The Heiress Gets a Duke

by Harper St. George

  “How horrible of him. I’ll remember to take him to task on the matter the next time we dance.”

  “No need. The trick was on him. I happen to like lizards and took the poor, frightened thing home where he lived out the rest of his days in peace.” Lady Helena’s eyes softened in concern as she asked, “If not Lord Atherton, what has you looking so pale?”

  “The duke has arrived.”

  There was no need to explain which one. After the Ashcroft dinner party, everyone seemed to know that he was interested in acquiring one of the “Crenshaw heiresses,” as they had been named. Acquiring one of them. It was the exact phrase August had heard an elderly lord use in reference to the situation. As if they were objects or exotic oddities to collect and admire on a shelf. The temporary good humor Lady Helena had roused in her vanished as anger roiled in to replace it.

  Her friend nodded in understanding, her expression turning grave. “He rarely attends these sorts of events. Since he is here, I expect he has come to make his intentions known.”

  It wasn’t a question, but August nodded just the same. “That is what Mother and Camille believed would happen tonight.”

  “Being seen dancing with your sister would cause quite an uproar, especially if he does not dance with another partner. Everyone will know that he has chosen her.”

  “Yes, that’s what Mother believes.”

  Lady Helena chewed gently on her bottom lip, looking uncomfortable and as if she had more to say on the matter.

  “Is there more? There’s more. Please tell me. You’ve been such a help to me with customs and manners; please don’t mince words now.” It was true. Lady Helena’s subtle advice and cues had saved August making a social gaffe more than once.

  Leaning toward her, Lady Helena said, “Forgive me if I am overstepping, but it seems that your sister does not welcome this particular match.” She waited for August to nod in confirmation before continuing. “Then am I correct in assuming that she would intend to turn down an offer should one be made?”

  August nodded again. “Perhaps.” She was genuinely frightened that somehow Mother and Papa would figure out a way to goad Violet into accepting. She did not like to believe it would go that far, but it was not out of the question. The carriage ride home after the dinner party had revealed as much. And then what? The only man she had ever desired in a physical sense would become her brother-in-law? They would be expected to carry on as if nothing had happened? The very idea of it had her feeling nauseous and unsettled, as if her skin was being pulled too tight. How would it feel to know that ultimately he had chosen her sister?

  “If the duke were to dance exclusively with her and a betrothal announcement were not forthcoming, then many would view that negatively.” The other woman’s voice pulled her out of those dark thoughts. “Unfortunately, Miss Violet would bear the brunt of their speculations, no matter if she was the one to turn him down.”

  “Oh dear.” August understood exactly what she meant. It would not be as terrible as a broken engagement, but people would wonder, and Violet would become fodder for gossip. August rose to her feet, scanning the crowd for some sight of her sister. While she was certain the family could weather any sort of scandal that would arise from the nonengagement, it would be best to avoid that situation entirely. “Please excuse me. I have to find Violet and try to intervene.” If she could only somehow help Violet avoid Rothschild, then the whole thing could simply go away, at least for one night.

  “Of course. Please let me know if I can be of assistance. I have thwarted my share of would-be grooms.” Lady Helena took the coupe from her, now empty of champagne.

  Laughter welled within her despite the gravity of the moment. She knew that without a doubt she would invite Lady Helena over soon to hear more details of that particular story. “Thank you for your help.”

  August whirled and struggled to make her way through the crush. More people came every hour, it seemed, until there was hardly room to walk around the perimeter of the dance floor. She had barely moved six feet when she was brought up short by a group of several older couples chatting in front of her. With the wall to one side of the group, she was stuck unless she darted through the throngs of people heading to the center of the room to dance.

  “Pardon me.” She made one last attempt to move through the group and smiled at a matron who regarded her with a severely raised brow. “If you would be so kind as to . . .” The man to her left moved back, and he was followed by the fellow at his elbow. “Oh, thank you so much. I must—”

  The words lodged in her throat as the group parted to reveal the Duke of Rothschild standing on the other side. He wore the same wolfish smile from earlier. She understood immediately that he was the reason the couples were so obliging of her predicament. They had been parting for him, not her.

  “Good evening, Miss Crenshaw.” His voice was smooth and rich, and some part of her she couldn’t face directly thrilled at the way it massaged its way down her spine.

  He was so striking in his black-and-white evening wear that it was a moment before she could find her tongue. “Good evening, Your Grace. I am afraid my sister is not here.” It wasn’t precisely a lie. She wasn’t there in the immediate vicinity. “She left early.” Fine, that was a lie.

  He appeared impassive, except for the fact that his eyes still held a devilish sparkle. “How unfortunate.” Perhaps he was putting on an act for their small audience, but he genuinely did not appear to care that his plan had been thwarted. There was the briefest of pauses before he gestured toward the dancers. “I would hate to waste a good waltz. Perhaps we could dance instead.”

  He might as well have said perhaps we could row a boat down the Thames. The possibility of dancing with him had never crossed her mind. Should she accept? Honestly, she wanted to spend as little time in his company as possible. It seemed safer that way. Would it be unbearably rude to decline in front of their audience? The group seemed very concerned with their exchange.

