rest of the waltz as she let herself bask in the duke's arm. She had never felt thus in anyone's arms, not even Jay's arms, her first love.
When it was over, the duke directed her to the tables where supper was being served.
Violet glanced at the food in her plate, wondering how she would manage to eat in the duke's presence and keep her composure.
She was glad when the other two couples approached the table and greeted them, placing their plates before them. Lady Sally Waycliffe, accompanied by William Cordeville and smelling of a heavy French perfume, smiled brightly.
Violet saw the duke as he assessed the occupants of the table with his sardonic smile and a certain look, a look that said that the guests were all deficient in some way, that they were the only kind of guests that would attend a function at Lord Kelly’s house.
She was certain of what he was thinking as he gazed around him. The entire guest list was a patchwork such as the occupants of this table. They hung on to the fringes of society, outcasts such as Violet’s family, as well as sons and daughters of gamblers and mushrooms.
Once the dinner was over, the duke led Violet to the dance floor. Her arm, lying lightly along his, felt such radiating little sparks that she almost snatched it away, so upset she was by the contact. She felt dizzy and warmer than the weather called for and wondered what in heaven's name was happening to her.
Up until now, Violet had kept at a safe distance from society men. Now this man was rushing headlong into the vital space around her that she had guarded so carefully.
How to convince the duke that she would never be his mistress, that death was a more welcome thought to her? Somehow, if he attempted to get too close, she would say it straight out. Perhaps that would deter him. Or would it? How well Violet knew that it would only be more of a challenge.
Violet felt light-headed as she danced in the arms of her enemy, for she now considered the Duke of Hawkinston as much an enemy as Alex Shackel had been. One could not make a distinction between the opposite characters of the two men, one dead and the other very much alive and gazing into her eyes with a conviction that frightened her.
What made him so certain she would give in?
"I shall come right out with what I wish, Miss Durbin," said the duke as they glided to the waltz. "I find that I have become quite smitten with you and desire your company."
Violet gasped. "My company? In what way, your grace?" She felt as if a hot iron had been placed across her chest, leaving her without breath.
Again , Violet said to herself. She had thought the duke would be more subtle when he approached her but apparently he did not consider her gentle enough for the niceties. And his decision to approach her with this was so quick, too. All in the course of one night.
"Forgive me if I am explicit, ma'am, but since I am not speaking to a virgin, I hope my frankness will be forgiven."
"I hear a duke is forgiven everything ," answered Violet, feeling the color steal up her neck.
"I hope it is not for that reason alone I am forgiven, but that my frankness is interpreted as sincerity."
"I hardly know you, your grace. Please forgive me if I am unable to distinguish frankness from sincerity."
"Of course," said the duke, "but we are drifting from the subject. Perhaps we can resume this chat in the terrace, where there is more privacy?"
"Whatever you desire to convey to me, your grace, will have to be done here, among a crowd of people— or not at all ."
Must she always be rejecting propositions such as this one? She had felt a soaring unfamiliar feeling when she first met the duke and had hoped that in spite of the assessing look he had seen in his eyes as he gazed at her, that she was mistaken and he would not be as the others.
How naïve she had been in her hopes. He was no different.
"I see," he said. "Very well, Miss Durbin, as I said before, I am quite attracted to you and