Chastity had noted earlier this evening how his tailored evening clothes fit perfectly across his wide shoulders and chest, his abdomen flat beneath the silver waistcoat. His legs appeared long and muscular in the black evening trousers which were coming into fashion.

  He was, without a doubt, the most strikingly handsome man Chastity had ever set eyes upon.

  Impossible to tell what he thought of her. His expression was unreadable as he assessed her through narrowed lids. But she very much doubted it was anything flattering. Grayson Vaughn appeared as if he gave his heartfelt approval to very little, least of all an innocent miss barely weeks into her second Season.

  “Your Grace.” Chastity kept her lashes lowered as she swept down in the expected curtsey.

  Not a particularly wise idea when those lowered lashes put her eyes on a level with the duke’s strong and muscular thighs and the telling bulge above them.

  Chastity’s cheeks blazed with embarrassment for having even noticed such a thing as she straightened. Admittedly, some of the gentlemen’s fashions nowadays could be a little revealing, but until now when faced with the Duke of Flint, Chastity had never particularly noticed a gentleman’s “bulge.”

  “I am still waiting for your answer to my invitation to dance,” he reminded in a voice that was no longer pleasant, but had grown harsh with impatience.

  Chastity glanced about them. They were being openly stared at by more of Society now, and their conversation listened to. How much more curious would their audience become if the two of them were to dance together? Flint never danced. No doubt for fear of giving some marriage-minded mama the wrong idea.

  Which begged the question, why was he now offering to dance with Chastity?

  She wasn’t vain enough to believe the duke had taken one look at her this evening and decided he needed to know her better and believed the best way to do that was to dance with her. They had both been at two other social events this week, and Flint hadn’t shown any such inclination before now.

  “Chastity, His Grace has asked you to dance.” Her father’s increasing agitation was obvious in his voice.

  She forced a polite smile onto her lips, but didn’t quite look at the duke’s face this time. It was far too unnerving to look at that arrogant face and see the contempt in his eyes he made no attempt to conceal. “I would be honored, Your Grace.” She placed her gloved hand on Flint’s muscular forearm and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.

  The other couples waiting for the start of the dance immediately moved to accommodate their presence as the musicians began to play a quadrille.

  “I believe movement is a requirement for it to be called dancing,” that increasingly familiar voice drawled with unconcealed mockery.

  Chastity’s cheeks heated. She had forgotten why the two of them were even standing there together the moment Grayson Vaughn’s warm and much larger hand had clasped her gloved one as the music began to play.

  She gave the other couples an awkward glance for having delayed them. “I apologize.” She felt so mortified by her inattentiveness, she dared not even look at the Duke of Flint again as they finally began to dance.

  Although, it was reassuring for her to see that the other young ladies who were forced to touch his hand, however briefly, also appeared slightly flustered.

  He danced well, of course. Chastity had a feeling there was very little the duke chose to do at which he did not excel.

  Including, according to several of the more risqué ladies of Society, adventurous lovemaking.

  A thought which caused Chastity to stumble slightly. She was saved from tumbling forward only by the tightening of Grayson Vaughn’s fingers about hers.

  “As dancing does not seem to be your particular forte, perhaps you would prefer it if we were to go in search of refreshment?”

  The duke’s voice might be deep and pleasantly modulated, but Chastity was starting to seriously dislike the sound of it. Or, at least, the unmistakable mockery underlying it.

  “You are mistaken, Your Grace. I very much enjoy dancing.” She gave him an overbright but challenging smile as, for the moment, they continued to dance. “But I am more than happy to stop if the exertion is proving too much for your advanced years?”

  Ah, so the young woman Grayson had thought of earlier as being a little mouse was in possession of sharp little teeth.

  Surprisingly, Grayson found himself pleased by the discovery. Ordinarily, he did not care for outspoken young ladies—he did not care to spend time with ladies as young as this one at all—but there was something about Miss Chastity Hall that had piqued his normally cynical and jaded interest the moment he set eyes upon her as he entered the ballroom with her father.

  She was, thankfully, very beautiful. Her curls, seen in all their glory, were the color of spun gold. Her complexion was naturally pale and smooth.

  When she was not angry with him, that is. Which the flush in her cheeks said she currently was.

  Her eyes were a magnificent green and fringed with dark golden lashes. Her nose was small and straight, her cheeks round, her lips a perfect cupid’s bow above a delicately pointed chin.

  As for her slenderness of figure… Her exposed neck was delicately lovely, her breasts a creamy swell above the apricot silk gown, inviting the exploration of tempted lips.

  His lips?

  The throb of Grayson’s rapidly engorging cock indicated that might be the case.

  He could not remember ever being so instantly attracted to any woman, let alone one so young and unsophisticated as this one.

  But perhaps it was the thought of debauching that innocence that was the attraction?

  At least, Grayson presumed she was innocent.

  Even the thought that Chastity might not live up to her name did not please him.

  Thinking of some other man touching all her silky loveliness pleased him even less.

  His fingers tightened about hers as, without answering her intended jibe, he pulled her from the dance floor toward the doorway leading out of the ballroom.

