slightly at her. “You are worried for him,” Phoebe observed.
“I am,” Hermione admitted, not removing her gaze from the Duke.
“You care for him?” Phoebe’s voice was high-pitched in surprise.
“I do,” Hermione kept her other hand on the glass and moved her fingers against it as though she could reach out and touch the Duke through the windowpane. “More so than I can describe.”
Silence descended between them as Hermione watched the Duke, and Phoebe watched her. It was only broken once the Duke returned into the house apparently having greeted all of his guests.
“We should go, Hermione,” Phoebe whispered to her. “If father does not see us in the ball soon, he will be incensed.”
“Yes, you are right.” Hermione stood to her feet, breathing deeply with a hand on her chest as though her touch could calm her erratic heartbeat that was thumping hard beneath. Phoebe led her into the entrance hall where they came face to face with not just one Stenham brother but two.
Officer Stenham and the Duke were in conversation at the bottom of the stairs before the Officer turned his head toward them.
“There you are,” Officer Stenham smiled and walked away from his brother. “Lady Phoebe,” he said, offering his arm to her. “Allow me to escort you into the ball?”
“I’d be delighted.” Phoebe eagerly dropped Hermione’s arm to take up Officer Stenham’s. As the two walked away, Hermione stayed fixed to the spot with her hands fidgeting as she watched the Duke approach her. He was even more handsome before her now than he had appeared through the glass and darkness of the night.
“I am glad to see it suits you,” he said, pointing at the dress.
“It was a very kind gift, Your Grace,” Hermione said, looking down at the gown and flattening the skirt out. “I realize I have not said it yet but happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” he looked almost uncomfortable as he accepted her well wishes.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, stepping toward him with worry.
“There was,” he said softly, “but not anymore.” He silently offered his arm to her; when she hesitated from taking it his eyebrows rose. “I am offering to escort you to the ball, Lady Hermione. Would you turn me down?”
“How could I refuse a man on his birthday?” she said with a small smile, taking his arm and watching as his face spread into an even wider smile.
He turned and walked the two of them into the ballroom. Not far in, they had to come to a stop because of how busy it was with the people pressed together like glasses on a drinks table. Each guest was dressed even more ornately, with fine gowns, ridiculous cravats, and some feathers on the ladies’ heads.
“You and my mother did a wonderful job, I will say that,” the Duke commented, looking around the room. Hermione smiled, warmed by his praise. As he turned his gaze to her, she almost felt like the room wasn’t around them; that it was just the two of them in that space. Before anything could be said between them, though, another voice disturbed them, bringing her back to reality.
“Oh, Antony.” It was the Dowager Duchess. “Would you open the dancing please?”
“I–”
“I am sure Hermione would be happy to partner you,” Cordelia said from the Duchess’ side. Hermione winced at the unsubtle words, but the Duke merely pretended not to notice.
“Lady Hermione, would you dance the first with me?” he asked, gesturing to the floor.
“Of course,” she said, longing to be that close to him again. His hand slipped from her arm to take her hand too. With the touch, she felt her heartbeat quicken as he led her to the dancefloor.
Once they had taken up their positions in the center of the floor, others followed including Officer Stenham and Phoebe. Hermione barely looked at them; she was too busy staring at the Duke opposite her who appeared to be gazing at her with just as much intensity.
As the musicians began the first few notes of a waltz, Hermione and the Duke curtsied and bowed to each other before he walked toward her and took her in his arms. With one hand in his, the other resting on his shoulder, and his free hand on her waist, Hermione felt she could have been back alone with him in the library or down at the beach, away from any of the guests at the ball around them.
“You are staring a lot this evening, Lady Hermione,” he teased her, pulling a smile from her.
“Are you surprised?” she asked.
“Well, I could sound arrogant and say how could you not,” he mocked himself, “or I could sound humble and say I am pleased by it.”
“Are you? Pleased by it?” she asked, just as he steered them through other couples.
“Could you doubt that?” he asked. “After what you and I have shared?”
“Shh,” she urged him quietly. “What if someone were to hear us?”
“They are all more occupied with their own dances than ours,” he said, looking around them and nodding his head at the other dancers. He pulled on her waist just slightly, tugging her to dance even closer to him. It made the heat in the room pick up, so that she could feel sweat beading down the center of her back. “I am beginning to think I should not have asked you to dance so soon.”
“Why not?” she asked, watching as he smirked.
