the scent of the Duke. He placed both his hands on her face and moved his tongue into her mouth. She allowed him, and then moved her tongue around with his, their tongues dancing. Her hands were on his shoulders, and then she pulled away, breathing heavily.
“I can’t,” she said. “We are not married. We are not even engaged.”
The Duke smiled. “The world is still so simple for you, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know—”
“I want you to stay at the Castle for a week or so, after the other guests have gone. I will write to your mother and father. It will be impossible for them to refuse.”
“Whatever for?” Elizabeth said.
“So I can court you, of course, my lady.”
Elizabeth felt herself blush a fierce red. A Duke had just told her he wanted to court her. She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. She only looked at him, straight in the eyes, to see if she could discover his intent. Why would a Duke want to court a poor girl from a minor family? Why would a Duke bother with her at all? Because you’re nothing like those backstabbing, two-faced, sadistic harlots in there, perhaps!
The Duke once again offered his arm. And Elizabeth once again accepted. The Duke leaned in and kissed Elizabeth on the neck. Her skin pricked with warmth and a tingly pleasure permeated her body.
When they returned to the party, the Duke left immediately to write the letter to Mother and Father, which he would send by messenger this very day. Elizabeth could imagine her father’s fury at reading the letter, but the Duke was correct. He could not openly refuse without causing a scandal, and Father had had too many candles as it was.
No, as far as Father was concerned, she was safe. But was she safe from the Duke? What, exactly, did he want from her? Thoughts whirred through her head, impure, un-ladylike thoughts, and feelings warred in her chest, lustful and frightening feelings.
That night, as she laid her head down upon the guest bed, she dreamt of the Duke.
*****
Elizabeth woke the next morning to a knock at her door. She put on the robe the Duke’s servants had laid out in the room and went to the door. Opening it, she saw a young girl with a freckled face. “The Duke wants to know if you want to breakfast with him, misses.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Elizabeth said, sounding much calmer than she felt. “I will be there shortly.”
She quickly dressed in a day dress and fixed her hair so it fell loosely to her shoulders. She looked at herself in the mirror for a moment. Her skin was so white it was almost ghostly. Her eyes were dark blue, almost black. She was thin, with a thin waist and neck. Her cheekbones were set high in her face, and there was something behind her eyes: a hint of mischief, of dormant playfulness.
When she entered the breakfast room, the Duke stood from his chair and waved Elizabeth in. The table was laden with pastries and cakes. The Duke pulled out Elizabeth’s chair for her, and then seated himself opposite her. He smiled. “Did you sleep well, my lady?” he said.
“Very well, thank you,” Elizabeth lied. In truth, she had woken twice during the night, each time hot and flustered after a dream about the Duke, each time wanting to touch herself in a most inappropriate way. She had wanted to reach down, and just once, just touch— No, that is wrong, Elizabeth. Wrong!
“Good,” the Duke said, in his calm, emotionless voice. “We will walk the grounds after we have breakfasted.”
Elizabeth nodded and they ate in silence. Afterwards, the Duke gave Elizabeth his arm and together they walked around the Castle, under ornate arches and through wide open courtyards, and then toward the wood with their thick, healthy green leaves. “I am not built for the ball life,” the Duke said, after a long silence. “I was glad to find you at the party yesterday, because it seemed you were not built for the ball life, either. There is so much pretending that goes along with