Page 27 of The Mistletoe Duke

“Well.” What could he say to that? “I don’t read fiction.”

Hisdick reared back. “Well, you should.”

“I don’t have time.”

“Perhaps when Parliament is out?” Meg suggested.

Unfortunately, Jonathan had no time to respond. Because his erstwhile friends, Mattingly and St. Clare, descended just then.

“I say, Devon. Aren’t you going to introduce us to this lovely vision?”

No.

But hell. Did he have any choice? Begrudgingly, he made the introductions and resolved to stay by her side all night.

What a pity his mother had other ideas. She found him and took his arm and skillfully led him away to a pocket of guests that included Glorianna Pickering. Miraculously, everyone else melted away, leaving the two of them together. Once the girl realized what had happened, she paled.

“I-I. Good evening, Your Grace.”

“Miss Pickering. How are you enjoying the party?”

One would think such a question would not be a stumper. Lovely Miss Pickering’s mouth came open and then didn’t close. But no words came out.

He leaned closer and whispered, “A nod will do.”

Of this, apparently, she was capable.

They stood there in silence and he tried to think of yes or no questions he could ask, but his mind wasn’t working properly. He kept glancing over to where Meg was holding court. Hisdick, Mattingly, and St. Clare had been joined by several other young men—none of whom Jonathan had invited. A prickle ran up his nape. Who were they? What were they saying? And why did she keep laughing, for pity’s sake?

“Your Grace?”

He started.

Lady Pickering had returned, ostensibly to rescue her little lamb from her own shyness. “Did I mention that Glorianna has seven brothers and sisters? All younger.”

“Why no.” He took a sip of his champagne. “You did not.”

“She’s wonderful with them. Aren’t you, dear?”

Miss Pickering nodded.

“She so loves children. I do hope we will meet your girls while we are here. Do you suppose that can be arranged?”

“Most certainly.” Apparently this was good enough for Lady Pickering. She trundled her mute daughter off to the buffet table. Unfortunately, Louisa Mountbatten was right there—courtesy of Mother—to take her place. What followed was a wholly different kind of conversation. One where the woman was not shy in the least and Jonathan found himself unable to get a word in edgewise.

But, with the exception of the occasional grunt or nod, nothing much was required of him, so he let her monologue—about kittens and ribbons and some other such nonsense—trickle over him as he watched the knot in the corner grow.

Was that William Everton?

Bloody hell. Who had invited him? The man was an out and out rake.

He shot a glare at his mother. Unfortunately, she took it as a cue to switch out the damsels, bringing him Cecily Peck and taking away Louisa Mountbatten.

Cecily was an excellent foil to the others. She neither talked too little nor too much, but there was something slightly knowing in her eye. Something the younger girls did not possess.

“What a lovely party,” she said in a dulcet tone, sending him a teasing glance.

“My mother will be thrilled to hear it.”