  The opening notes of “The Blue Danube” started playing. “I promised the next waltz to Lord Ware.” She had forgotten. The poor man had probably come to collect her, and she had been nowhere to be found. She started to turn and stopped when she realized that leaving him would leave the duke free to go find Violet. As if he sensed the internal battle in her head, he offered his arm to her.

  “I do not think he would object.” When she glanced up, he inclined his head toward Lady Helena, who was graciously accepting Lord Ware’s arm in her absence. Lord Ware gave August a tight smile as he led her friend to the floor.

  Left with no other choice to make, she lightly pressed her fingertips to Rothschild’s arm and allowed him to lead her. The crowd swirled out of their way like Moses parting the Red Sea. Rothschild had not uttered a single word, only held his gaze straight ahead as if their opening a path for him was his due. And it was. This was his world.

  It was not until that very second that she understood the power this man held. He might not have inherited wealth, but he had inherited something even more valuable to those who traded in that currency. Respect. Reputation. Standing. Whatever word it was known by, it all came down to power. He held the power here.

  When his arm slipped around her waist and his hand settled on her back, she felt the strength in his loose hold. Restrained power. As she rested her hand upon that arm, she could not help but note the flex of the muscle beneath the light touch of her fingers. She remembered the strength of that arm with its unrestrained power as it had landed a blow to his opponent. A strange flutter moved through her belly when his gloved fingers closed gently around hers as he swept them into their first turn. His strength was evident in every movement and touch. Much to her dismay, she understood now that she found it very attractive on him.

  “Are you all right, Miss Crenshaw?” Genuine concern shone in his eyes, and she realized that her breathing had increased to match the pa
ce of her heart.

  “I . . . Yes.” The blue of his irises was the exact shade of a Newport summer day. How had she not noticed before? Perhaps it was the lighting. Or perhaps it was the odd way the room whirled around them as he took her into another turn, making her more aware of him as everything else blurred. Her fingers tightened reflexively, indecently on his, but he only smiled in response.

  Tipping his head forward so that a lock of hair threatened to drop down over his forehead, he asked, “Are you quite certain? You are flushed.”

  Dear Lord, why now? Why was she only understanding at this most inopportune moment the depth of her attraction to this man? Despite the fact that both of their hands were gloved, her fingers tingled from the heat of his. She tried to hold on to her anger, but it floundered like a fish in her grasp. This is why some girls became foolish in the arms of a handsome man. She had never understood before, had in fact believed herself immune to the silliness, but now felt the urge to write letters of apology to every childhood friend who had borne the brunt of her judgment.

  “I’m fine.” The words came out sharp and clipped as she tried to disguise the crisis of awareness crashing through her.

  “I am not your enemy, Miss Crenshaw.”

  “But neither are you my friend, Your Grace. We both know that.”

  “I could be.”

  “Impossible. We have opposing goals. I want to save my sister from you, and you want to marry her. Why, that almost does make us enemies.”

  He released a breath on a laugh. The not-at-all-unappealing fragrance was brandy laced with peppermint, the same as when she’d kissed him at the sparring match. His lips were curved in a slight smile, reminding her of how warm and surprisingly soft they had been beneath hers. She also remembered something she had tried to make herself forget. The moist stroke of his tongue against her bottom lip right before he had pulled away, and the dismay that had rampaged through her in the immediate aftermath that she had been cheated of more.

  “You are remembering that night.” His voice was low and entirely too sure of itself.

  She pulled back with a gasp, and while he didn’t resist her, his calm hand on her back kept her from making a scene. “I didn’t . . . I only thought . . .”

  “Would it help if I admit that I think of it as well?” His eyes were not mocking but gently solemn and filled with longing as they slipped down to her mouth and back again.

  A whole flock of butterflies took flight in her belly. “This is not appropriate conversation for a dance.” Despite her best intentions, she could not look away from him. Something in his face held her transfixed.

  His hand flexed at her back. She shouldn’t have been so aware of it, given the layers of fabric and boning of her clothing, but she could feel the press of each finger. “I think of it far more often than I ought to admit,” he said.

  Before she could stop herself, her gaze flicked back to his lips. Would kissing him again feel as interesting as it had the first time? What was wrong with her? He was a fortune-hunting duke intent on marrying her sister. There was no way he thought of that kiss. If he did, it was purely for reasons of using it to blackmail her.

  “You need not think you can hold that over me. I told my parents about that night.” There. He was for vanquishing, not for kissing.

  “Did you?”

  She gave a single proud nod as he led her into another turn. “Yes, they know about you and your pugilistic tendencies.”

  He laughed again. This one a deep laugh that started down in his chest and garnered them curious looks from the couple gliding past them. “I am intrigued. What was their reaction to that bit of gossip?”

