Page 18 of His Enemy Duchess

“I confess, your declaration was surprising,” he added slyly. “You must have been harboring this affection for some time.”

“Excuse me?”Sophia rasped as she wrinkled her freckled nose at him. “Isthatwhat you think that was? A… confession of affection?”

“Well, why else would someone go against the wishes of their father and uncle, and go to a gentleman’s home after midnight, if not for deep, unrequited, incurable love? Truly, I had no idea.”

It took every shred of discipline he possessed not to smirk and reveal his game.

She huffed and puffed, her cheeks a charming shade of lobster red. “You must be really dimwitted, Your Grace, or you are pretending to be.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“I went to your home because you essentially threatened me, and because you areyou—there is murderous rage in your blood,” she muttered, still trying to force that ridiculous smile on her plump lips.

He feigned quiet outrage. “Threatened you? What an accusation.”

“You said you were sorry for the losses we would both face. You were going to challenge my father to duel,” she shot back. “My uncle was right about your father, and he was right about you.”

Thomas nodded sarcastically to her comments. “You can always trust a Kendall to know everything about everyone, is that it? You have the world figured out, and the rest of us are apes stumbling around in the dark.”

Sophia chuckled darkly at his remark. “Oh, you have that right. Apes, all right,” she affirmed, clearly hinting at his height. “In any case, know that I only did it to save my family. I want nothing to do with you—why would I? You are the most arrogant and pompous man on this side of the country, continent, planet—you name it. I only care for the safety of my family and their well-being. If marrying you means they remain safe, then so be it.”

“Would you look at that!” He took hold of her hand and pressed a kiss to her silky glove, wishing it was her bare skin once more. “That makes two of us, then. Turns out wecanfind commonground between us, and I hear that is all a couple needs to get along.”

Sophia seemed genuinely surprised by his response and looked at him with curious eyes. But hers was not the only gaze turned upon him. He was suddenly aware of dozens of eyes and ears fixed directly on the two of them, begging for an inkling of gossip to come out of their mouths. He had appearances to keep and had come too close to destroying them.

“Lady Sophia, let us dance,” he commanded, weaving her arm through his, though she struggled slightly against him.

“But of course. Who else would I dance with besides my beloved husband-to-be, whom I love oh-so-much,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth, the fake smile still firmly fixed on her face.

Putting on what he hoped was a less reluctant expression, Thomas escorted her to the dance floor. Her hand felt tiny and elegant on his forearm, though he did not doubt that her fingernails could turn into claws if she wanted.

How can a woman with such a boorish and barbaric attitude have such delicatehands?He frowned.Is she… is she trembling?

He dipped his head to her ear, whispering, “Why are you trembling?”

“I am not,” she protested, keeping her smile up.

You are not the liar you think you are.

“I must be mistaken,” he said generously. “Perhaps you always shake like this. Or do you only shake when you are in my company? Ithinkyou trembled on my doorstep too.”

She dropped her chin to her chest, hissing, “I shall smack you, Your Grace. Don’t think I won’t. I shall make itlookplayful, but it will hurt.”

“Is that the excuse you mean to use when you step on my toes too?” he challenged, finding a clear spot on the dance floor as the orchestra came to the end of the previous dance.

She took her position opposite him, farther away than he would have liked. “I beg your pardon?”

He did not reply until the music began, a lively tune that commanded a livelier dance. The gentlemen performed the opening steps, leaping gracefully from foot to foot before the ladies answered with the same movement.

His suspicions were confirmed immediately.

She has all the grace of a sack of potatoes.

They came together, palm pressed to palm, turning clockwise thrice, then thrice back the other way. The perfect opportunity for intimate conversation.

“I expect my wife to be an elegant example of how to dance,” he said, clicking his tongue. “You shall have to have lessons.”

She gaped at him. “Do you ever open your mouth to do anything besides complain? It’s just a dance; it does not matter. A woman—a wife—could be a thousand things. Her worth should not be based on how well she repeats steps that she has seen many times.”

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