Duke of Secrets (Moonlight Square, Book 2) Read online

  Any twinge of jealousy was utterly absurd. She took a deep breath and shook her head to clear it, then looked around to orient herself.

  Since Rivenwood House was on the corner, the balcony overlooked the side garden, and, thankfully, there was no one in sight down there.

  Somehow she’d have to climb down. She dared not stay here and hope to outwait them. What if they came outside for a breath of cool night air when they were done? They would find her at once.

  Unsure how much time she had to escape, she peered over the edge of the balcony to judge her prospects of climbing down. To her surprise, it didn’t look too bad.

  She studied her possible route in the moonlight. First, she’d have to go over the balcony railing, then inch along that ledge there for a few feet, she thought.

  At that point, she could begin climbing down on the ivy-covered trellis she spotted affixed to the house. It looked sturdy enough to hold her weight. Of course, one wrong step, and it would be a long way down.

  She shrugged with dismay, seeing no other choice, then hitched up her skirts in the most unladylike fashion and slung her leg over the blasted rail, berating herself all the while for ever thinking this whole misadventure might be a good idea.

  Unfortunately, the trellis was not as strong as it looked.

  As Serena soon learned.

  The hard way.

  CHAPTER 3

  Intruder Unmasked

  At a sudden yelp from outside, Azrael flicked his eyes open.

  Damn it, I knew it! He clutched Bianca’s shoulders to stop her, pushing her back slightly.

  “No more,” he croaked, tearing off his mask. Oh, please tell me that isn’t who I think it is, and that she didn’t just see us doing this.

  “What is it?” Bianca panted, her wet lips glistening.

  “Didn’t you hear that?” he rasped, suddenly disgusted with himself for giving in, when he knew full well her narcissistic motives. Pressing his would-be mistress aside, Azrael stood, quickly buttoning his black trousers. “Somebody’s out there.”

  “What?”

  He didn’t answer, his heart pounding with sickening guilt to think that his virginal, one-time betrothed may have just witnessed him being fellated by this smug, overpriced whore.

  Furious at himself for letting his guard down and not listening to his instincts, Azrael strode out onto the balcony, frightened over what sort of trouble his fair intruder may have got herself into out there, if it was indeed she.

  Shaking off his lust as best he could—though the interruption had put quite a damper on his desire—he planted feverish hands on the cool wooden railing and anxiously searched the silvered night, glancing around below.

  To his relief, he saw her then—dangling some twenty-five feet above the ground, with one hand on the trellis and the other on the ledge.

  Like a little black kitty-cat stuck in a tree.

  He arched a brow in wry relief while she sent him a frantic glance. There was no mistaking her identity now—it was the one and only Staring Girl.

  The black domino in which he had spotted her earlier cascaded down her slim body, but at least she’d the sense to pull up her satin mask before attempting the climb. It rested atop her pretty head.

  “Good evening, Lady Serena,” he greeted her, his tone pleasant but sardonic, masking his rush of exhilaration to find his one coveted guest had come after all.

  Better still, he would now relish their first verbal exchange. Provided she didn’t die, of course. “Nice night for a climb?”

  “Oh, God, don’t just stand there, help me—please!”

  Bianca stepped out onto the balcony and gasped with embarrassment when she saw Serena. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “I wasn’t spying on you, I swear!” the girl wrenched out. “I only wanted to leave! Please—I’m going to fall!”

  Just for a heartbeat, Azrael smiled at her in satisfaction, the ravishing Miss Burns already forgotten.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off his errant intruder.

  “Goodness me, I thought you declined my invitation,” he taunted softly, leaving her there for a moment to contemplate the error of her ways.

  She was positioned safely enough for the moment, one foot braced.

  “I changed my mind, all right?” she cried, frantic. “I-I brought my invitation. It’s in my pocket—though it may have fallen out. Are you going to just stand there while I fall to my death?”

