If the Duke Demands Read online

  “She’s not a sprite, Robert,” Sebastian bit out, unleashing the anger that Miranda was too kind to show toward his brother. “She’s a grown woman. And you didn’t make her furious. You hurt her, both her pride and her heart.”

  At least Robert had the decency to look ashamed. “I lost track of time. I didn’t—”

  “What the hell were you thinking, to sneak off with another woman when you were supposed to be attending to Miranda this evening?”

  Robert stared at him, stunned into silence. Sebastian’s anger was out of character for him, but his younger brother also knew not to argue back, having lost too many fights to him while they were growing up. And tonight, Sebastian knew, Robert wouldn’t stand a chance. Something about this damnable evening had him on edge, wound tight as a coiled spring, and just one wrong word from Robert, just one more unkindness to Miranda—

  “If you ever embarrass her like that again,” he threatened, “you’ll answer to me. Understand?”

  Robert nodded slowly, bewilderment on his face at Sebastian’s behavior. “My apologies,” he said soberly. “Won’t happen again.”

  He unclenched his fists. “Make certain you claim her second waltz.”

  Robert’s brows drew together, puzzled. “But it’s already taken.”

  “Then take it away from the man!” he growled, spinning on his heel to storm back inside. Good Lord, he needed a drink, and none of that watery Madeira, either. He’d take an ax and chop into St James’s private liquor cabinet himself if he had to—

  “It’s you, Seb,” Robert called out after him. “She told me when I asked her for a dance. You’re the man who offered for her second waltz.”

  He halted in mid-stride. For a single heartbeat, he hesitated, torn between the irrational desire for a second waltz with Miranda and the prudence of knowing better. Damnation, how much he wanted another dance with her. Another chance to hold her in his arms and laugh with her, another few minutes of precious reprieve from the stiff propriety of being a duke when he could simply be himself.

  But Miranda wanted Robert. And he’d promised to help her.

  “Take it,” he snapped out and stormed away.

  * * *

  Miranda moved across the dance floor with Robert for her second—and last—waltz of the evening.

  Knowing Sebastian had already claimed the dance from her, she’d expected him to come for her again, and truly, she’d been looking forward to another dance with him. She’d enjoyed the first waltz, far more than she’d thought possible. And the flirting lesson. That it was Sebastian of all men who had encouraged her to flirt with him—oh, she nearly laughed in astonishment at that! Since the season began, Sebastian had proven to be one surprise after another.

  Instead, it was Robert who came for her while Sebastian claimed the waltz with Lady Jane that he had been denied earlier. For a heartbeat, she felt an unfathomable pang of disappointment that Robert wasn’t Sebastian.

  “I’m sorry, Miranda,” Robert apologized with a squeeze of her fingers in his as he twirled her around the floor. “Your first waltz should have been with me, and I regret missing it with you.”

  Her belly tightened. Robert was apologizing, truly apologizing, and she should have been ecstatic that he’d cared enough about her feelings to regret the slight. Instead, though, all she felt was vaguely peeved at herself that she’d made such a small impression on him tonight that he’d so easily forget about her. Was Sebastian right—was it time that she considered giving up her hopes for Robert?

  “There’s nothing to apologize for,” she whispered, because he expected it, and turned her face away to gaze out across the room.

  Dancing with Robert was nothing like she’d imagined. Oh, it was a lovely waltz, and Robert was skilled in his steps, guiding her competently around the floor. But he simply wasn’t as naturally graceful as Sebastian had been, as if they had moved together as one rather than the two separate dancers she and Robert were. There was also none of the casual teasing she’d experienced with Sebastian, nothing to put her at ease.

  And certainly none of the flirting.

  She didn’t even attempt it with Robert. Because for all the tutoring that Sebastian gave her about how to catch a man’s attention, he’d left unspoken what she knew to be the most important part—that a woman could only successfully flirt with a man who welcomed her flirtations. And during the past few weeks Robert had proven himself most unwelcoming to seeing her as a woman with whom he might flirt.

