She squinted more closely.
At that time, itappearedto be moving at normal speed.
Another forced laugh, this time from the countess, pierced the stilted conversations among their family and dragged Fleur’sfocus to the mirror. Her gaze caught with the one locked in on her.
Heart hammering, she turned quick enough her neck strained in protest.
Fleur swallowed a groan.
Maybe he hadn’t seen her.
She sneaked a peek. Posted alongside the floor-to-ceiling mirror at the adjacent wall, the illustrious Duke of Hartwell had his group’s attention. Of course he did. He spoke and even the Lord listened.
Fleur should be relieved. The last thing she wanted was to be caught staring, and for absolutely no reason. Hart already had an inflated opinion of himself. All noblemen did. Loads wealthy. Loads landed. Loads arrogant—all men were. Dukes even more so. Obnoxiously so. Loads strangely handsome.
Unfortunately for him, her, and the entire world, Hartwell knew it too. He knew he had all the wealth, all the land, all the power, and the arresting face to stop a person in their tracks.
It made him even more obnoxious—if such a thing was possible.
Fleur appeared to have escaped unscathed, and with her dignity intact.
Fleur didn’t dare risk looking up a third time. Thelastthing she wanted was to keep company with Jeremy’s bigger, more annoying brother. Rather, she’d been wanting to join his group. That was vastly different.
She bore her gaze into the ticking clock handle and tracked its journey across the pale green painted leaves outside the Roman numeral II.
A shadow fell over Fleur. She stiffened as Hart’s visage swallowed up the same mirror responsible for her current misery.
He flashed a tight smile that would never be confused as friendly, especially absent of a requisite bow.
“Good evening, Lady Fleur,” he greeted. “You have been paying an inordinate attention to—”
Fleur’s toes curled all the way in.
“Theclock, Lady Fleur,” he drawled.
Oh, he didn’t even pretend poorly that he had seen her staring.
“It is vastly more entertaining than my current company, Your Grace.”
Fleur flashed a smile.
His lips drew taut at the corners. “The current company being me or the overall guest list, Lady Fleur?”
It was almost too easy with him.
Fleur angled her shoulder to close her response from the rest of the room. “Lest I offend anyone,” she whispered, “I shall leave you to your own conclusion.”
A lightning strike would be safer than the glint that flashed in Hart’s eyes. Unfortunate for him, Fleur grew up adoring a good goustie.
“Are we keeping you from something, Fleur?”
He had dropped the “Lady” and seized her name like it was his to take and keep, to assert his power. The poor gent. He should consult Jeremy as to how wellthathad worked for him when he joined the McQuoid family as a lad.
“Given we are in my family residence, I’m not certain that is your question to ask.” This time, she gave him the smile she’d bestowed on Byron—only this one had no effect on Hart.
Everything about the man was hard. His punishing gaze. A jaw cast from iron. The bold, slightly heavy hawkish nose, centered within a squarish face, from which he looked down the length of.
With more than a head on her, Hartwell leaned down. “Perhaps you have another masquerade to sneak off to, Fleur?”
