Page 52 of Tempting the Marquess

“And I,” said Miss Baker-Field, “plan to bring the Marquess of Standish up to scratch. He has such a fondness for our family. Always so kind and generous with his time and conversation. And the way he looks at me. Lud! Brings a blush to my cheeks just thinking aboutit.”

Pure rage surged through Samantha, and she barely refrained from bloodying the girl’s nose. “Lord Standish is well-mannered with everyone.”

“No, I hold a special place in his heart. Isn’t that right, Mother?”

Lady Baker-Field smiled indulgently. “Truer words have never been spoken. You see, my dear Lady Samantha, when the time comes, a gentleman marries the appropriate woman. Someone equal to him in standing and reputation, someone charming and elegant and not with a figure that demonstrates a tendency to…gluttony. They want a wife who will be a credit to them. An experienced hostess, comfortable in all social situations. Someone who speaks like a lady, not with a certain, er, flavor of the north. The ton must keep up certain standards, you realize. So perhaps you should run alongand—”

“Dance withme.”

All three of her attackers froze, their faces turning a rather interesting shade of pea-green. Then again, Alexander’s voice had cracked like a whip, and he’d never looked so terrifyingly ducal, dressed in unrelieved black, with only his starched cravat offering any contrast. Her fury began to subside.

“Oh, good evening, your grace,” said Samantha.

“You aren’t going to turn me down again, are you? I’m quite certain you promised me a dance.”

She bit her lip to halt a laugh. Nothing of the sort had been promised, but the pea-green faces next to her were now aubergine. If Alexander said anything else to imply she was not only acceptable but desirable, their heads might explode. “Well, your grace, since you begged so very nicely…”

Lady Baker-Field squeaked like a newborn kitten. “Impudence!”

“Beg pardon?” said Alexander as he directed his frigid gaze on the woman.

Miss Yale elbowed her way forward and batted her eyelashes at the duke. “We were just talking to dear Lady Samantha about our way of life in London. So very different to those who have rusticated in the country, wouldn’t you say, your grace?”

“A great many Londoners would benefit from rustication. One often wishes they might retire there permanently, never to be heard from again.”

“How right you are!” simpered the girl. “Overcrowding is the bane of our lives. Nasty merchants and whatnot buying property and lowering the tone of decent streets. I think there should be a wall around the West End. Keep the undesirablesout.”

“What if the undesirables already live there?” asked Samantha curiously.

Alexander made a faint choking sound. It might have been a laugh, it was hard to tell. “Lady Samantha, I hear the strains of a waltz beginning. On my honor, I dance better than Standish and probably Westleigh, although no one could compare to Trentham. Your toes will be quitesafe.”

“That is reassuring, your grace, although I can offer no such guarantee for yours.”

Lady Baker-Field burst into her fake tinkling laugh again. “Miss Yale dances like a butterfly, your grace. So much easier to take a turn about the floor with a lady light on her feet and slender inform.”

Alexander tilted his head. “But infinitely less enjoyable.”

The woman recoiled. “Oh dear, my husband is summoning me. Come along, girls. Good evening to you, your grace. Lady Samantha.”

As the three of them practically sprinted away, Samantha glanced up at the duke. “Thank you for the rescue.”

“You are welcome. I fear your barbs need sharpening before you take on the likes of her again. Fisticuffs at balls is not at all the thing.”

Heat scorched across her cheeks. “I wasn’t going to punch her. Or the others.”

“Oh, yes you were. Especially when the chit claimed an intimate friendship with Standish. Something she does not have, may I add,” said Alexander, his lips twitching. “Now, much as it is entertaining hiding in the corner with you, people are beginning to stare. Shall we dance?”

“You are determined to look out for me, aren’t you?” she blurted, as they twirled around the dance floor.

Alexander’s shoulders lifted in the slightest of shrugs. “Until Standish returns, I’m afraid you will be enjoying my company, yes.”

“Well, if you are going to be my shadow, your grace, there are some rules. You will cheer any womanly fisticuffs, rather than trying to prevent them. And you will act as my second should I be challenged to a duel, no questions asked.”

He stared down at her for the longest time. And then he laughed, a rusty, hoarse sound, as though it was something quite foreign to him. “Exactly how many duels might there be? I have a rather busy schedule, madam.”

“I’m sure the number will dwindle once the message is received that William belongs to me,” she said with agrin.

“God help the man. Then again, Westleigh and Trentham seem to be managing life with their hellions remarkably well, so perhaps it is not so onerous.”