  Miranda’s heart sank. Even as she followed his lead, she blinked back the sting of the unshed tears and kept her smile firmly in place—the same one Sebastian had assured her was so pretty. Her heart was breaking, but she wouldn’t let anyone see, including Robert. And especially not Sebastian.

  Even now as Robert danced with her, his eyes strayed across the room to Diana Morgan, who kept looking back at him without trying to seem as if she were. Which was laughable, because on the other side of the dance floor Lady Jane kept looking at Sebastian, who kept watching Miranda and Robert instead of Lady Jane.

  And Miranda simply didn’t know where to look.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Two Frustrating Days Later

  Sebastian frowned, unable to concentrate on the opera. Even the opening night performance of The Magic Flute couldn’t hold his attention.

  Tonight, his distraction was decidedly female. He’d been fortunate enough to secure a private box for the season, located right at the heart of the opera house and only two down from the Earl of Bentham’s box on the right, where Lady Jane sat in the front row. While to his immediate left sat Miranda Hodgkins.

  Both women wore the low-cut, tight-bodice gowns that were all the rage for evenings at the opera, but there all similarities ended. Lady Jane looked coolly regal in her sapphire-blue satin that accentuated the paleness of her skin and the dark chestnut of her hair, while Miranda in her emerald-green velvet and loosely pinned strawberry-blond tresses looked utterly soft and warm.

  He frowned. Tonight, she was simply lovely.

  Yet she was oblivious to the whispers and stares she drew from the crowd around them, who had come to the opera less for the Mozart and more for the gossip…all of them wondering who she was, what she was like, if she was as lovely in person as she looked from a distance. Certainly a good deal of the on-dit flowing through the house tonight concerned him as well, curious if he were more to her than the man who sponsored her introduction. Of course, the whole situation was made worse by the enraptured way she watched the singers on the stage, each emotionally expressive aria mirrored on her face, when no one who was part of the quality actually came to the opera to watch the opera. Just another distinction between her and the other ladies in attendance. And as far as he was concerned, one in her favor.

  Since she’d arrived in London, Miranda had blossomed. Sebastian couldn’t deny that. And thankfully, with much relief, she also hadn’t done anything to cause undue gossip, despite how her exuberance continued to draw attention, especially from the staid and dull matrons of the ton who wrongly saw her as competition for their own female relatives. But he could have easily laid to rest any assumptions that he wanted her for himself. Oh, she was lovely in her new city finery, and surprisingly clever and witty. Yet beneath the fancy gowns and intelligence still lurked the country gel who had set fire to the mercantile.

  Which was why he’d put her right next to him, front and center in the box, so he could keep an eye on her, while simultaneously keeping an eye on Lady Jane.

  Behind them sat Josie and his mother, who was thrilled by all the marriage-focused activity surrounding the family this season. Although he wasn’t certain she believed his intent to wed by August, he couldn’t be more resolved to the matter. During the past few weeks, he had continued to narrow down his list of potential wives, and still Lady Jane seemed the most promising. And clearly receptive to the idea, based on what Miranda had told him she’d overhead at various soirees. He wasn’t officially courti
ng her yet, but he’d been focusing his attention on her, making certain to speak with her privately whenever they met. But he’d yet to formally call on her, holding back from officially declaring himself. After all, there was no hurry to make a decision, and he wanted to be certain that no one else would prove a better choice for his duchess.

  Less resolved to imminent marriage but openly courting Miss Morgan, Robert continued to insist to his brothers that he had no intention of offering for her anytime soon. His mother, though, certainly hoped differently.

  Then there was Miranda.

  Despite her protests that she wasn’t seeking suitors, she’d been pursued since her arrival in London by several young gentlemen who had met her at one of her various outings and become smitten, deeply enough that they’d begun to call on her at Audley House. A few brave ones had actually possessed the spine to speak with him at Park Place about courting her, until he chased them away. Good riddance. None of them were right for her. And Miranda certainly wouldn’t have given them any consideration anyway, if only because they weren’t Robert.

