Heart of a Duke 04 - Loved By a Duke

by Christi Caldwell

  “Er, if you’ll excuse me. My mama is motioning to me.”

  Auric stepped into her path, blocking her escape. “You can’t know that.”

  “Of course I should know that.” She bristled her shoulders with indignation. “She is, after all, my mother.”

  “Yes,” He leaned down and murmured close to her ear. “But she also happens to be positioned behind you.”

  Daisy whipped around and found the marchioness and then swung her attention back to him. “Oh.” If her cheeks turned any redder, they would catch fire.

  “Yes. Oh.” In spite of himself, Auric grinned. He’d forgotten what it was to tease and be teased. Granted this teasing business was a good deal more enjoyable when it was he that was doing the teasing and not being teased.

  She dropped a hasty curtsy. “If you’ll excuse me, I should allow you to return to your duchess hunting and I—”

  “Never tell me.” He lifted a single eyebrow. “Your mother is motioning to you?”

  Daisy pointed her eyes to the ceiling once more. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered. With that, she spun on her heel and left him laughing in her wake.

  Oh, the great big lummox.

  Daisy stomped away and sought out the precise row of seven chairs tucked at the back, central portion of Lord and Lady Harrison’s ballroom.

  They were either completely devoid of logic or deliberately cruel to place the partnerless ladies at the center of the ballroom, in the exact spot every bored lord and lady’s eyes were inevitably drawn to, if for no other reason than because of its obvious location.

  She claimed an empty seat and glanced down the empty row. It was a lonely night for wallflowers.

  She tapped her canary yellow slipper upon the marble floor. And that was another thing altogether. There really should never be such an inglorious class as wallflowers. Why, as long as gentlemen existed, every young lady should be partnered in at least one set. Then considering the Duke of Crawford’s rather mocking dismissal, perhaps the dream of chivalry had been dealt the death knell.

  Daisy glanced down at the very empty card dangling from her wrist. That was not to say she craved just any partner. She didn’t want just any gentleman. Quite the opposite. She wanted a certain one. The great big lummox who really didn’t deserve her regard—and yet had it anyway, because of the man he once was, and the man she knew he could be.

  The man who now searched the crowded ballroom.

  “Probably for his next duchess,” she muttered under her breath. He’d not confirmed her supposition, but he hadn’t had to. She’d well known that Auric, a man who so valued responsibility and honor as to visit almost weekly the family of his late friend, would, of course, see to his ducal obligations. He’d wed a proper blonde miss, have an heir and then a spare, and live his perfectly boring ducal life.

  With another woman.

  Absently, she touched a finger to her bare neck. It spoke to her desperation that she’d hang her hope of Auric, Duke of Crawford, upon the charm given out by a gypsy. Why, the gypsy probably had all number of heart pendants she gave to silly, romantic, young ladies in the market for a husband who also happened to be dreaming of love. She suspected the madness in pinning her happiness to that bauble, all to win Auric’s heart, stemmed from a desire to return to a time when she had known happiness. Since Lionel’s limp body had been returned to them, forever silenced, a perpetual cloud had followed her family. The kind of thick sadness that no smile or silly jest could cut through.

  She scanned the crowd and found her mother precisely where Auric had last motioned. The marchioness stood off to the right side of the room with a blank-eyed stare as Lady Marlborough prattled on at her side. She didn’t remember the last time Mother had smiled. Daisy sighed, not giving in to the wave of self-pity that threatened to consume her. She was best to focus her attention on where it belonged.

  Auric.

  …Who now stood conversing with Lady Windermere and her pretty blonde, blue-eyed daughter, Lady Leticia.

  Daisy wrinkled her nose. Really, did every young English lady possess golden ringlets and those pale blue eyes? Auric bent over Lady Leticia’s hand and dashed his name upon her card. “Humph,” she mumbled.

  And that was quite another thing. He well knew Daisy loved to dance the waltz. He had, in fact, served as de facto tutor when the miserable French bugger hired by her parents had boxed her ears for possessing not even a smidgeon of talent. Auric and Lionel had fashioned themselves as her dance instructors and had taken turns waltzing her about the room until she no longer stomped all over their toes. Yet, he’d reserve the dull minuets and reels for Daisy and one of those outrageously wonderful waltzes for those other ladies.

