Page 138 of The Dueling Duchess

“Whatever you want to do.”

“I should ask Blade.” She pulled a face. “If I can actually find her, that is.”

“Oh, I forgot—she left with Elliot.”

“Why didn’t they come to supper?”

“If Elliot is to be believed, the two of them were playing cards. I pity whoever sat across the table from Elliot—you can never tell what he’s thinking and he’s got the devil’s own luck.”

“I’ve played cribbage with Blade, and she never loses.”

“I suppose we should be grateful there aren’t aristocratic men with pitchforks and torches looking for the two of them.”

She laughed and met his gaze. “Let’s go home.”

Guy grinned. “Sweeter words I’ve never heard.”

* * *

“I don’t want to wait for Sin’s carriage to be brought around,” Guy said. “I’ll go and hail a hackney and then come back for you.”

“I can go with you.”

“But your feet?”

“I’ll be fine,” Cecile promised.

“Let us sneak through the refreshment room. We can slip out a side door and perhaps avoid any notice.”

Cecile gave him a look of mock surprise. “The Darling leaving without attracting notice? Unheard of!”

“Ha, ha, very droll.”

Another set had just begun, so the refreshment room only held a few stragglers, all young bucks.

Guy scowled at them, and they scattered. “Good,” he muttered, “now there are no witnesses to our heinous crime of early departure. Let’s make haste before somebody comes looking for us.”

He led her first to the cloak room and then out through the surprisingly empty foyer.

“So,” he said, once they were out in front of the houses that bordered the square. “How was your first ball—other than the sore feet?”

“It was lovely.” Cecile hesitated and then asked, “How was it for you, Guy? Truly?”

“It was strange and a little awkward.” He cut her a quick, not entirely happy smile, “The one thing I can say for losing my estate and title is that it’s easy to see who my real friends are.”

“Were people rude?”

“Rude? No, just . . . dismissive. I expected most of them to be that way—a few were downright unpleasant—but there were some mates from school who . . . well, let’s just say they obviously wanted to be friends with a duke, not with Guy Darlington.” He escorted her to the hackney at the head of the queue, flipped down the steps, and handed her in.

Once they were settled inside the old but clean carriage, he sighed. “I’m glad it’s over. I’m not sure how I managed to do that night after night, to be honest.”

“You prefer having knives thrown at you and cleaning out the night-soil closet?”

He chuckled. “Well, perhaps not the night-soil closet, but I don’t mind being in either of your routines. After the first few weeks, I scarcely noticed all the raucous taunting by my former contemporaries.” The smile slid from his face, and he leaned across the carriage and held out his hand. After a second’s hesitation she set hers in his. “It is no exaggeration to say that I enjoy living in the same house as you and working with you more than anything else I’ve ever done.”

Cecile’s eyes stung and she was terrified that she would start weeping. The tears had been building all night. She’d realized somewhere in the middle of the waltz with Nathan—who’d apologized about his letter and then commenced importuning her—that she just wanted to be home with Guy. She wanted to quit tormenting them both and take him to her bed. She wanted to forget about the past and seize the future.

“You’re looking at me strangely,” he said. “I’m not teasing you, Cecile. I—”