  His mother thought differently, however. It seemed that every time he turned around his mother was calling a man’s attention to Miranda. Mother had gone so far in encouraging her to be courted, in fact, that she’d asked Sebastian to give Miranda a dowry should any young man decide to offer and should Miranda surprise all of them by accepting.

  But Robert still had no idea that she loved him.

  And then, there was Charles Downing, who sat at Miranda’s left. The young man had met her at an art exhibition, and when Downing came to Park Place to ask permission to escort her to the opera, Sebastian had no good reason to refuse. A respected bank officer from a solidly middle-class family, Downing was conservative and staid, pleasant, and intelligent enough, with high moral values and a steady temperament—overall, perfectly harmless.

  Yet something about the man irritated Sebastian, especially after Miranda agreed to allow Downing to escort her for the evening. Certainly, she’d agreed in order to please his mother, who was now encouraging her to change her mind about her season and accept suitors. But Sebastian also wondered if her feelings for Robert were softening, because she’d been trying less hard to capture his brother’s attention since the ball.

  So he decided that a night at the opera would be a fine idea for Miranda and Downing…and that the entire family would go en masse with them.

  A burst of exuberant applause from beside him drew his attention back to her, just in time to see her wondrous expression at the Queen of the Night’s first aria. Miranda Hodgkins may have been trouble personified, but he was grateful that he was here to experience her first opera with her. Seeing it through her eyes…magical.

  She turned toward him with joy dancing on her face. His gut pinched at the sight. Dear God…she was beautiful. How had he never noticed before this season how truly alluring she was?

  “Are you enjoying the music?” He leaned casually toward her to be heard above the applause, and because he wanted to be close to her tonight.

  “It’s wonderful,” she answered with that beaming smile he’d come to know so well. That she liked Mozart as much as he did pleased him a great deal.

  “Sadly, though,” he teased as he lowered his mouth close to her ear, “no pirate scenes.”

  She slapped him gently on the shoulder with her fan. “Never underestimate the advantages of a good pirate scene,” she chided.

  He fought to keep from laughing, his lips twitching as he agreed with mock solemnity, “Certainly not.”

  “Hamlet would have been so much better with a pirate scene.” She gave a long-suffering sigh. “It would have saved the entire play.”

  Then he did laugh, unable to hold back any longer. Glancing sideways at him, she gave him a smile that tugged mischievously at the corners of her pink lips. Imp. Only Miranda could make him laugh in the middle of Mozart.

  But the laughter choked in his throat when he glanced past her and caught Charles Downing watching them both curiously. Then the man frowned at him.

  Sebastian felt damnably uncomfortable. Clearing his throat and shifting away from Miranda, he glanced away in the opposite direction—

  And directly at Lady Jane as she stared at him thoughtfully from her family’s private box. Stiffly, he nodded a greeting to her, and she returned his acknowledgment with a demure flit of her fan.

  Good Lord. Was no one but Miranda actually watching the opera tonight?

  Unaware that they were under the attention of at least two sets of eyes, Miranda leaned closer to him and whispered, “Are all operas as much fun as this one?”

  In the dim light, he drank in the way she looked with the soft shadows falling gently across her delicate face, the dark green velvet of her gown accentuating her softness and warmth, the single emerald pendant drawing attention to the graceful length of her throat. The low lamplight burnished red highlights in her hair that had been lifted into a soft pile on her crown with loose tendrils tickling at the sides of her face. But most of all, there was her enraptured expression as she hung on each note, entranced by the spectacle onstage.

  “No,” he answered quietly. Only because you’re here…“But this is one of the very best. My favorite, in fact.”

  She sighed. “Mine, too.”

  “It’s your only opera,” he corrected, unable to help the amused smile playing at his lips.

  “That’s what makes it my favorite,” she confided.