  Did he not care that every other young woman would settle for the miserable Duke of Crawford for the sole reason that he was a step away from royalty? Whereas Daisy wanted him for the man he was. No, those young ladies likely didn’t care that Auric was serious and hardly ever laugh— He tossed his head back and laughed at something Lady Leticia and her mother said. The deep rumble echoed through the ballroom. “Humph,” she mumbled again. If she were to do anything as outrageous as laugh in that belting, unrestrained way, she’d have garnered all manner of nasty stares. But he, as a duke, was permitted such freedoms as great big laughs.

  Even if it was a fake laugh.

  Unlike Lady Leticia and any of the other duchess-minded ladies, Daisy remembered the deep, alluring sound of it. Slow and quiet as though he weighed what he’d heard and gave it his special attention.

  The orchestra plucked the beginning strands of a quadrille. She picked up her fan and tapped her arm in rhythm to the beat of the lively dance.

  “I have been searching for you, Daisy.”

  She started at the unexpected appearance of her mother. “I tore my hem,” she lied. Though she strongly suspected her perpetually sad mother lied as well. She’d not been searching her out. She no longer seemed to remember that she’d had a second child. Her heart had died with Lionel.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked, her words eerily devoid of inflection.

  “Oh, indeed.” The lie came easy. Daisy didn’t begrudge her mother the aching sorrow she cloaked herself in. First, she’d lost her only son and then her husband just a few years later. She understood loss perhaps better than anyone. Daisy darted her gaze about the room and found Auric, alone once more, his remote stare trained on some unknown spot in the vast ballroom.

  Well, except for Auric. He and Lionel had been thick as thieves with their hands in the vicar’s Sunday collection basket. Born but a few months apart, they’d been inseparable, attending Eton together, and then going off to university. Only one boy had made it out of university to see the world with a man’s eyes.

  She returned her gaze to her mother. For the first time, an uncharacteristic spark flashed to life in her deadened eyes. “It is Auric.” Her throat worked with emotion. She yanked Daisy up by the hand.

  Daisy grunted. “Mother—”

  “Come along, Daisy. Surely you’d not be so rude as to avoid Auric.”

  No. Quite the opposite. If her mother had opened her eyes and truly seen her a short while ago, she’d have noticed that she’d quite embarrassed herself before the gentleman in question. “I just spoke to him, Mama.” And teased him and was teased by him. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. Get control of yourself, Daisy Laurel Meadows. He’d since shifted his focus to Lady Leticia and the other golden-haired creatures he preferred.

  Her mother ignored her protestations and continued dragging her along. “Surely not.”

  Daisy gave a juddering nod that dislodged an errant curl. It tumbled over her brow. “Surely.”

  Which apparently mattered not at all. With a single-minded purpose, her mother all but dragged Daisy through the crush of guests. She waved her free hand about. “Hullo, Your Grace?”

  “Mother, please,” she squeezed out through tight lips.

  “Auric?” her mother conti
nued, ignoring Daisy as was her usual. Oh, bloody hell. Heat burned her entire body as people peered down their noses at the Marchioness of Roxbury’s bold pursuit of the sought-after duke. The ton failed to realize that this single-minded push for the Duke of Crawford was not born of a matchmaking mama, but of a mother who longed for whatever trace reminder she could steal of a beloved, long departed child.

  Several inches past six-feet, Auric’s imposing frame towered over the lesser people scattered around him. The duke stiffened. He turned his focus in on her mother.

  “Auric!” Mother cried again.

  And for one horrifying, painfully agonizing moment she thought Auric would turn and give them both the cut direct. She could forgive the miserableness he’d cloaked himself in. She could not forgive any cruelty toward her grieving mother. Mother staggered to a halt before him. Then he smiled and the tension left Daisy’s body on a slow exhale. It may be the same empty, cool grin he offered to members of Society, but the effort was there to spare the woman hurt and embarrassment, and for that goodness, he would always own a piece of her heart. The rest of it had always been his anyway. What was the remaining sliver?

