Page 20 of The Mistletoe Dare

“Who says I wanted him to come?” Georgie demanded, flushing scarlet.

Jules smirked at her. “He told me you said he should come.”

“Only so he wouldn’t be all by himself, because the company might be good for him. I didn’t ask him to come. Not for me. Not because I want him here. I didn’t ask him because I wanted to see him. That would be ridiculous. You know I can’t stand him!” Georgie subsided, aware she may have run on rather longer than was necessary.

Jules merely quirked an eyebrow at her. Georgie simmered and promised herself the pleasure of stamping on his foot if the words methinks the lady doth protest too much dared pass his smug lips.

Despite herself, Georgie could not help but glance back to where the duke was making his way across the room. People parted in front of him, conversations falling silent, gasps and whispers moving around the room like a breeze rustling long grass. Georgie gritted her teeth. The duke might be an obnoxious arse, but they had no right to treat him so. Yes, he was certainly striking, but… but he was also rather splendid. There was not another man in the room who could match him for height and breadth, and Georgie couldn’t help but find him magnificent. She also had a something of an idea of how he felt. She’d seen the way some of the young men looked at her, smirking and laughing. They made lewd jokes about her size and made her feel ridiculous, too big, too ungainly in a world where fragility and fainting seemed prized in a woman. It made her angry too. It made her hate those people because they hurt her and made her feel wrong and unfeminine.

“Oh, give him a chance, Georgie,” Jules whispered in her ear. “Like Mama said. He just doesn’t know how to play nicely yet. No one ever taught him.”

“Well, why do I have to be the one to do it?” she asked, folding her arms. “I’m likely to get scratched to pieces for my trouble.”

“Oh, no. Only a little bruised,” Jules said, chuckling. “Come on, Georgie, you’re made of stern stuff. You’d need to be to survive those hulking brutes you call brothers.”

Georgie smirked. “You’re just still smarting that Muir knocked you out cold.”

“I wasn’t ready!” Jules retorted, nettled.

“Dear me, that was, what, ten years ago, and it still rankles, doesn’t it, Julie?” she said, aware she was waving a red rag at him. It’s what had begun the fight in the first place.

“Don’t call me that,” Jules warned, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Then stop trying your hand at matchmaking. It won’t work,” she retorted, and stalked off.

Georgie took a turn about the room, and then saw the duke still hadn’t found Jules and was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, glowering at anyone who got near. Oh, drat it all. She’d better speak to him, but if he was rude to her, she was leaving him to flounder on his own.

Deciding she wasn’t above a little mischief, Georgie crept up behind him and tapped him on his left shoulder, before darting right. He looked around, frowning as he found an empty space.

“Good evening, your grace.”

He jumped and turned back, scowling at her.

“Oh, you’re here,” he said, not sounding pleased to discover it.

“Well, you knew I would be,” she said, keeping her smile in place.

He made a harrumphing sound.

“You, on the other hand, were very certain you would not attend.”

“I didn’t want to,” he grumbled.

“And yet, here you are,” she replied sweetly.

Another harrumphing sound.

“You don’t like me,” Georgie observed with amusement.

“No more than you like me,” he countered.

Georgie batted her eyelashes at him. “Does anyone like you?”

He frowned, looking genuinely puzzled. “Why would I want them to? I’m a duke.”

“You’re a man.”

“No, I’m not. I’m a title and an estate, I am history and the future, and thousands depend on me.”