“What if we try it again, only this time with your eyes open?”
“How would I do that?”
“For starters, loosen your arms slightly. It feels as if you are trying to keep me an arm’s length away.”
After the debacle of a chess match where he pulled his hand away from hers, she half expected him to resist, but he didn’t. His elbow fell slightly, resulting in her moving inches closer to him. His chest was directly in front of hers, and they spun about the room more smoothly, less controlled and more in tune with the music. “Much better.”
He smiled and relaxed even more, so only his fingers at her back were left solid and unforgiving. They pressed her closer to him, and she allowed herself to comply. Only when her head was within inches of his did he soften his fingers as well.
“Much better, indeed.” His voice was near her ear, and after days of sterile games of chess, the low melodic tones of his whisper sent a jolt of energy through her. Dancing with Mr. Beauford had never done that.
Still... there was no reason to get excited. Soon enough he would revert back to his steady, not at all exciting, self. She nodded, suddenly unable to find her voice.
“If our courtship has caused you to lose out on dance partners, the least I can do is make your dances with me more enjoyable.”
Her fingers played with the fabric of his jacket on his shoulder. This dance was certainly enjoyable. Despite calling her chess games with the duke dull to Penelope, she supposed she had been able to get to know the duke better because of them. If nothing else, she knew the way he was holding her now meant something. More than it would mean if any other man held her in the same way. “Mile buiochas,” Mercy replied without thinking. The new scullery maid, Bridget, barely spoke any English, and Kate had taught Mercy a few phrases.
The duke lifted his eyebrows. “What was that?”
“Mile buiochas. It is Irish. It means—”
“A thousand thanks,” the duke finished for her.
“Yes, my lady’s maid is teaching me some Irish phrases so I can speak to our new scullery maid.”
“They are both Irish?”
Richard’s mother’s family originally hailed from Ireland, and Mama’s great-grandmother was from there. It was not coincidence that so many of their servants were Irish. “Yes.”
“It is a beautiful land. I spent some of my army time there, but that was before the blight.”
Mercy relaxed. “I would love to go there. Richard has some family still there, and a branch of my mother’s family used to live in Limerick.”
“I never got to Limerick, unfortunately.”
For the briefest moment, she had the idea to tell him they should go together sometime. It was ridiculous. What was she thinking?
“I hope you know, Lady Mercy—” His voice stopped mid-sentence, his eyes trained on something behind her. His arms stiffened, and the distance between them doubled. He went completely rigid, barely making the steps land as they should. If she had thought his jaw had clenched when he had seen her with Lord Bryant, now his teeth were crushed together with terrible force, making even the veins at the top of his neck stand out. His eyes darkened, and she followed his penetrating gaze.
A woman had just entered the ballroom. No,enteredwas the wrong word.Invadedperhaps described the way she stood looking over the masses as if they were a people to be conquered. She was stunning in a sleek and polished way Mercy would never be. Her dark hair was severe and pulled back tightly, without any curls to soften it. Her dress had a plunging neckline that exposed her shoulders. It was a deep, emerald green, with dark purple lace that looked almost black. She surveyed the room with one eyebrow lifted, as if she were assessing the worthiness of the company she would find.
“Who is that?” Mercy asked.
She thought he might feign ignorance or pretend he had not just been staring at another woman, but he did not. “Lady Plymton, the widow of Lord Plymton. It seems she has returned to London a month earlier than planned.”
A month earlier than planned? Who was this Lady Plymton, and why did Harrington know her schedule?
He blinked and led her with his careful, perfect steps towardthe opposite side of the room as far from Lacy Plymton as possible. Good or bad, this Lady Plymton had elicited an intense reaction from the Duke of Harrington.
Which meant two things. First, Harrington was indeed capable of fierce emotions; he simply hadn’t felt them toward Mercy. And second, Mercy had found her first possible candidate for her plan to pawn her suitor off on someone else.
Chapter 14
What was she doing here?Nicholas had known Lady Plymton would be returning to London, but her uncle had said she would arrive next month. And to be at a ball? Her husband had only been dead just over four months. Six months was generally considered to be the minimum mourning period, and he had never understood how someone could only mourn for that long. Why had she rushed her mourning?
The answer was as obvious as her low-cut dress. One title would not be enough for her.
He steered Lady Mercy away from the crowds of people. For the most part, dancers gave them a wide berth anyway, and by the time they reached the opposite side of the room, they had a decent distance between them and anyone else.