  “Lady Roxbury, a pleasure,” he inclined his head, ever polite and kind to her mama. “Forgive me for not having paid a visit recently.” He may as well have finished that off with, I’ve been busy duchess-hunting.

  Her mother released Daisy’s hands and raised trembling fingers to her lips. “Oh, Auric, it is so, so very wonderful to see you. We do not see enough of you. I am forever saying that.” She briefly attended Daisy. “Aren’t I, Daisy?”

  Auric slid a glance over in her direction.

  “Indeed.” Another handful of lies by all. By all of them. The duke for saying it was a pleasure. Mother for suggesting she said anything at all to Daisy. And her for supporting the lie. She touched gentle fingers to her mother’s forearm. “Mother, come, the duke is quite busy.”

  Mother’s eyes went wide. “Do not be silly. We would never be an imposition. Not to Auric. Isn’t that true, Auric. Assure Daisy she’s merely being silly and impolite.”

  Daisy curled her toes so tight the arch of her foot ached. It didn’t escape her notice that he failed to acknowledge her mother’s request. Instead, the usually laconic marchioness launched into a flurry of questions and comments, as she always did around Auric. For him, Mother somehow found a way to be the lively woman she’d once been.

  With agonized embarrassment, Daisy blew back the stray strand of hair over her eye and doggedly avoided Auric’s attention, though it was difficult to ignore such a commanding figure of a man. With his intent, ice blue stare he could command the room with a single glance. She’d never before truly appreciated the masculine perfection he evinced, the— “…must dance with Daisy.”

  Two pairs of eyes landed on Daisy. Her mother frowned, urging Daisy with her eyes to say something, and Auric, entirely too amused by her mother’s urgings. “That won’t be necessary. I’m certain the duke already has a partner for this set.” All the sets. There was, after all, a sea of elegant, perfectly blonde, English creatures, hoping for a duke.

  Her mother glared. “Of course he will dance with you. Isn’t that right, Auric?”

  He hesitated. “It would be a pleasure.” As he was nothing, if not well-mannered, he reached for Daisy’s dance card.

  Daisy yanked her card close to her chest. “What are you doing?” She’d detected his slight, almost imperceptible, pause following her mother’s request.

  He froze.

  After Lionel, Daisy had become nothing more than a young lady Society felt sympathy for. Well, she was tired of being pitied. She would not dance with Auric because he felt badly for her nor because he’d been bullied into it.

  “Daisy!” Her mother glared at her with far more life than she’d shown in weeks.

  Daisy tipped her chin at a mutinous angle. Nor did she want another of Auric’s polite country reels. She loved performing the steps of any and every dance but she’d had enough of those dratted polite sets with him.

  With the same boldness he’d evinced as a young lad, Auric made another attempt for her wrist. “I’m marking your card.”

  Daisy held the offending object close to her breast. She wanted him, but not like this. Not partnering her at the bequest of her mother, a pitying favor from a magnanimous duke. His gaze followed that damning card and lingered. Some hot emotion flared in his eyes. For one slight moment she imagined he noted her bosom, which was first silly because Auric noticed nothing of her and second, humiliating to imagine he’d stare at her there. Humiliating mounds of flesh. That is what they were. She really wished she had a trim waist and small bosom. Not the too-rounded figure that would never fit with the ton’s dictates for a beauty.

  In the end, the marchioness settled the dispute between them much the way she had when they’d been squabbling children. Invariably, Auric had always been in the right. “Don’t be ridiculous, Daisy,” her mother snapped as she took Daisy’s wrist and extended it toward Auric.

  Daisy’s pulse jumped wildly as his fingers brushed the sensitive skin of her wrist. A touch shouldn’t elicit these shivery thrills of awareness, the kind that…She bit the inside of her cheek as Auric scanned the card.

  The empty card. As in devoid of partners. As in utterly humiliating. As in she wanted the ballroom floor to swallow both her and her miserable card up, whole. Or in the very least that program upon her wrist.

