Page 244 of Dukes for Dessert

She flipped through the pages. He wasn’t wrong. The ale-swilling, cheroot-smoking figure copied on every page shared every one of her physical characteristics.

“How did I not notice?”

“You noticed,” he pointed out. “You just didn’t notice that you noticed.”

“And that eloquence is what makes you the greatest orator the House of Lords has ever known,” she muttered.

“I’m not teasing you.” He touched a knuckle to her chin. “I like your sketches. I wished you’d drawn me into the last one.”

It was his new billiard room, looking exactly as it did now, with two exceptions. In the illustration, a magnificent John Thurston billiard table dominated the center of the room. And the lady figure—oh, very well, let’s call her “Carole”—stood to one side with a billiard cue in her hand.

Alone.

“I wanted to draw you next to me,” she admitted. “I just didn’t know how.”

“I’ll help.” He plucked the sketchbook from her fingers and took it over to his special shelf. As he drew directly on the page with a pencil, he kept his back to her—then turned around to present his modification with a flourish. “Voila!”

A giggle burst from her throat. Azureford’s illustrative ability was on par with the Skeffington twins’ chalk drawings on the street outside. He’d drawn a circle with a smiling face and a top hat. The boxy torso and equally boxy limbs were completely out of proportion, but a billiard cue protruded from one rectangular hand. Instead of a lonely girl with no one to play with, the room now contained two friends likely to fill their evening with teasing and laughter.

“You can redo it when you figure out how to draw people,” Azureford whispered.

She closed the book and pressed it to her heart. “It’s perfect.”

He grinned back at her impishly, looking perfectly kissable.

Carole fumbled the sketchbook back into her reticule, more to break her gaze from his than out of concern for her drawings.

“Now all we need is a billiard table, and you’ll be on your way to winning hearts all over the land,” she said lightly.

His muscles twitched.

She frowned. “What’s wrong? Isn’t that your plan?”

“It’s the final step of a plan that’s missing all the middle steps.” He held up his fingers to count them out. “Step one, billiard table. Step three, marriage.”

“That’s not true,” she reminded him. “You said this village—and this party—was your practice ground. If you can make friends with the people who don’t matter, you’ll have the confidence to flirt with the ladies who do.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “I sounded like a prig.”

“You sound like a lord,” she corrected. “Not just any lord—a duke. We all know what that means. Your future bride is limited to the upper thousand. The rest of us choose from everybody else. It’s not your fault. It’s how the beau monde is.”

“It gets worse.” He sighed. “Both the bachelors and the hopeful brides are meant to accept the most selfish, coldblooded offer available. Who has the best blood? The highest connections? The oldest title? The most land? The biggest dowry? It’s not marriage. It’s expanding one’s empire.”

Each word made her feel emptier inside. “Is that what you’re going to do?”

“It’s what my parents did.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “It’s what is expected of me. My sacred duty. A duke’s responsibility to the title.”

“I’ll assume that means ‘yes.’” She swallowed hard. He was looking for the perfect woman… who was her exact opposite. Her fingers went cold. If she’d been looking for proof that they were wrong for each other in every way, well, there it was. She’d known they could never be more than friends. The least she could do was act like one. “I’ll help.”

His gaze jerked up in surprise. “You’ll help? How?”

“We’ll playact until it becomes second nature. You be the Duke of Azureford, and I’ll be… Debbie Debutante.” Carole fanned her face with an invisible fan and affected a nasal voice and bored expression. “Ugh, if I have to dance with one more viscount or earl, when everyone knows my dowry is fit for a duchy… Why, good evening, Your Grace. I’m sure you know your very large estate abuts my even larger one. My mother is cousin to the king. Is that a waltz I hear?”

“Stop it.” He knocked her pretend fan out of her hands. “That’s more or less the conversation that led to my parents’ union.”

“How did that work out?”

“It didn’t.” His dark gaze was distant and angry. “Everything they wanted from each other they got with the wedding contract. Other than the night they conceived me, I’m not certain they were ever in the same room again.” His eyes snapped to hers. “That is not the marriage I want.”

---