Page 34 of To Dare a Duke

“Do excuse me,” she said, in a rush. “My dance partner will be looking for me.”

Prue turned, hoping to hurry away. Though she would need to see him again tonight for her plan to be put into action, she had to hold him off until midnight.

“Am I to be denied the honour of dancing with you yet again?” he demanded, and Prue turned back to him, noting a glint of irritation in his eyes.

She spread her hands out in an apologetic gesture. “I’m afraid you’re too late, your grace. My dance card is uncharacteristically full,” she said, smirking a little. She held his gaze, forcing her expression into something she hoped was flirtatious and feeling quite idiotic. Hold your nerve, she thought to herself. Prue gave a heavy sigh and glanced up at him from under her lashes. “But perhaps something could be done about that… if you want to dance with me so very badly?”

A flicker of surprise registered in his expression and she laughed, surprising him further as she tossed her blonde curls and hurried away.

***

Robert watched Miss Chuffington-Smythe rush away from him, feeling more than a little perturbed. Not that it seemed to be an unusual sensation in the young woman’s presence. She never quite said or did what he expected of her. He wasn’t certain if that was a complaint or not.

Something about tonight was different, though. Something about her was different.

Perhaps it was her hair. Whenever he’d seen her before now, it always appeared a little haphazard, as though she’d dealt with it as a matter of urgency. It was one thing that appealed to him about her, strange as that was. There was nothing remotely vain about her. She was herself, with a quiet sense of style that seemed to care little for fashion, though he knew economy had a good deal to do with that outlook.

He remembered Lavinia then, and the eternity she’d take preparing for a ball. She had spent hours gazing at herself in the looking glass, trying out first one style, then another, and asking endless questions as to which one became her most. God help you if you didn’t answer correctly or showed any sign of boredom. Of course, at first, he’d been content to gaze upon her like a besotted moon calf… until it had come home to him that her efforts were not made on his behalf, or even just her own.

Lavinia’s father had used her like a pawn in a game, manoeuvring her this way and that to get her the title of duchess and, by default, get himself close to a man with such wealth and power.

Once she’d achieved his end, Lavinia had refused to acknowledge her father ever again. Robert had sympathised with this and encouraged it once he’d discovered the plot. He’d forgiven her for it and told her she was free of her father now, that they could be happy despite the way they’d begun, but Lavinia wanted none of it—wanted none of him. She’d never cared for him, she said; she thought him a bore. His love of the countryside was tedious and she needed constant entertainment. Lavinia wanted parties and life, she wanted to be admired and loved and fought over. Well, by god, she’d got what she wanted. Right up until the day she’d broken her lovely neck.

“Evening, Bedwin.”

Robert looked around and nodded as Jasper Cadogan, Earl of St Clair and the host of this evening’s festivities, hailed him.

“St Clair,” Robert replied, his smile warm.

The earl was one of the few men whose friendship he’d kept throughout his disastrous first marriage. Despite a reputation with the ladies, St Clair had never betrayed their friendship, though Lavinia had tried hard to snare him. There was no question why she’d wanted to. He was one of the biggest prizes among the ton, handsome, wealthy, and titled. Jasper Cadogan was Robert’s opposite in every way. He was light to Robert’s dark, and not simply in their colouring. Where he glowered, St Clair laughed. He was popular and well liked, unlike Robert.

Not that it had always been that way.

“Rumour has it you’re in the market for a wife?” St Clair remarked, a cautious look in his usually smiling eyes.

Robert shrugged. “An heir and a spare. You know the rules. What choice do I have?”

The earl leaned against the marble pillar at his side, the picture of aristocratic nonchalance. “You have someone in mind?”

“Perhaps,” Robert replied, noncommittal.

St Clair followed his gaze. Miss Chuffington-Smythe was dancing with some lanky looking fellow with large ears. Not handsome or well made, Robert noted with some pleasure, though the two of them seemed to be having a fine time. She was laughing, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. What the devil had gotten into her tonight?

“Who is she?” St Clair demanded. Robert glanced at him. He was watching her, a considering glint in his eyes. “I don’t remember seeing her before, let alone inviting her.”

“Miss Chuffington-Smythe,” Robert said, strangely reluctant to give the information over.

St Clair smiled. “Oh, yes. Isn’t she one of the odd ones who lurk on the outskirts? I wouldn’t have recognised her.”

Robert bristled a little at the description but agreed she was, irritated to realise he’d been thinking much the same thing.

“She’s a lively one tonight, though,” St Clair mused. “Something’s changed. Perhaps she’s fallen in love.”

A jolt of something unpleasant shot through Robert and he frowned. He wasn’t vain enough to suppose that the girl had fallen in love with him. She wouldn’t even dance with him, damn her. Was that because she was already taken? She’d never given that as a reason for her refusal to marry him, though.

He didn’t get another opportunity to speak to her, however. Miss Chuffington-Smythe danced every dance and gave him a wide berth wherever she could. It was close to midnight before he got anywhere near her. He’d hoped to arrange things so he could sit with her at supper, which St Clair had told him would be informal and was being served at half past the hour. Yet as he moved to seek her out, she found him.

She appeared from out of the crowds, flushed from the exertions of the evening, her eyes sparkling, almost feverish. Robert thought for the first time that she wasn’t as plain as he’d believed. In fact, she was attractive.