  Giving no indication that he’d noticed her remarkable lack of partners, he penciled his name for a set, as he sometimes did and then sketched a respectful bow—as he always did. “If you’ll excuse me. Lady Roxbury, a pleasure as unusual. Lady Daisy,” he murmured, his low baritone washed over her like warmed satin.

  As he wandered off, she fiddled with the card dangling from her wrist.

  “How could you be so rude to Auric, Daisy?” her mother chided. “He is a dear friend of this family.”

  He had been a dear friend. Now he was more a polite gentleman who paid frequent visits to her and her always-sad mother.

  Then, with an uncharacteristic energy in her step, her mother turned away and returned to the spot she’d previously occupied at the side of the ballroom. What the other woman failed to realize was that Auric had merely been forced into partnering her. Nothing more than her mother’s needling and his dratted sense of obligation had driven his offer.

  Absently, Daisy glanced down at her card—and her heart paused. A waltz. She whipped her gaze up and passed it through the crowded room, and then located him in conversation with another golden-haired, marriage-minded miss and the lady’s mama. She looked past the young woman. If Auric had wanted to avoid contact with her, he’d surely have claimed an available quadrille or country reel. But he hadn’t. He’d claimed her waltz. A waltz, when he never before dared partner her in that most intimate, still slightly scandalous of the sets.

  A small smile played about her lips as she sought out her previous seat. If he’d claimed her waltz without even the benefit of the heart pendant, the Duke of Crawford stood little chance when she had that bauble clasped about her neck. Enlivened, Daisy sat and tapped her feet to the orchestra’s lively country reel. As much as she detested the crowds of London and the mindless amusements of balls and soirees, she really did quite enjoy dancing.

  It really was quite a shame she didn’t have more opportunities to practice the intricate steps of the quadrille or the forbidden movements or the waltz. Why, she’d settle for even the out of mode minuet. And, she wouldn’t even be particular with her dance partner. She frowned and again located Auric amidst the sea of dancers. That is, assuming the gentleman hadn’t been forced into said set by Daisy’s adamant mama.

  Her frown deepened. Auric moved with graceful precision through the motions of the dance. His partner was none other than Lady Leticia, golden-haired and black-hearted and utterly vile—all the necessary criteria for a lofty duchess. Daisy curled her fingers around the edge of her seat. He d
eserved more than an empty, emotionless entanglement.

  What if it is not emotionless? What if he carries the same aching desire for Lady Leticia that I carry for—?

  “Daisy Meadows, the girl of the flowers.”

  A small shriek escaped her, earning her the curious stares of those around her. She flushed and, with a hand at her fast-beating heart, surged to her feet. An unwitting smile turned her lips. “Marcus,” she greeted warmly. Lord Wessex and Auric had both been fast and loyal friends to her brother and would therefore always hold a special place in her broken heart. She ignored the outraged gasp from lone wallflower seated just a handful of seats down.

  Daisy and Marcus and Auric, they three shared a bond that defied societal norms and matters of propriety. Their relationship had been forever cemented by the unfortunate bond they shared in the great loss of their friend, her brother.

  Marcus, the Viscount Wessex bowed over her hand. “Hullo, Daisy.” Where Auric had been something of a fixture through the years at her home, the viscount had made himself scarce. Then, according to the papers, Marcus had long been the unrepentant rogue, living for his own pleasures, and certainly without time for the former girl he’d found underfoot. “Good evening, my lord.”

  “My, how very formal you are.” He wagged a blond eyebrow. “Should I expect you to begin prattling on about what fine weather we’ve been enjoying?”

  She inclined her head and donned her most proper-hostess expression. “Splendid spring weather we’re having, wouldn’t you say, my lord?” Thunder rumbled and shook the foundations of the elegant townhouse, as though in appreciation of her wry attempt at humor.

  He chuckled. “Indeed.” Then Marcus did a quick, detached up and down of her person. “You look lovely as usual.”

  She snorted. “It seems you’ve grown into one of those compliment spouting, polite gentleman.”