  She tried to scoff, but it was difficult with the smile she had plastered on her face. It would hardly do to feed the gossip mill by arguing with him in front of the entire ball, no matter how much she might want to. The music called for a twirl, so she waited until she was back in his arms to say, “It is not gossip if it’s true, and I was a party to the situation. Do you intend to deny it happened?” He smelled pleasantly of citrus and bergamot as he had that night in the garden.

  “Very well. What was their response to that bit of news?”

  “That hardly matters.” She was not going to admit to him that they did not care one whit if their potential son-in-law brawled for money. His smile told her that he knew. Damn him.

  “I am going to guess that you did not mention our kiss.” He said it loud enough that anyone dancing by them could have heard.

  “Shh . . . We hardly need to share that. It was once and ill-advised at that.” Her face flamed at the memory, so much so that she could not bring herself to see if any of the couples around them had heard.

  “I do not think it was ill-advised at all.” His voice lowered a hair.

  “Stop talking about it.” She spoke through clenched teeth because it was the only way to keep her temper in check. Had he lured her into this dance to make a fool of her? Was this his way of keeping her unbalanced so that she would not intervene when he went for Violet tonight?

  “All right,” he said easily. Too easily. “I will not mention it anymore during our waltz. You have my word.”

  Since he was being agreeable, she decided now was the time to appeal to him. “Please reconsider your plan for tonight. Or at least postpone it.”

  “What do you believe my plan to be, Miss Crenshaw?” The area between his brows furrowed attractively. For heaven’s sake, did every expression the man made have to be so attractive? It wasn’t fair.

  “I think you plan to let your intentions for her be known tonight. I would like for you to wait, at least until we can talk more.”

  He did not smile or put her off in any way as she had expected. Instead, he became thoughtful as the dance continued. His eyes deepened somehow, the pupils expanding ever so slightly as he led her into another twirl. When she came out of it, he pulled her into his arms again, and his pleasing scent washed over her. He made her want to step closer into the circle of his arms, to savor his warmth.

  “As I see it, Miss Crenshaw”—his voice was husky and deep when he finally spoke—“I have only two options before me and must make a choice.”

  As she waited for him to elaborate, the waltz came to an end. Always the gentleman, he bowed to her and placed her hand on his arm as he walked her back to her family. The crowd parted as it had before, only this time she noted that everyone they passed seemed to be watching them both, and whispers followed behind them. Perhaps they had been too obvious in their sparring. She probably shouldn’t have stared at his mouth the way she had. People would have noticed. People seemed to notice everything about him, which undoubtedly extended to the shadow he cast.

  Her mother and Violet stood watching them with silent eyes at the edge of the dance floor. She tried to signal that Violet should leave so that Rothschild would have no opportunity to ask her to dance, but all too soon he was greeting both of them in turn. Her mother smiled and returned the greeting, while Violet seemed a bit stunned. Her mouth fell open slightly, and her gaze kept going back and forth between them.

  Finally, he turned to August and brought her hand to his lips. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Crenshaw. If you will excuse me.”

  He was the embodiment of decorum as he inclined his head to both her mother and sister before taking his leave. He walked away as if nothing of note had happened on the dance floor. Had anything happened? Maybe not for him. Was she alone in this strange need to see things settled between them? Why wasn’t he asking to claim the next dance with Violet?

  It was unseemly, but she couldn’t stop herself from calling him back. “Wait.”

  He paused and turned, and every eye in the vicinity seemed to turn with him. Aware of their intense interest, she kept her voice light. “You mentioned options. What are they?”

  He grinned, the wolf back to play with its prey. “It har
dly matters. I have made my choice.” Turning, he made his way through the crowd. It was easy to follow his progress as the people shuffled like waves in his wake.

  “August?” Violet’s voice seemed to come from far away as August tried to regain her equilibrium. She felt as if she had just returned to herself from an odd dream.

  “Miss Crenshaw?” Lady Helena moved in front of her, fixing her with an urgent stare.

  “Yes?” August looked back and forth between them, and then became aware of the rising murmurs around them. She had expected the attention to follow Rothschild, but it seemed that at least some of it had stayed with her. “What is happening?” she whispered.

  “Oh, my dear.” Lady Helena shook her head and glanced to the large open doorway where Rothschild had disappeared. “The duke never comes to these balls. He never dances with anyone, especially single women.”

  “Yes, I know, we discussed this. He was coming to dance with Violet, to establish his interest.” She was a little annoyed that they had to go through this again.

  “He did not dance with Violet, though, did he?” Her brows rose as if August should be able to formulate the rest.

  August looked to Violet, who was staring at her as if she had sprouted another head. Mother gasped and covered her mouth to hide the unladylike sound.

  “No, he danced with me because I told him Violet wasn’t here.”

  “That’s right,” said Lady Helena. “He danced with you.”

  August nodded, growing impatient when it really was her own fault for not explaining. “You misunderstand. I asked him to not make his intentions known to Violet until we could talk about things.”

  “What did he say?” Violet asked.

  “Well . . . I’m not sure.” Already everything about that conversation was blending together. He had answered questions without really answering them at all. What did it mean that he had two options and he had made his choice?