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Many agreeable and affable young men swarmed to her side, and within a few minutes, all of Evie’s dances were spoken for. The night passed in a blur of dancing, conversation, and dreaded anticipation of being alone with His Grace. She’d consumed several glasses of champagne to soothe her rioting nerves, but the bubbly drink did the opposite. Evie felt on edge, jittery, her heart a beating mess.
She was now pairing with His Grace on a second dance, for he had arrogantly stolen a cotillion from a young lord who had hardly put up a fuss. They glided about the room, the duke moving with surprising grace despite his larger frame.
“Your mother informs me you are a dutiful daughter,” the Duke of Carlyle drawled as they twirled around each other. “With the accomplishments and comportment befitting a duchess.”
Dutiful. She was heartily resenting the word and the way it implied her subservience to her mother, society, and her future husband’s expectations. Unable to proffer any answer that would suggest she was gratified to have received a compliment, Evie allowed her lips to tip into a small smile that neither implied pleasure nor dissatisfaction.
The dance ended and they dutifully clapped.
“Walk with me, Lady Evelyn,” he commanded, holding out his arm, expecting her compliance.
Her mother looked on with a keen eye, silently urging Evie to not be foolish. She barely touched his arm, and they moved through the crowd toward the section that would lead to the main entrance hall. She glimpsed Lord Richard lounging in a far corner, a ravishing lady glued to his side, gazing at him with earnest adoration. Evie’s breath hitched when she noticed he was watching her and the duke depart the ballroom. In Lord Richard’s golden eyes, she saw a dare to not conform to her family’s expectations. His lips curved, and her breath hitched. His wicked smile was not terribly reassuring.
Do not be foolish, Evie. Mamma will be very disappointed.
In short order, the duke deftly whisked her away from the crush to the drawing room, but he was correct enough to leave the door ajar.
The revelry had been left behind, and the sudden silence was quite intimidating. The duke observed her, his eyes stripping her naked where she stood. Discomfort curled through her. “Your Grace, I believe it would be best if we speak in the gardens or on the terrace.” She felt intimidated by his size in the intimate seclusion of the drawing room.
“I think after this morning, Lady Evelyn, you know why I have brought you here.”
A blush warmed her cheeks. His kiss against her closed lips had been alarming and unpleasant. Her stomach knotted even further. Surely, he did not want to speak of marriage so soon?
“I am at a loss, Your Grace,” she said, trying to postpone his proposal.
He moved closer and drew her to him. His lips muffled her squeak of surprise. Evie lurched back, distressed at his boldness. “Your Grace, I cannot permit you such familiarity!”
His dark gray eyes glittered as if he were fevered. “You have given me back my youth, dear girl. It confounds me how eager I am to kiss your enchanting lips.”
She laced her unsteady hands together, leaning away from the duke. He pressed his advantage, and her back was now flush against the wall. Dear Lord. Another quick, hard kiss was placed to her lips. She froze, her heart wildly pounding.
The duke lifted his head and smiled. “You’ll make me a wonderful duchess,” he murmured huskily.
The champagne churned in her stomach and Evie swallowed several gulps of air. She tried her very best to belch, and what came forth was a loud, embarrassing gurgle that somehow transformed into a belch that echoed around the drawing room.
Thank heavens.
The duke froze, distaste settling on his face. Before he could berate her, another belch issued forth and his nose wrinkled in distaste, outrage darkening his gray eyes.
She rubbed her clammy palms together. “Oh, forgive me, Your Grace, I…I…suffer from a delicate constitution.”
His eyes narrowed. “Delicate constitution?”
“Oh yes, my stomach has been out of sorts for several months. I seem to belch quite frequently. A distemper of my digestion, perhaps? Or delicate nerves. The doctors are mystified.”
“Lady Gladstone did not mention this,” he said stiffly.
“I am mortified to even reveal my delicateness to you, but I cannot in good conscience let you not be aware of all my peculiarities.”
He tugged at his cravat. “Your peculiarities?”
She took a bracing breath and then slowly released. “I…I…seem to also pass wind uncontrollably.” Evie wanted to die from the humiliation coursing through her. She had irrevocably lost all sense of herself.
The duke’s jaw slackened, and he seemed rendered speechless.
“Your Grace,” she started, staring at him in helpless mortification. “Forgive my vulgarity.”
His face turned florid, and she feared he was in danger of passing out. She watched in amazement as he tugged at his cravat, then spun sharply on his heel and departed the room with clipped strides.
