by Jane Ashford
“You seem well, Duke.” Harriett had the audacity to look him up and down from behind the quizzing glass she wore on a chain around her neck. But her seven decades of age gave her the right to take liberties that few others would deign to claim, including so shamelessly scrutinizing the new duke when she should have done it surreptitiously. The way Dani was doing.
She gave him her own once-over while he was distracted with her aunt, deliberately taking him in from head to toe and finding him more impressive than ever. Despite her nervousness at seeing him again, a smile pulled at her lips. Only Marcus Braddock could appear imperial standing next to a papier-mâché statue of Julius Caesar.
Harriett finished her examination with an approving nod. “Life in London must be agreeing with you.”
His mouth twisted with amusement. “I feel as if I’ve just been put through a military inspection, Viscountess.”
Harriett let out a sound halfway between a humph and a chortle. “Better grow used to it, my boy! You were the grandson of a baron before, but now you’re a peer. A duke, no less. Privacy has just become a luxury you cannot afford.”
Although his expression didn’t alter, Dani felt a subtle change in him. A hardening. As if he’d already discovered for himself the truth behind her great-aunt’s warning.
“Lovely party.” Harriett waved a gloved hand to indicate the festivities, the rings on her fingers shining in the torchlight. “So kind of you to throw it and invite all of London.”
Dani blanched. Of all the things to say—
“Couldn’t invite the best without inviting the rest,” he countered as expertly as if the two were waging a tennis match.
Her eyes gleamed mischievously. “And which are which?”
“If you don’t know—”
“You’re part of the rest,” the viscountess finished, raising her champagne glass in a mock toast.
In reply, he winked at her.
Harriett laughed, tickled by their verbal sparring match. “You happened by at exactly the right moment. I was just telling everyone about the first time I met His Majesty. Have I ever told you—”
“If you’ll pardon me, Viscountess,” he interrupted politely to avoid being caught up in the story. Smart man. “I’d like to ask Miss Williams for the next dance.” He turned toward her. “Would you do me the honor?”
Dani’s heart slammed against her ribs in dread. Being with him like this, surrounded by a crowd of friends and acquaintances where the conversation had to be polite and impersonal was one thing. But dancing was something completely different and far too close for comfort. There would be too many opportunities to be reminded of Elise’s death, for both of them. This was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid.
“My apologies, Your Grace.” Dani smiled tightly. “But I’m not dancing tonight.”
His expression darkened slightly. Clearly, he wasn’t used to being refused. “Not even with an old friend returned from the wars?”
Especially not him. “Not at all, I’m afraid.”
Something sparked in the dark depths of his eyes. A challenge? Had he realized that she’d been purposefully evading him? The butterflies in her belly molded one by one into a ball of lead as he smiled at her. “Surely you can make an exception.”
Dear heavens, why wouldn’t he let this go? “I haven’t been feeling myself lately, and a dance might tire—”
“Danielle,” Harriett chastised with a laughing smile. Beneath the surface, however, she was surely horrified that Dani was refusing not just an old family friend and the man of honor at tonight’s party but the most eligible man in the entire British empire. “One dance will not overtax you.”
Without giving her the chance to protest, he insisted, “If you grow fatigued, I promise to return you immediately to your aunt.” Marcus turned the full charms of his smile on her and held out his hand. “Shall we?”
Now she knew what foxes felt like when they were cornered by hounds. With no more excuses for why she couldn’t dance, the only way to avoid him now would be to flat-out cut him in front of his guests. That she would never do.
Marcus didn’t deserve that. Truly, he’d done nothing wrong, except remind her of Elise.
She grudgingly nodded her consent and allowed him to place her hand on his arm to lead her away.
Once they were out of earshot of the others, she lightly squeezed his arm to capture his attention. “While it’s kind of you to request a dance, it’s perfectly fine with me if we don’t take the floor. You shouldn’t feel obligated.”
