Her polite smile could have dampened even the most ardent of lovers. “You flatter me, Your Grace.”
“Perhaps I do,” he said. “Will you forgive my lapse in judgment?”
A flash of something—horror, perhaps—crossed her eyes, but she merely inclined her head. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Heavens, she had not been granted a sense of humor, either. Really, her only virtues were passable attractiveness and a good family name. Which were, he reminded himself, the only things that mattered and that he was looking for.
The dance came to an end, and Constance approached, slipping her arm through his. “Aaron,” she said as soon as Lady Roberta had left, “surely, you cannot be thinking of marrying that dull creature.”
“She would make me a proper wife.”
“She would make you adullwife.” Constance squeezed his arm as the young ladies so relentlessly drew closer. “I have a much better idea. Lady Marcella is a lovely girl and is very keen to dance.”
Aaron had never danced with Marcella, but he’d seen the way she looked at him as though he were a new hat or dress that she coveted. “I… thank you,” he said, remembering his sister’s odd friendship with the sharp-eyed girl, “but I’ve had my fill of dancing.”
“Aunt Octavia would not like you deserting your post so soon,” Constance teased. “Must you disappoint her?” Rather that than dancing with either Marcella or Lady Roberta again—and that aforementioned girl was descending on them with a particularly determined look in her eye.
“Make my excuses, Con,” he said, freeing himself from her hold and striding away. First, he ducked into the smoky card room and poured himself some whiskey. It burned his throat pleasantly on its way down, and he had another until his senses were dulled. With the whiskey sitting low in his stomach, he made his way outside.
The gardens were his favorite part of Hexham; they reminded him of his childhood in the country amid the hustle and bustle of London. He enjoyed that, of course—as he enjoyed the many pleasures London had to offer—but sometimes he missed the quiet peace he’d loved as a boy. Footsteps quiet, he advanced into the garden.
* * *
Charlotte ran along the grassy verge beside a path, unwilling to step on the gravel for fear she should make a noise. The footsteps approached ever closer, and she sent a prayer up to the heavens. They could not find her now.
A statue loomed out of the darkness with a little nook beside it she could, if she were careful, squeeze into. Skirts gathered in her hands, she did just that although her feet stuck out into the path. This was worse than Sebastian’s flirting though she had thought there could be nothing more uncomfortable than wooing from a man she considered a brother.
The footsteps crunched toward her, and Charlotte closed her eyes.Please do not step on my feet. Please do not step on my feet.
The stranger approached far too slowly for Charlotte’s taste, his feet crunching against the gravel at every juncture. Odious man. She scowled as he drew nearer. Too close.
He stepped on her feet, squashing her toes utterly, and she was unable to hold back her gasp.
“I beg your pardon?” he said, the words a question as he traced her feet back up to her body, wedged behind the statue. “Have you fallen? Are you in need of assistance?” Charlotte closed her eyes in humiliation. Her night could not have gone any worse. Not only had she been discovered, but she had been discovered by the Duke of Hexham.
“Here,” he said when she made no answer. “Allow me to help you up.” Charlotte could do nothing but accept his hand and allow him to pull her out of the nook she’d squeezed in.
“Thank you,” she said acidly. “Though perhaps next time you could refrain from stepping on me.”
“A grave mistake,” he said though he sounded amused. “Might I inquire why you were enclosed in such a spot?”
“No, you may not.” He assessed her again. The gardens had little light, and so she had to rely on the moonlight to illuminate his sharp cheekbones, the sensual mouth. If she was inclined to blushing, the stories she’d heard about him would have been enough to make her redden.
“Fascinating,” he murmured. “One might have wondered if you were here, so you might avoid the ball.”
“And would that be so shocking?” She ought to get a hold of her temper—but oh, he had a nerve coming here and criticizing her for missing a ball that was purely made up of young ladies throwing themselves at him in the most embarrassing way. “This is a ridiculous event though I’m sure it’sentirelythe kind of event that pleases you.”
He raised both eyebrows. “And why would that be?”
“Do you mean to tell me youdon’tenjoy the women striving to please you and get your attention? Everyone can see the way they throw themselves at you. It’s humiliating.”
“For you or for them?” he asked gently.
“For them, of course! I have no reason to be humiliated.”Except for being discovered here with the Duke, of course, but she would not have mentioned that for the world.
The Duke stared at her for a moment longer, an assessing look on his face as though he was seeing her for the first time—and was intrigued by what he saw.
“So, let me understand,” he said. “You, an invitee of the ball, consider the event ridiculous becauseotherwomen are interested in dancing with me?”
