The Keys of Love by Barbara Cartland Page B

ruefully after him.
    â€œMadam?”
    The Duke stepped forward and held out his hand to her. Hesitatingly, she turned and head low placed her hand in his.
    It was just as if a jolt of electricity passed between them. She almost gasped out aloud at the sensation that thrilled through her limbs.
    At the very same time he gave a barely perceptible shudder, closing his fingers over hers so tightly that her hand was caught as in a vice.
    She gave a low soft moan and the Duke, checking himself, loosened his grip.
    â€œDo I still hurt you, madam?” he asked in a low voice.
    â€œN-not now, Your Grace.”
    He was then silent for so long that at last she raised her eyes to his. His black pupils were dilated, shining with almost unbearable intensity as he feasted on her features.
    â€œGod, madam, but even under that ridiculous paint, you draw the eye,” he muttered.
    Henrietta began to tremble and her skin seemed to burn under his gaze, a gaze that now lingered on her lips.
    If he did not look away soon, she would certainly faint. Faint with the longing to raise herself on tiptoe and meet his mouth with hers
    She was unutterably relieved as the orchestra struck up and the Duke drew her in one swift move to his breast.
    There she could at least hide her scalded face for a moment and recover her disturbed senses.
    She might not have moved at all, but the Duke’s arms, strong and insistent, urged her into a slow waltz.
    Raising her head as she circled round the floor, she glimpsed Mrs. Poody’s startled stare.
    Then Lady Butterclere’s mouth open in outrage and astonishment. Next, Romany, her hairdo bobbing on her head with indignation.
    This was very cruel of the Duke, thought Henrietta, cruel ! Yet the beat of his heart so close to hers did not feel cruel. His breath, stirring the curls on her forehead, did not feel cruel. His fingers entwining hers did not feel cruel.
    â€˜ What is happening to me ?’ she cried to herself in alarm.
    She tried to twist away from the Duke’s breast, but his arm around her waist tightened and he bent his head to her ear.
    â€œWhat, do you still harbour such distaste for the company of the Duke of Merebury?” he murmured.
    Henrietta flushed.
    â€œThe last time I was asked a question like that,” she replied stiffly, “it was posed by a certain Joe the g-groom.”
    â€œThe last time I heard an answer to a question like that,” replied the Duke gravely, “it was given by a certain Miss Harrietta Reed not by Sadie the saloon girl .”
    Henrietta flushed an even deeper red.
    â€œM-meaning?”
    The Duke raised his eyebrow.
    â€œMeaning we both seem to have a certain talent for disguise!”
    Henrietta was flustered.
    What on earth would he say if he knew that she was actually in disguise twice over , that the person he knew as Miss Reed was as unauthentic as Sadie the saloon girl ?
    â€œI ask again,” he persisted. “Do you still harbour a distaste for my company?”
    Henrietta closed her eyes. Oh, how she wished she could confess that her heart was now opening like a flower beneath his blazing scrutiny, her flesh melting like snow at his urgent touch.
    Yet she dared not could not!
    He was destined for another and she had become known to him in such a way that all future contact between them was impossible.
    She must remain Harrietta Reed to him or forfeit forever any shred of respect he might have for her.
    â€œI h-have no feelings regarding your presence one way or the other,” she ventured lamely. “It’s just that I-I do not feel I should be dancing with you like this since I am nothing but a a mere piano player.”
    â€œNever ‘ mere ’,” added the Duke softly. “You are exceptional. I could not take my eyes from you when you were playing. You seemed to deliver yourself up, to burn with devotion and I could not help but wonder what other cause might elicit such devouring passion