  “Ah, I see,” he said. “So you’d like to come back in?”

  # # #

  Horrid man! Serena glared at him, clinging by her fingernails to the ledge and the surprisingly rickety trellis.

  “That would be nice!” she retorted, cursing the handsome face peering over the rail at her in mild amusement.

  When the wooden trellis rung let out another treacherous crack under her right foot, though, she shrieked again. “Help me, for the love of God—I’m going to die!”

  At once, he whipped the untied cravat off his wide shoulders and peeled off his coat. “Now, now, I won’t have you splattering my garden with your blood. Hang on, dear thing. I’ll be there in a trice.”

  “Should I go and call for a servant?” the singer asked anxiously.

  “I don’t need a servant, but yes, do please see yourself out, Miss Burns,” said the duke.

  Lean and long-legged, he was already climbing over the railing, his pale hair shining in the moonlight.

  “Y-you want me to leave?” Miss Burns said, recovering from her astonishment after a beat.

  Azrael all but ignored her.

  His silvery stare was fixed on Serena, who, for her part, was only half listening to the lovers’ exchange. Hanging on to her grip was infinitely more important at the moment.

  But she did hear him say: “This young lady and I need to have a little talk.”

  “Oh. I’ll wait for your downstairs, then,” the diva said uncertainly.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Azrael didn’t look back, making his way with agile steps along the ledge toward Serena. He held her stare as he approached; she willed him to save her while a bead of sweat ran down the side of her face.

  “Your talents are prodigious, Miss Burns, but I fear we’d never suit.”

  “Oh really?” she exclaimed with an indignant scoff.

  “Goodnight, Miss Burns,” he said. “Do enjoy the party.”

  “Well! I never.” She flounced back inside, banging her fake wings on the doorframe.

  Impatiently, she had to step sideways in order to fit through the opening. Serena almost laughed, but more with hysteria at her own imminent demise than with any real humor at the haughty star’s indignation.

  “Look at all the trouble you’ve caused tonight,” Azrael said softly when they both heard a door slam from somewhere inside a moment later.

  She realized he was teasing her again, but Serena’s arms and shoulders were screaming, her fingers threatening to slip. “You needn’t have sent her packing on my account,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just rescue me, and I’ll be on my way.”

  He laughed as he lowered himself along the ledge. “Oh, you don’t ask for much, do you?”

  “You think this is funny?” she cried, hanging on for dear life.

  “A little. But then, I’m told I have a slightly twisted sense of humor.”

  Reaching her at last, he crouched down gracefully on the ledge with a sort of careless stealth. Stretching out one arm, he secured himself by gripping a vertical post of the balcony railing. With the other, he reached down toward her. “Take my hand.”

  “I dare not let go,” she uttered, torn.

  “Very well. I’ll take hold of you then. With your permission, of course?”

  “Yes, yes—just hurry!” This was no time for his exquisite manners. Serena whimpered with fear as he curled his strong, warm fingers around her wrist.

  “How much did you see back there?” His Gra
ce inquired, perhaps to distract her from the terror of her doom as he began to pull her up.

  “I wasn’t spying!” she insisted again, mortified, as he lifted her weight with one hand, balancing precariously.

  “Hold still! Don’t fight me. You’re only making this more difficult.” His grip was iron around her wrist, his long, graceful fingers strong and sure.

  He braced himself with one knee on the ledge, shifted his weight, and then, with compact, sinewy strength packed into his lean, elegant form, he pulled her right up to his warm, hard body, and turned at once to help her scramble onto the ledge.

  Serena clawed onto the cold, solid surface, hugging the side of his house, and panting with relief, but still frightened.

  “Easy,” Azrael murmured, his hand on the small of her back, steadying her. “Do you need a rest for a moment, or can you crawl back to the balcony now?”

  She took a shaky breath and nodded. “I-I’m fine. I’d rather go.”

  “Get rid of the cloak first,” he ordered quietly. “You can’t afford to trip.”

