Page 14 of To Dare a Duke

“There’s no mistake,” he said, his voice firm. In a determined movement—in the manner of a man forced to deal with a large spider—he held out his hand to her. “May I have the honour of this dance, Miss Chuffington-Smythe?”

Prue gaped.

“You’re not serious?”

The words were out before she could think better of them, but really…. You couldn’t spend three seasons as a wallflower and then have a duke ask you to dance without thinking something underhand was at work.

“Is that a refusal?” he asked, quite obviously offended.

“Er… no,” she said, forcing herself to remember that this was research. “No, it isn’t, but you can’t expect me not to wonder why.”

“Can’t I?” he asked, an undertone of frustration behind the enquiry. “Most women would trample their friends for the opportunity to dance with a duke.”

Prue considered this. “Most women, with most dukes,” she allowed.

Something lit in his eyes and she quailed a little, unsure if it was anger or not. “But I am not most dukes.”

Prue shrugged. “And I am not most women.”

They stared at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment.

“Well,” she said, a little exasperated. “It’s not as if we don’t both know it.”

The duke stared at her for a moment longer. “If I promise I won’t murder you before the music ends, will you dance with me?”

There was something that might have been amusement in his question, though his tone was too impatient and rather too sinister for her to be certain. Sadly, Prue had always admitted to a warped sense of humour, and found the corners of her mouth turning up.

“I never did believe that one, you know,” she said, putting her hand in his.

He tilted his head a little, considering her but not giving her any indication of whether she was correct.

“My uncle was right,” he said, frowning a little. “You are unusual.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s a compliment, but I shall take it as one,” Prue replied.

Unusual might not be a good thing to be under the judging eyes of the ton, but as a writer… yes, she’d be happy with that.

“You are an unusual duke, also, your grace.” He looked down at her in surprise and her lips quirked. “Well, I thought I ought to return the compliment.”

“If it was a compliment,” he murmured, the words a dry rumble.

Prue snorted, for which her aunt would have scolded her soundly. The duke just raised an eyebrow. “Well, if it wasn’t, I’ve returned your insult. It seems fair, doesn’t it?”

She thought perhaps his lips twitched just a little.

“Eminently,” he replied, drawing her towards him as Prue realised with a jolt of alarm that the next dance was a waltz.

Her eyes flew to his as the music began, and his hand settled upon her waist.

Good heavens.

He’d been intimidating enough to stand opposite. It had taken all her self-possession to speak with him, refusing to let him intimidate her. Yet he was intimidating, so tall and broad, powerful, with heavy-lidded green eyes, that arrogant cold look assessing her. Still, she’d held her own. One hand at her waist and her own disappearing into the firm, warm grasp of his other, however, and all at once she was in danger of becoming a quivering wreck again.

To think, some women might even envy her.

They were mad.

Stop this. You are a sensible woman, Prunella. This is research. Nothing more. It will all be over in a few minutes, don’t waste it. Now, what do you need to know about the Damned Duke?