  “What are you doing?” She was barely managing to keep up with his much longer stride. “The refreshment room is in the other direction,” she pointed out when, without slowing in the slightest, Grayson turned left once they were outside in the marble-floored hallway.

  “Not for the sort of refreshment I require.” Grayson had dined at the Hardings’ home several times in the past, and he knew that Lord Harding kept his best brandy in the library so that he might enjoy a glass or two as he read in the evenings.

  Thankfully, the evening was not late enough for any other lady and gentleman to have, as yet, taken advantage of the privacy the library provided. The room was lit by a single candle burning on a small table beside one of the armchairs either side of the warm fire glowing in the hearth. Lending intimacy to the room, once Grayson had closed the door behind them, as well as privacy.

  He maintained that grip on Chastity’s hand as he turned to face her. His top lip curled up when he saw the expression of apprehension on her face. “Not feeling quite so brave now we are alone, my little mouse?”

  Her chin rose, the angry glitter in her eyes informing him she did not care for his tone or his name for her. “I have no idea what game you are playing with myself or my father, but I am no mouse,” she snapped. “You should also know I have no intention of acting as your plaything in any capacity.”

  Grayson’s lids narrowed. “What makes you think I am playing with either of you?”

  “Do you deny that you are?”

  His jaw tightened. “In the way you are implying, yes.”

  A frown furrowed her brow. “Why are you playing with us at all?”

  His lips thinned. “That is for me to know and you to find out.”

  “Only if I am interested enough to do so,” she snapped. “Which I am not.”

  Grayson kept his gaze on her after he had released her to move to where the decanter of brandy sat on the dresser against one of the walls. He poured an inch of liquid into two glasses before picking them both up to cross the room and hold one out to Chastity. “Take it,” he instructed harshly when she made no move to do so.

  She gave a determined shake of her head. “I have never drunk strong alcohol, and I certainly do not intend to start now.”

  “Now?” he echoed.

  She gave a derisive snort. “I have only been acquainted with you for a few minutes, but I already know I would be unwise not to keep my wits completely about me when in the company of the ruthless Duke of Flint.”

  Grayson placed the glass on a side table before toasting the accuracy of Chastity’s summation of his character with his own. He then took a leisurely sip of the excellent brandy. “Have you ever been completely alone with a man, single or married, before now?”

  A blush colored her cheeks. “No, and I should not be alone with you now either, if I wish to protect my reputation.”

  Grayson drank the rest of the brandy before placing the empty glass on the table. “It is far too late for that, I am afraid,” he taunted. “Everyone saw you leave the ballroom in my company, and we have not appeared in the refreshment room nor anywhere else where there are other people. The speculation alone as to why that is will have put your reputation in question.”

  The blush left her cheeks as quickly as it had appeared. “Did you mean for that to happen?” she accused, her face pale.

  “Not particularly,” he dismissed. “If we rejoin the other guests within the next few minutes, your reputation will be as pristine as it was when you arrived here this evening.”

  Her expression was pained. “I have no idea why you are doing this, but I wish you to cease immediately.”

  “What is ‘this’?”

  “Deliberately seeking out my company in this way.” She frowned her frustration. “In the same way you have deliberately and systematically beguiled my father this past week into gambling until he has become deeply in debt to you.”

  Grayson kept his expression bland so as not to reveal his surprise at such a depth of intuition from one so young.

  Perhaps that was because, despite an aunt having lived with them for some years before she left the household to marry, Chastity had grown up without a mother’s presence from the age of ten.

  As a result, she was far more mature than her age of nineteen years implied.

  Or, more likely in Grayson’s opinion, Chastity’s father being so obviously weak in character was the reason his daughter had needed to grow up far too quickly and take on the role of mistress and matriarch in the family household.

  From what Grayson’s man had learned of the Hall family, it was no secret that Nicholas was hoping for an advantageous marriage for his only daughter. One that would help to alleviate the family’s dwindling finances.

  Funds Nicholas hadn’t hesitated to deplete even more this past week by playing cards with Grayson. Perhaps in the hope that he might be able to win enough to ease their financial burden. Unfortunately for Hall, that had not been the case.

  It was also unforgiveable behavior when it rendered Hall’s daughter as vulnerable as he was himself.

  Grayson hardened his heart against both father and daughter by reminding himself of Plymouth and the way in which his friend had been murdered. “You will come to Flint House at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon,” he bit out coldly. “I will use those intervening hours to decide whether or not I am going to answer any of your questions.”

  Chastity looked taken aback for several long seconds before regaining her voice. “I cannot be seen entering the house of a single gentleman—”

  “You will enter mine,” he insisted. “You may bring your maid with you, if you wish, but she will wait outside in your carriage.” His plans for Chastity did not include them being observed by her maid.

  “No—”

  “Then you leave me with no choice but to go and find your father.” Grayson strolled toward the door. “I am sure he will be only too happy to join me in playing several more hands of cards this evening—”

  “I will do as you ask if you will please stop encouraging my father into yet more debt!” Chastity called out desperately.

