Page 39 of How Not to Marry a Duke

Adeline let out her breath in relief. For a man who hated Society functions, he was charming and polite.

Warwick folded his hands before him. “Do you have an interest in ornithology, my lady?”

Lady Furlong looked at him questioningly. “Pardon? I’m not sure what that is, Your Grace.”

“Ornithology is the study of birds. Scientists study their flight patterns, visual appeal, even their birdsongs.”

Lady Furlong repeatedly blinked. “Why would you ask, Your Grace?”

“Your headpiece is of a birdcage.”

The lady’s mouth gaped as her hand fluttered to her extravagant wig.

Oh my God. Adeline’s cheeks flushed hot, and her heart galloped with embarrassment. Any relief over his manners dissipated like a puff of smoke. What was he thinking? Could he be that socially inept? An awkward silence stretched between the parties, and Adeline wanted to melt into the crowd.

Thankfully, the next guest in line approached.

Thank our lucky stars!

Warwick bowed and stepped aside. As he walked away from the receiving line and into the ballroom, Adeline hurried to follow and touched his sleeve. He turned and she motioned for him to meet her behind a pillar.

Eyes wide, she looked up at him. “Why on earth would you ask that of Lady Furlong?”

“Just as I said. Because of the towering birdcage upon her head.”

She scowled. “It’s fashion!”

“Why would a birdcage in one’s wig be fashionable?”

She threw up her hands. “I don’t know. I know only that gentlemen don’t go around asking ladies offending questions.” If she was truthful, she’d had a hard time tearing her gaze away from the ridiculous headdress herself. The difference was that she’d kept her thoughts to herself, and her mouth shut.

“I didn’t mean offense.”

The ballroom was warm, and Adeline opened her fan and began rigorously fanning herself. “I understand…but—”

“I feel compelled to point out that you were the one who suggested we attend Lady Furlong’s country gathering to practice, remember? I’d rather be in a library with a good book,” he said.

“Clearly.”

He arched one dark eyebrow. “You also insist we attend a London ball,” he said.

“Balls. More than one.” She began to wonder if that was a mistake. Insulting a lady in the country was one thing. A glittering London ball hosted by a renowned Society hostess, or a powerful patroness of Almack’s was another thing entirely.

She felt queasy at the thought.

He rested a hand on the pillar by her head. “While we are here, we should dance.”

The change of topic and his nearness made her head spin. Her anxiety veered into a heightened awareness of him. Dressed in a well-tailored navy coat, snowy cravat, and checked jacket, he looked every inch a duke. A very handsome one. Her insides tugged and twisted. She snapped her fan shut. “Can you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I already told you I could. Come.”

Once more, he took her hand and rested it on his forearm. She resisted the urge to squeeze and feel his muscles. On the way to the dance floor, she spotted Hasmik in the corner. She must have arrived from the village fair. She nodded and offered Adeline an encouraging smile as the duke led her to the hardwood floor.

The musicians began a country dance. The dancers paired off and other dancers joined them in a line. Her feet moved to the music. She risked a glimpse at his face, and she tripped but caught herself. Across the way, Warwick moved with ease and never missed a step of the dance. For some reason, that irked her.

He can dance. She should be grateful. It was his social ineptness that needed refinement. He’d spoken like a scientist to their hostess. He was right: he’d do better in a library full of books rather than a ballroom.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted women watching them as she met and separated from Warwick during the dance. This was practice for London. This was what they needed. The women gossiped like magpies behind fluttering fans.