Page 3 of Married to the Duke By Midnight

When her gaze swept back up the man’s body, Jo was startled to see that he was looking at her too. His gaze was steady; he did not frown, smirk or give any other reaction that might indicate he found her attention laughable. Her heart pounded faster as she held his eye for a couple of seconds longer before turning to Beatrice and whispering:

“Who is he? The one with the auburn hair.”

Beatrice followed her gaze across the room and said in a hushed voice:

“Robert Montgomery. The Duke of Riddlesmarsh.”

Oh.

Jo felt her shoulders sag at the information. She looked at the floor while she recalled what her list said about him: Exceedingly rich. A dutiful, although not enthusiastic member of the House of Lords. Was interested in shooting (weren’t they all?), fencing, and horse riding. No vices to speak of.

“He could be interested in a quick match. He doesn’t have an heir, remember? Or he does but it is his second or third cousin or something of the sort,” Beatrice told her.

Beatrice had thought of him as an obvious candidate when they had talked about it earlier. If he was in attendance of course, which she had said he would likely not be. He was not actively searching for a wife, Beatrice said. Jo did not know how she could tell.

“But he is a duke of course. And you said you did not want someone with a title,” Beatrice continued with a teasing note to her voice.

“I know,” Jo muttered.

She briefly looked at him again. The duke was conversing with his dandy friend. Lord Riddlesmarsh was leaning slightly toward him as they spoke. The other man’s grin grew as the duke was speaking but the duke’s face remained serious until he had finished. And then he smiled. It spread slowly. Steady and full of warmth. And Jo had the odd idea that she wanted to be the one to make him smile.

Once again, she tore her eyes from him as she stared at a lavish flower arrangement on a pedestal along the wall. She needed to make a decision. Soon.

“Jo?” Beatrice asked quietly beside her and placed her hand on her arm. “It’s eleven.”

Jo’s eyes snapped to the small fob watch in Beatrice’s hand.

“Right,” Jo said and swallowed.

Her eyes once again strayed to Ambrose. He was not looking at her but speaking with his friends. They were laughing loudly. Even though Jo could not hear what they were saying, she felt certain they were talking about her. That her cousin was already celebrating the fortune he would soon receive from her.

Even though it would not be his money, Jo felt certain he would find a way to profit from it. Invest it and then reap the dividends himself. If he invested cleverly that was. Jo had no faith in her cousin’s ability to know a good investment from a bad one. Heavens, would all the money that her father had labored so hard for be squandered away within the next few years because Jo was unable to find a husband?

She could not let it happen.

“Right,” Jo repeated, clenched her fists and started making her way around the dance floor to the place where the duke was standing. She tried to walk unhurriedly enough to not catch the attention of others but was not certain she succeeded.

Her heart was pounding, her fingers ached as she clenched her hands even tighter, but she could not let her nervousness show. She had a man to propose to.

2

“Ican’t believe I let you convince me to go to the Thistleworths’ ball,” Robert told Thornston when his friend appeared beside him with a tumbler of whisky.

How the man had procured it when everyone else was drinking watered-down punch was beyond Robert, but it was typical of Thornston.

“Because you were ready to take a woman to bed, and you thought it would not hurt if she was a tad desperate,” Thornston told him with a smirk.

Robert rolled his eyes and took a swig of the whisky. He was ready, he supposed. Or at least as ready as he would ever be. It had been six months since Lucretia had decided to marry another and both his heart and his pride had healed as well as he expected they would.

He was not certain he was ready to bed a woman who was so disappointed that her daughter had not found a match this season that she needed him to comfort her physically though. Nevertheless, it was exactly like Thornston to concoct such a plan.

“It will be good for you,” Thornston told Robert and patted his back as if physical relations were a kind of medicine.

Robert supposed that it was for his friend in many ways. He let his eyes sweep the room, looking for… he did not even know what. His gaze caught on someone who was openly examining him. A young woman standing beside her friend on the other side of the dance floor. Which was not surprising he supposed since he was considered one of the best matches of the ton.

She looked reasonably well with light-brown hair with golden streaks in it which was arranged in neat curls around her face. She was wearing a cream dress with a light green sash around her midriff right below her bosom, which was not ample but also not insignificant. A perfect handful if he was not mistaken.

When he reached her face, their eyes met and they stared at each other for a heartbeat. She was not ashamed that she had been caught staring at him but met his gaze with an assessing air before looking at her friend and whispering to her. Other women might have giggled over the fact that she had caught the eye of a duke, but Robert noticed how her shoulders fell as if she was disappointed by what her friend told her.