“Well, I cannot dance with you again now without starting gossip. What a shame, there is no other dance I’ll look forward to tonight.” His admittance made her smile grow even wider. “You’re blushing again.”
“How can I not when you say things like that?” she asked. “Besides… would it be so bad if we were to dance with each other again?” She was testing the waters now. Her mouth went dry as she uttered the words, knowing this was new territory for them. She was suggesting that maybe there could be an understanding or a betrothal between them.
“I am afraid it would be,” his smile vanished, and he looked away from her up to the dancefloor and the other dancers, as though he were preoccupied with navigating their way around it.
“Oh,” she felt pain in her gut at the rejection. “Why?” Her question came out as a kind of breathy whisper, urging him to look back to her.
“I have vowed never to marry, Lady Hermione.” He did not look happy about saying it.
She felt as though she had been kicked in the gut. In her surprise, she nearly tripped in the dance on the hem of her skirt. The Duke had to hold onto her tighter to keep her standing.
“Why?” she asked, stunned.
“That doesn’t matter now.” He turned her once more, still whispering to her. With his words, she thought he would have loosened his hold on her. Is this not a rejection? Is he not using this as a chance to escape me?
Yet those arms still held tightly to her. “Lady Hermione, this… flirtation between us is difficult for me,” he said with a sigh.
“That is all it is to you?” she asked, feeling the pain in her chest grow worse. “A flirtation?”
“It has to be,” he answered, keeping his voice low.
They fell into silence as they danced with Hermione staring at his chest, unable to lift her eyes to his face. She couldn’t explain what she was feeling. She knew she should be thrilled that because of his resolution he was safe from her and her father’s plots, but the pain was something else entirely. This is heartache.
As they spun around each other, she caught a glimpse at the side of the dancefloor of people watching on. Her father was amongst them, his stare unrelenting. The sight of his gaze and the urge of what she was supposed to do tonight to the Duke was gut-wrenching. I cannot do it now.
She had made up her mind. She wouldn’t do it. “Your Grace,” she said, looking up at him. “You should stay away from me.” He frowned at the words.
“Why?”
“Trust me. It is for the best. Stay away for me,” she said the words gently.
“That’s what I find so difficult,” he whispered to her, pulling her in closer as the dancefloor grew busier, hiding them from the guests’ view a little. “Though I know I should stay away from you, I can’t.”
His words made her grip on him tighten a little more. He seemed to respond with the same urgency, grasping onto her. The music drew to a soft close, forcing them to release each other, though they both did so tortuously slowly. Soon, they had just one hand connected as he bowed, and she curtsied. When the other guests applauded, and the Duke escorted her off the dancefloor, she was breathing heavily, not from the dance but from the proximity to him.
“If you would excuse me, Lady Hermione,” he said, lowering her hand and abruptly sounding much more formal than usual. “There is something I must do.”
“Now?” she asked, frowning.
“Well, somewhere else I have to be,” he said with apparent honesty. He bowed to her before turning and leaving through the crowd. She watched the path he made until he reached the door of the ballroom and left.
Is he coming back?
She doubted it. Before she could think any more on the subject a vice-like grip appeared on her arm. “Oh!” she yelped quietly.
“You must go after him.” It was her father. “Now is your chance. Go. Now.”
“No, I won’t do it.” She tried to snatch her arm out of Rufus’ grasp, but it was impossible without causing a scene.
“You have no choice in the matter, remember? Now… go.” He pushed her forward, toward the exit of the room.
She glanced back at him a few times to see his glare before she reached the door. Once she was there and slipped through, she held true to her promise. I will not entrap the Duke. I cannot do that to him.
She wouldn’t search for him or go hunting for where he might be in the house. Instead, she would retire to the place she loved best in the house. Somewhere that no one would think to look for her, and she could be alone, away from the heat of the Duke’s touch and away from the anger of her father’s glare.
She crossed through the corridors heading to the library. It seemed absurd to be going to read a book whilst there was a ball in the house, but it would be the perfect place to hide from everyone. She pushed through the door, seeing the light of a candle from inside bouncing off the shelves. Frowning at the sight of it, she wandered through the shelves until she reached the center of the room, finding she was not alone after all.
Her plan to hide had failed at its first step. He looked up from the chair where he sat with The Modern Prometheus on his lap though he didn’t seem to be reading it at all.
“I was not expecting you would be here, Your Grace.”
