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A horse. He was going to dance with her for a bloody horse.
Her smile dropped, the butterflies withering away and replaced by the heat of indignation. Perhaps that was why he’d been staring at her so intently earlier in the evening, analyzing his opponent to see how easily he would win what was quite obviously some ludicrous wager. Well, she thought with a huff as she quietly stormed away from the scene, if Milton thought she would simper and smile so easily, then he had another thing coming. Arabella reentered the ballroom, righteous fury having not abated in the slightest during the trek. Her mother and Caroline had already returned to their place, the latter peering curiously at her as she approached. “Are you alright, Arabella? You have a mighty flush.”
“Perfectly fine,” she bit out with a tight smile. “The stuffiness of the ballroom is overheating me.”
Caroline frowned. “If you say so. Oh! Lord Derring is heading this way for our dance.”
“Go on,” Arabella replied kindly, even if her thoughts were anything but. She watched Caroline go out with her newest partner and simmered with every second that passed. The next dance was a waltz, one that she was reasonably sure was the last of the evening. No doubt Milton would make his move before then. She pictured him strolling in from the garden, chuffed at the thought of winning. His failure would be a delight to witness.
She scanned the ballroom, spotting the duke with ease. His handsome visage was hard to miss, and she was mortified at having been so fooled by such a charming facade. His mother had rejoined him, and the two were engaged in hushed conversation. Arabella tensed when he subtly pointed to her, his mother following the gesture. When the woman smiled and the two began walking towards her, she braced herself for the inevitable. Thank goodness her own mother had wondered off again after Caroline left for the dance, for Arabella was about to make a supreme ass of a duke in the middle of a crowded ballroom.
“Hello again, Miss Hughs,” the duchess said as they stopped before her. “I am back with my Milton, as promised. Milton, may I introduce Miss Arabella Hughs.”
Arabella curtseyed. “Your Grace.”
He returned the gesture with an elegant bow. “Miss Hughs. A pleasure.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then.” The duchess said with a knowing smile before leaving them. Poor, sweet woman.
He looked around. “You are alone.”
Had she not just overheard him planning to use her to win a bloody horse, she might have been charmed by his elegant timbre, expertly laced with just the barest hint of masculine interest. But now, Arabella knew it was merely a facade to get what he wanted from her.
Just like Edmund.
She swallowed down the bitter memories and pasted on a bland smile. “Unfortunately, both my mother and Caroline are occupied at the moment, though my sister will return after this set.”
“That is alright,” he replied, his voice as smooth as velvet. “Will you do me the honor of the next waltz?”
Oh, how she almost wished he was sincere, that the anticipation in his sapphire eyes had anything to do with her rather than the prize he was trying to win. For the briefest of moments, Arabella pretended it was true and basked in the warmth coursing through her at the thought. She smiled, beamed really, and gave him just about the sweetest face she could muster. “No.”
He cheerily extended his arm. “Excellent, let us—wait, what did you just say?” The perplexed frown on his face was just about the funniest thing she’d seen in her life.
“No,” Arabella repeated. “And it will always be no. Sadly, that horse shall remain forever out of reach.”.
Milton swallowed. “Oh.”
She frowned at last. “Oh, indeed.”
To his credit, the man flushed. “You overheard our conversation.”
She nodded. “I must say, having my worth be compared to a horse is about the least flattering thing I think I’ve ever heard said about myself, and there have been many unflattering things said about me.”
Though they likely couldn’t hear the particulars of the conversation, people were staring nonetheless. It wasn’t every day one saw a duke flushing nearly down to his toes in mortification. No doubt there would be much speculation as to the cause, likely every tale blaming her. Arabella was far from caring. Watching him gape like a fish and struggle for a reply was more than gratifying to her wounded pride.
He grimaced. “Would you believe me if I said that I did not mean any offense? Truly, the horse is spectacular, but that is not the only reason I sought you out.”
Arabella rose an eyebrow as he continued to fidget. “You’re telling me you would have asked me to dance, regardless?”
“Yes,” he declared, the sincerity in his eyes taking her aback. But then she reminded herself that the man was a proven liar, and his membership amongst that infamous group of rogues brought her back to reality.
“That must be one lovely horse for you to keep humiliating yourself like this.”
His shoulder’s slumped. “You don’t believe me.”
“No.” Arabella suppressed the giggle working its way up her throat at the sight of him looking so pathetic in front of the crowd. She’d have hell to pay later once her mother got wind of this, but it was worth it for her petty revenge. His hand was still outstretched from the earlier invitation, and she couldn’t help a small grin of mirth from slipping through. “Good evening, Your Grace,” she proclaimed, loud enough for the surrounding guests to hear, before turning on her heel and striding away, leaving him stranded there like an utter fool as the first notes of the waltz began. If her prospects were dim before this scene, they were certainly dire now. Which was for the best, she assured herself.
Arabella was tired of noblemen and their deceptions.