“But I want to.” He slid her a sideways glance that rippled a warning through her as he led her toward the house. “I was very happy to see that you’d attended tonight.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it.” Although she’d dearly tried to do just that. Swiftly changing the topic away from herself, she declared, “This party is a grand way to celebrate your return as a hero. I’m certain that Claudia and Pippa are thrilled to have you home.”
Regret surged through her as soon as the words left her lips, because her mention of them would surely only remind him of Elise’s absence. She hadn’t wanted to cause him more grief. After all, that was why she’d been avoiding him since his return. How could he not look at her without thinking of his sister’s death? God knew Dani was reminded of exactly that every time she thought of him.
“And you—” she rushed to add before he could reply, pivoting the conversation in a different direction. “You must have missed England.”
“I did.” The way he said that sounded faintly aggrieved. “But I’m not certain England missed me.”
“It did, a great deal.” Part of her had missed him a great deal as well.
He chuckled at that, as if it were a private joke. “Very little, I’m sure.”
Yet his amusement did nothing to calm her unease, which wasn’t helped at all by the hand he touched briefly to hers as it rested on his sleeve. The small gesture sent her heart somersaulting. But then, hadn’t he always made her nervous?
Yet he fascinated her, too. Something about him stirred her curiosity… Of course, she’d found his life as a soldier intriguing and had loved to hear Elise talk of his adventures. His sister had been so proud of him that she couldn’t stop bragging, and Dani had soaked up all the stories, especially those few she’d been fortunate enough to hear him tell himself during rare visits home before the fighting grew so fierce on the Peninsula that he’d not been able to leave Spain.
“But you’re right. I did miss my family, and I’m very happy to be back with them.” Another brief rest of his hand on hers, this time with a reassuring squeeze. “Although I suspect that they’re ready to toss me back over the Channel.”
She shook her head. “Not at all.”
He lowered his mouth to her ear so he wouldn’t be overheard by the other guests. “Then why else would Claudia torture me with a party like this?”
“She’s not torturing you.”
“Oh?” As if offering irrefutable proof, he muttered, “A plaster model of Vesuvius is set to erupt at midnight.”
She laughed, her gloved hand going to her lips to stifle it. Amusement mixed with surprise. Being with him was quite enjoyable, when he didn’t remind her of how much she missed Elise.
“And you, Miss Williams? Are you ready to toss me back?”
Her laughter died against her fingertips at the way he asked that. Not an innocent question. Not at all a tease. A hardness lurked behind it that she couldn’t fathom.
“Of course not.” She smiled uneasily as he led her through the French doors and into the house toward the ballroom that had been created by opening the connecting doors between the salon, dining, and drawing rooms. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Most likely for the same reason you’ve been avoiding me.”
Guilt pierced her so sharply that she winced. This w
as what she’d feared during the past few months, why she hadn’t come to Charlton Place—coming face-to-face with his grief over his sister and her guilt over avoiding him. She wanted no part of this conversation!
She tried to slip away, but his hand closed over hers again, this time pinning her fingers to his sleeve and refusing to let her go. Aware of every pair of eyes in the room watching them and not wanting to create a scene, she walked on beside him until he finally stopped on the far side of the ballroom near the musicians.
She pounced on this chance to flee. It was time for her headache to arrive. “If you please, General—” Remembering herself, she corrected, “That is, Your Grace—”
“Has your absence been because of Elise’s death?”
She flinched beneath his bluntness. There would be no avoiding this exchange. This was the reason he’d refused to let her decline the dance.
“No,” she whispered, unable to speak any louder past the knot in her throat. “It’s been because of you.”
An Inconvenient Duke
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About the Author
Jane Ashford discovered Georgette Heyer in junior high school and was captivated by the glittering world and witty language of Regency England. That delight was part of what led her to study English literature and travel widely. Her books have been published all over Europe as well as in the United States. Jane was nominated for a Career Achievement Award by RT Book Reviews. Born in Ohio, she is now somewhat nomadic. Find her on the web at janeashford.com and on Facebook at facebook.com/JaneAshfordWriter, where you can sign up for her monthly newsletter.
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