Page 5 of To Ensnare a Duke

"I will wish to walk about the grounds after I break my fast and not take to Hyde Park. Why am I dressed so fashionably?"

"A request of Lord Hardon. He did not privy me to his thoughts. Only his request."

Of course, the high-handed Alpha oaf ordered me dressed up like this. Narrowing my eyes, I turn and stare down my maid.

"Did he happen to reveal the nature of the guests appearing for luncheon? Am I to only be afflicted with girls of my age and of an appropriate stature? Or does he plan to parade me about for the men of London to see?"

"Forgive me, Miss, but he confided nothing to me. Only that you were to be dressed for a finer walk."

Anger simmers beneath the surface for a moment. If only I could choose who I intended to marry. Knowing my brother, he'll sell me off to some honorable chap who thinks fun is tantamount to a curse word. Groaning, I run my fingers over my temples.

If only I can bring myself to be a harridan in public. Maybe then he’ll think twice about matching me off to some ill-fitted buffoon. No. If I want to keep my secret excursions, then I must give him no reason to suspect me. I only hope it doesn't force me to become tied to some pale shadow of a man as a result.

Greyson ignores me as I come into the room, his face buried in the paper. He too looks far finer than he should for a random Tuesday, and the visual makes my stomach clench in concern. Could there be some nefarious plot afoot? But surely if he found me a husband, he would have said so and not drag this out.

I stand there for a moment, staring at him, noting the almost near-imperceptible vibration wafting from his person. Something is wrong. I'm sure of it.

"Brother-"

"Ah," he cries, tossing down his paper. "Please. Sit. Our guest will be here shortly."

Blast, I silently curse as I slide down onto the chair, my fingers trembling as I plop a bit of bread onto my plate. Perhaps if the man is odious enough, I can protest, convince my brother not to saddle me with such a sop. Fie. It's days like these where I wish I could just upend the whole table and force him to look at me, to consider me.

It's not that he's an evil man or cruel, but like most of his gender, he just doesn't seem to care all that much about my future as long as it involves an advantageous match. But then... Most of the eligible men I've seen at the balls leave very much to be desired.

Is it so wrong that I wish to have a husband who can match me in both vigor and spirit? Some of these men seem to be just as old and decrepit as the aunt who looks after me. Surely such a match would not be enjoyable for either party. Right?

My teacup trembles as I bring it to my lips, my mind racing with all the possibilities when the newcomer is finally announced. His Grace, Duke of Portswell. A relieved sigh vibrates through the air as I slump down, thankful to see the man in question.

As Greyson's best friend and Duke, he must be here for some other reason than a match with me. Besides, he's shown no interest, and that's how I prefer it. A friend of my brother's cannot be nearly interesting enough for me.

Still though, his light brown eyes settle on me, and for a moment, I find myself robbed of air. Even though I place my hand against my chest, I cannot will breath to fill my lungs. What in all of the heavens is wrong with me? The man has the nerve to smirk as he runs his thumb along his bottom lip.

Though the action is innocent enough, it draws my attention there, forcing me to look at how plump they are. On a woman, they'd look pretty. On a man like him, they look downright sinful. He strides over and sits across from me, grabbing a pot of coffee.

His eyes never meet mine again as he and my brother speak of Parliament and bills—things I care nothing about. It allows me a moment of introspection as I pop a piece of buttered bread in my mouth and chew. Could it be that my reactions are a normal occurrence between an omega and an Alpha?

I've heard tales from the harlots about such afflictions, but never felt it myself. Not until now, at least. It's downright horrifying to think his dynamic can cause my breathing to still. I glance up at him from under my lashes, doing my best to not alert him to my questing gaze.

He doesn't seem all that commanding. Not like I've heard Alphas can be. In fact, in all our growing up together, he never once raised his voice. Not that I remember. He was a gentle soul, one who enjoyed music and the arts. Not at all the type of man I have an interest in.

Not that I have any experience thanks to my brother and the lack of opportunities to find what I like outside of the few moments I dress as a man. But then, I have to think they treat me differently than they would if I were a woman to them. I don't prefer the crass, loud exuberance of men imbibing too much drink.

A man like Portswell might be agreeable, if only he had a sense of adventure and spirit about him. The only problem is, he feels too comfortable. Like a night rail you wear night after night. Nothing about him shocks or surprises me. It's as if he's a second brother, a nuisance to maneuver around just like Greyson.

"Tell me, brother, is His Grace to join us on whatever excursion it is you have planned? I dare say he'd find us a tad boring, would he not?"

The man in question cuts his gaze over to me, and again, that tingling warmth sizzles across my skin, making my palms dampen and my heart race. There's something in his eyes, some undefinable thing which makes every hair on my body stand on end.

"Out and about with my best friend and his little sister. What could be boring about that?" But even as the words leave his lips, he stifles a yawn, confirming my initial thought.

"Come now, Augusta," Greyson chides with a soft chuckle. "We are deep within the Season. You cannot begrudge an Alpha, a Duke at that, the opportunity to gaze upon the diamonds and sapphires as they pass by. And you could certainly use a few glances your way as well. Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you to be a wallflower."

My lips curve up into a soft grin filled with every ounce of false demure affectation I can muster. "Why, if that is what you think, then I must amend. I would be thrilled to see and be seen. And with the Duke in our company, I'm sure to be gazed upon all the more."

Seemingly satisfied, my brother nods his head and goes back to his paper. His Grace, on the other hand, curls up his lip as if tasting something wretched.

"Is there anything the matter with our spread, Your Grace?" I lower my lashes, giving him the view of a quiet, meek girl, the same he grew up with.