Page 84 of How Not to Marry a Duke

“Smart and perceptive. Warwick is quite besotted, and I can see why. You are beautiful inside and out, my dear.” She clasped her fan to her chest. “I have no doubt that my godson will whisk you to the altar soon before some other buck has a mind to steal you from him.”

Adeline wanted to hug Lady Heywood. Or cry. She was torn by conflicting emotions. She was prevented from hugging the countess by the intrusion of a too familiar masculine voice.

“Good evening, my lady. Adeline.”

Adeline spun around, her happiness dissipating like a puff of smoke, and her stomach plummeting at the sight of her half brother.

“Hello, Edwin.” Bile rose in her throat as she smiled.

Edwin was handsome enough with his fair hair fashioned in the Brutus style that was favored by Beau Brummell himself. The cut of his burgundy coat and gold embroidered waistcoat emphasized his athletic build. If one didn’t know his personality, one could understand the young debutantes’ interest in him.

“Good evening, Lord Foster,” Lady Heywood said. “Pardon me while I say hello to friends.”

Left alone with Edwin, Adeline squared her shoulders.

“I saw you speaking with Lady Jersey and Lady Cowper. No doubt the countess’s influence has others forgetting about your heathen blood.”

She let out a held-in breath. He truly wasn’t worth her ire. “What do you want, Edwin?”

“Where is the lofty duke?”

“I imagine you will see him shortly.”

“Are you sure? He’s been noticeably absent and has made no appointment to see me.”

“I am of legal age.” At twenty-three years old, she didn’t require his permission to marry.

“He should ask me for your hand in marriage. It’s proper for him to do so.”

“Is that why you are speaking to me? Or are you concerned about other matters? Have you found the funds to pay the moneylender?”

His lips twisted in irritation. “Do not think you have escaped unscathed, Adeline.”

Fury and fear erupted within her, and she fought for control. “So you say. You should be focused on the earldom and your debt, not your half-heathen sister. As far as I’m concerned, you are not worthy of the earldom.”

A vein bulged at his temple, and she knew it took him great effort not to raise his fist or his voice.

She was saved by Lady Heywood appearing by her side. Edwin bowed and made a quick retreat.

“What’s wrong, Adeline? You look flushed. Please do not worry. We both know Warwick isn’t known for his punctuality.”

“Thank you for your concern. I’m sure he will arrive,” Adeline said.

“Good. Until then, I say enjoy yourself, my dear. I won’t be able to hold off all the gentlemen vying for your attention, and a spin on the dance floor never hurt a lady’s confidence.”

Directly following Lady Heywood’s prediction of male attention, three gentlemen approached. She barely heard their introductions. A baron. A viscount. A marquess. She was tense over her confrontation with Edwin.

When Lady Heywood nodded in encouragement, the baron led Adeline off to the dance floor for a country dance. If the dance could take her mind off her worries, then she would embrace the dance with all her effort. She parted and met her partner, turned, and had just taken his arm when, through the length of the ballroom, she spotted Warwick at the top of the stairs.

She watched, entranced, as he approached Lord Drake and a group of other men and began speaking with them. The duke’s tall frame stood out above the thick of the crowd. For a man who rarely graced a ballroom, he exuded an air of command and confidence, a duke who demanded obedience and respect. He didn’t appear awkward or inept, but at ease as he spoke with his peers. His meticulously tailored black and white evening clothes were in stark contrast to the colorful coats and patterned waistcoats preferred by other men. His powerful build made her heart race, and the perfection of his features attracted more than one female eye.

But it was everything beneath the surface that captivated her as well. His keen intelligence. His regard for her thoughts and dreams. His consideration to help her sister.

He was hers.

For a little while longer, he was hers. In bed the prior evening, she’d tossed and turned, thinking of her conversation with Hasmik.

Had her dreams changed?