  Grayson turned slowly, feeling a jolt in his chest when he saw the tears shimmering in her dark green eyes.

  A guilty feeling?

  He didn’t believe he had ever suffered from that emotion before.

  He was not going to allow himself to suffer in that way now either.

  Not when Nicholas Hall could be the man responsible for killing Plymouth, and in Grayson’s eyes, that possibility damned his daughter too.

  The fact Grayson found himself desiring that young lady filled him with displeasure rather than anticipation.

  His jaw tightened. “You will present yourself at Flint House at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon,” he repeated uncompromisingly before striding from the library, without giving Chastity so much as another glance.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Are you going out?”

  Chastity glanced down into the entrance hall to where her father stood greeting Aunt Jane’s widower and the family lawyer, Sir John Carlson. Sir John was a pleasant-mannered man aged in his early fifties with whom Chastity’s father continued to maintain a familial friendship, despite the death of his sister, Sir John’s wife.

  “That is my intention, yes,” Chastity confirmed lightly as she continued down the staircase, her maid, Mary, accompanying her. “I understood from Hallow,” she said, referring to their butler, “that you would not be needing the carriage this afternoon?” Their lack of finances had reduced them to being a one-carriage household, meaning only one of them could go out at a time, or they must go out together.

  “I do not need it, no,” her father confirmed. “But as you can see, your Uncle Carlson has called to see us.”

  “Chastity.” Sir John bowed before giving the maid a nod of acknowledgment.

  Mary had once worked in Sir John’s household as lady’s maid to Chastity’s now-deceased Aunt Jane, Chastity having engaged the other woman as her own lady’s maid rather than see her unemployed after Jane’s death.

  Chastity appreciated Sir John having at least acknowledged Mary’s presence, a warm smile on her lips as she crossed the hallway to join the two gentlemen. “And it is lovely to see you, Uncle.” She curtseyed as he lightly kissed the back of her hand before releasing it, his smile one of warm affection. “But I have already made arrangements to go to the shops, accompanied by my maid, and to meet a friend for afternoon tea. Besides which, I am sure the two of you can manage without me for an hour or two when you are no doubt about to discuss business.” In all probability, her uncle was here to talk about their finances, a conversation at which Chastity preferred not to be present. Sir John had infinite patience in his dealings with her father.

  He smiled now, still a handsome man despite the lines about his eyes and mouth and the touch of gray in his dark hair. “I have been informed by several people already this morning that you were seen dancing with the illustrious Duke of Flint last night.” He gave her a teasing smile.

  Chastity’s smile turned to a frown of irritation. “If that is so, then I consider it deplorable that those gossips can find nothing of more import to talk about!”

  Sir John grimaced. “It is my understanding Flint is not usually a gentleman who shows an interest in or gives attention to any of the ladies in Society, young or old.”

  The implication being that the duke was not quite as distant with ladies who were not of Society?

  Chastity’s irritation deepened. “It was a single dance during which he barely spoke a word to me. Indeed, I found him to be a rather disdainful gentleman.”

  Her uncle chuckled. “You were not smitten, I take it.”

  “Not in the least,” she stated firmly.

  A firmness of purpose Chastity did not feel twenty minutes later as she stepped down from the family carriage outside Flint House at ten minutes after the hour of two o’clock, having been slightly delayed from leaving home by that conversation with Sir John.

  A shiver ran the length of her spine as she stared at the imposing frontage of the cream-colored four-story town house. A shiver which was not one of pleasure, as it had been the evening before, but of apprehension as to the reason the Duke of Flint might have invited her here.

  Nothing good, she felt sure.

  Nor had it been an invitation but coercion, only secured by Flint with the promise he would not entice her father into playing cards—and, no doubt, losing again—at least for the rest of the previous evening.

  The duke had kept that promise by taking his leave of the Hardings’ ball altogether immediately after that conversation with Chastity.

  Chastity, having returned to the ballroom in search of her father, had, of course, first been subjected to a bombardment of curious questions from the other debutants and their mamas in regard to her having danced and then left the ballroom in the company of the haughty Duke of Flint.

  Questions Chastity had no idea how to answer, except to keep repeating that the duke was an acquaintance of her father’s and asking her to dance had merely been a politeness on his part.

  Some of those mamas might have continued to question the veracity of that claim if not for the fact Chastity had suddenly been surrounded by a dozen or so gentlemen all wishing to dance with the young lady singled out by the toplofty Duke of Flint.

  A man, it transpired, as Chastity’s dance card remained full for the rest of the evening, whom those young gentlemen looked up to and aspired to emulate.

  Chastity could have screamed at how many times she had heard Flint described admiringly as being the epitome of fashion and haughtiness and how often his prowess as a war hero was mentioned.

  Instead of screaming, she’d had to smile and agree with how wonderful the duke was, and how privileged she felt to have been singled out by him.

  Her father was no better, obviously thrilled that Chastity had somehow managed to garner the attention of a single and wealthy gentleman of the Duke of Flint’s ilk. It didn’t seem to occur to her father that it was Flint’s sudden attention to him that had now incurred the duke’s interest in her.