  He chuckled softly as he continued to watch her watch the opera, entertained as much by the show of emotions playing across her face as by the show onstage. Coming from any other woman, he would have taken the comment as some offhanded remark from an uneducated gel who didn’t possess the maturity to hold the attention of a man like him. Or a hollow attempt at blatant flattery. But from Miranda, the earnest comment was seductive in its simplicity.

  Shakespeare. Milton. Now Mozart. He was beginning to see all the many, complicated facets of her even if he couldn’t yet completely fathom the woman beneath. But he knew now that she wasn’t the flighty chit he’d always assumed her to be. Miranda wasn’t capricious or immature. She simply loved life and all the new experiences it offered, which the rest of them had grown too jaded to appreciate.

  And he, more than anyone, knew exactly how mature she was.

  When she leaned over to whisper to him, the side of her breast accidentally brushed his arm. He stiffened, feeling that innocent touch rush through him with the force of an electric jolt.

  “Why isn’t anyone else paying attention?” Her voice was little more than a breath, yet it made him tremble. She had no idea of the way she tied him into knots with only the soft tickle of her warm whispers in his ear. “Don’t they realize how wonderful the opera is?”

  “They don’t have the same refined tastes as stodgy, old dukes and orphanage manageresses,” he replied wryly with an exaggerated shake of his head. “No appreciation of the finer arts. Or of pirates.”

  She gave a throaty laugh at his teasing, one that fell through him like warm rain.

  His gut tightened with quick arousal. She hadn’t meant the laugh as a flirtation, but that was exactly how it had come out. And he liked it. Immensely.

  Recklessly, he sought more. He leaned toward her, close enough to catch the delicious scent of roses lingering on her skin, and whispered, “Some of the people here haven’t come to hear the music.”

  She puzzled. “Then why are they here?”

  “To be seen in their finery and to see others in theirs, to gossip and catch up on the latest rumors…” He watched her expression as he added, unable to help himself, “For secret trysts.”

  “Secret trysts?” she repeated, her breath hitching.

  He smiled at her innocence, a trait he’d so rarely found in the women who pursued him this season in their hopes to catch a duke. “Haven’t you wondered why so many of the private boxes now have their curtains drawn?”

  With a bewildered frown,
she glanced at the opera house around her. “No. Why would they…” Her words trailed off into a soft, comprehending gasp.

  Her eyes widened as if seeing for the first time the building that had surrounded them for the past two hours, realizing exactly what must have been going on at that very moment in the darkness behind those pulled curtains. Her pink lips formed a round O, although no sound came beyond a soft breath.

  A devilishly wicked urge to smile gripped him. As he watched her with amusement, he wondered if the dim shadows of their box hid from him a hot blush on her soft cheeks. And grateful that they did, because he found himself enjoying this inappropriate conversation far more than he should. If he had proof that she found it arousing as well, he might be tempted to give her yet another lesson on flirting. One far more erotic and scandalous than before.

  “But the king’s box is also…Oh.”

  He bit his inner cheek to keep from laughing.

  She didn’t dare look at him then, her eyes focused straight ahead. But the corners of her mouth curled into the start of a bewitching, wanton smile. Her eyes shining knowingly, she whispered, “Who knew opera could be so…inspiring?”

  Then he did laugh and drew scowls from the people seated around them. But he didn’t care. Talking with her like this was too liberating to stop. For a few moments here in the shadows, exchanging whispers with her, he could again be the mischievous rogue he’d once been, and he’d missed being that man. Greatly. Tonight with Miranda made him realize exactly how much.

  “I don’t understand these people,” she whispered, a touch of bewilderment lacing her voice. “I mean, they can be inspired anywhere, but they’re behind curtains, missing the most wonderful music.”

  He bit back the urge to tell her that many of the couples being inspired by each other tonight were not otherwise together except behind those closed curtains, because the curious woman would then want to know how he knew that. And Sebastian wasn’t prepared to share with her how many nights he’d spent behind those very same drawn curtains himself, missing the opera.