  “But everyone will see me if I don’t have a costu—”

  “Do it.”

  Too shaken to argue, Serena unfastened the button at her collarbones while he shielded her from the precipice with his outstretched arm.

  She let him pull the domino off her from behind. He cast it to the ground, and it floated away like some dark phantom that Toby would’ve liked to add to his folklore book.

  “Good. Now, make your way to the railing, you silly-headed widgeon,” he added with a fervor that finally betrayed his real concern about the danger in which she’d placed herself.

  Though she frowned at the insult, she could see how he’d view her that way at the moment. He must think her quite an idiot.

  Nevertheless, she swallowed hard and obeyed, crawling along the ledge on all fours, already feeling mortified.

  Azrael freely kept his hand on her hip the whole time, a much too familiar, almost possessive touch, but she supposed he was merely providing a firm counterweight to keep her as close to the wall as possible.

  She was too scared to protest at the contact, under the circumstances, though she cringed to consider the intimate view of her backside he now had as he came along behind her.

  At last, she gripped the upright bars of the banister around the balcony. Slowly, she stood, keenly aware of the duke’s hand sliding oh-so-helpfully over various parts of her body as she straightened up, inch by inch.

  When she climbed back over the railing to safety, she feared that she bared far more than her ankles to his watchful eyes in the process.

  Once she’d reached the enclosure of the balcony, she turned with a heart full of worry to see if he needed any help.

  But the man had the preternatural grace of that blasted leopard.

  His eyes gleamed and the moonlight sculpted his patrician features as he followed her with ease.

  Serena stood by awkwardly, her mumbled offer of help clearly unneeded. In the next heartbeat, he swung his leg over the railing and vaulted back lightly onto the balcony.

  She swallowed hard as she wondered what the consequences of her actions might turn out to be. Plummeting to her death didn’t sound so bad all of a sudden, compared to facing the wrath of the Duke of Rivenwood alone and in private.

  A wave of chilling worry washed through her to recall all her nurse’s dire warnings about him and his line.

  Well, he had her now. She was in his clutches. He had rescued her, but now what?

  Serena held her breath as she gazed up at him, wide-eyed and shaken.

  He rested his hands on his waist for a moment and assessed her with a guarded stare. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. “N-no. Thank you.”

  He arched a brow. “You might not wish to thank me quite yet, my lady.”

  She gulped. But when he saw her shiver with the aftermath of her brush with death, he frowned, picked up the tailcoat he had cast off, and whisked it around her shoulders.

  “There. Now, come inside, and tell me what the hell you think you’re doing.”

  “Are you…angry?” she ventured as she followed him with reluctant steps into the dark bedchamber.

  “Hmm.” He went and lit a branch of candles, not answering her question, but as the light rose, he passed a wary glance across her face. “Still pale,” he remarked. “Let me get you a drink. You look like you could use a sip of something strong.”

  Serena stood uncertainly a safe distance away while he carried the light over to a small cabinet, where he took out a crystal decanter and began to pour.

  The few candles’ glow revealed a large canopy bed nearby swathed with ruby velvet curtains with large gold tassels. Beyond their reach lurked the shadowed hollows of the dressing room alcove, as well as the dark recesses of the high vaulted ceiling above them.

  Serena’s heart pounded. “I-I really don’t think I should be in here…alone with you, Your Grace.”

  A low laugh escaped him as he glanced over his shoulder at her.

  “Oh, now you realize that? Sit,” he ordered, gesturing at the wing chair he himself had lately left.

  “Not there.” She folded her arms across her chest.

  “Well, you’re welcome to lie on the bed if you prefer. I might prefer that myself.”

  Her scowl deepened at his insinuating quip, but she supposed he felt free enough to say such things to her, after what she’d already witnessed—and interrupted.

  Anyway, she did rather need to sit down after her ordeal. Her knees were still knocking. First the leopard, and then a fall that could’ve broken her legs, if not her neck.

  Overconfidence. She shook her head, but harrumphed and gave in. “I suppose the chair will do.”

  As she lowered herself gingerly onto the armchair, the echo of his groans still whispered through her mind, along with questions about how that woman had wrung such intoxicating sounds from him in the first place. I wonder how it’s done.

  Eyeing him from across the room while he finished pouring her drink and corked the decanter, she tried to block out any other feelings toward the man except for wariness.

  It wasn’t easy. For weeks now, her curiosity about him had been intense.

  And the speculative way Azrael looked at her as he turned and brought her the glass made her wonder if the feeling weren’t mutual.

  He crouched slowly before her, and she noted the breadth of his shoulders, tapering down to the trim line of where his waistcoat hugged his lean middle. She beheld the sweeping curve of his neck and throat, the jut of his Adam’s apple, and the tantalizing glimpse of his bare chest, thanks to the state of undress in which that woman had left him.

  She licked her lips and lowered her gaze, annoyed at how he mesmerized her.

  “Take this.” His voice was husky as he pressed the cup into her grasp.

  His long, warm fingers brushed her hands as she accepted the drink from him, mute with confused desire, her stomach half knots, half butterflies, her gratitude all jumbled up with fear.

  Glancing down into the cup for a second, she hoped he had not put anything in it that would harm her.

  “Go on, drink it,” he urged softly, giving her arm a kindly caress. “You’re trembling.”

  She looked at him, taking in his earnest gaze. She was shocked by his air of solicitude. Very well. Shrugging off her mistrust, she took a cautious sip and discovered it was brandy.

  The fiery spirits made her eyes water as it spilled its heat down her throat.

  Studying her, Azrael rested a knee on the floor, his pose a dangerous reminder of the one Bianca Burns had taken before him a short while ago.

  Unfulfilled desire still smoldered in his ice-blue eyes. She knew what it was, for she had observed it in many of her suitors before. Those males had been easy to deny.

  But they were not the Duke of Rivenwood.

  Sensing the hunger in him, she helped herself to another, larger swallow of brandy. It burned al
l the way down to her belly, but after a moment, it somehow began to restore her temporarily absent courage.

  A mysterious smile curved his lips as he watched the color return to her cheeks. “That’s better,” he whispered.

  Serena rested the cup on her lap, unsure what he meant to do with her, for his pose, though casual, was also sufficient to make sure that she stayed in the chair. Having captured her, he clearly did not intend to let her escape.

  Her embarrassment began deepening by the moment to have been found in such a situation. Considering she had broken into his house and watched him cavorting with that woman, she began to wish the earth would open up and swallow her.

  “Now then,” he said. “Tell me what you are doing here, and do not waste my time with lies.”

  Serena floundered, not knowing where to begin.

  He waited, but only for a moment, and when his eyes narrowed with impatience, he reminded her of that leopard again. “Was this your brilliant idea, or did someone put you up to it?”

  “Put me up to it?” The question startled her. “I-I came of my own volition, of course. Why would you think otherwise?”

  “Obviously I have enemies,” he murmured, his expression unreadable. “Why the hell else would I have a secret passage in my house? The question is, which are you—friend or foe?”

  Serena shrugged. “Neither. We are not even acquainted.”

  “Then why are you here? Explain yourself,” he ordered, hemming her in when she longed to rise from the chair and walk away. “If you were an ordinary young woman, I’d assume it was avarice that brought you. That perhaps you merely wished to see the house over which you would have been the lady.”

  She drew back at this, furrowing her brow. “Pardon?”

  “Oh, come, don’t play innocent. Well?” He paused, looking around at the room, then at her again, a hint of defiance in his glance. “You might as well give me your opinion, then. Do you like the neo-gothic style or hate it?”

  Serena knitted her brow, unable to make a shred of sense of his words. She suspected he was only changing the subject to try to throw off her equilibrium. It was working.