Page 10 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

When he said this, he found that his gaze was trained on Miss Annabelle Lytton.

“I’m not afraid of being seen, Your Grace,” Miss Lytton harrumphed, her gaze meeting his directly.

Her unflinching stare sent an unexpected heat through Henry’s veins. For a moment, he found himself wondering what it might be like to see Miss Lytton underneath him, in total surrender?—

Enough of that. He banished the thought immediately.

“Come, Celia,” he said abruptly. “We’re leaving.”

As he ushered his daughter from the room, Henry felt Miss Lytton’s gaze following him.

The sensation lingered, like the phantom touch of fingertips against his skin, long after they had departed Oakley Hall.

CHAPTER 4

“For a woman who claims to despise theatrics, you performed rather admirably today, Grandmama,” Annabelle remarked while pacing the length of her grandmother’s sitting room. “But I cannot fathom why you would subject yourself to the company of that insufferable man a second time.”

Her grandmother’s face held the serene patience of one who had weathered greater storms than any naval captain.

“The Duke of Marchwood may be severe, my dear, but he is hardly the tyrant you paint him to be,” Lady Oakley replied while pouring herself a cup of tea with steady hands. “A father’s concern for his daughter, however overbearing it may appear, comes from a place of love.”

Annabelle released an unladylike snort. “Love? That man wouldn’t recognize love if it marched up and introduced itself with a formal calling card. He treats that poor girl like a possession.”

“Oh, I think you’re letting your anger color your judgment, my dear,” the Dowager observed mildly, and Annabelle bristled. “She still managed to escape his watchful eye and find her way to our doorstep. She has a spirit that proves it was nurtured and encouraged by him, not stifled. Although I rather think her spirit might be more than her father bargained for.”

“She does have spirit, doesn’t she? Though what good it will do her under his thumb, I cannot imagine.” Annabelle collapsed dramatically onto the settee opposite her grandmother. “He threatened our club, Grandmama. Our club! As though we were some den of criminals rather than a gathering of ladies discussing quality literature.”

“Literature with rather explicit illustrations within its pages,” Lady Oakley reminded her, and Annabelle scoffed, folding her arms. “While I appreciate your championing of female intellectual freedom, my dear, perhaps selecting somewhat… milder volumes for the next few meetings might be prudent.”

Annabelle heaved a sigh. “And where should we meet? The man threatened to inform the vicar.”

“I believe Lady Egerton’s home would serve admirably. Her husband is away in London for the next month, and her drawing room is quite spacious.” The Dowager sipped her tea thoughtfully. “And do consider something by Miss Austen. At least until this unfortunate incident fades from memory.”

“Miss Austen.” Annabelle perked up instantly as an idea took root in her mind. “I do believe a second reading ofPride and Prejudiceis in order.”

Lady Oakley’s eyes twinkled with barely suppressed amusement. “There is more passion in a glance between Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy than in all the heaving bosoms of your modern novels,” she said. “Although I have a premonition that is not the reason why you are open to that book.”

“Austen has a way of teaching young women all the appropriate ways to build a spine. It is not out of line for our club now, is it?”

Lady Oakley shook her head tiredly. “It would do you good not to act out too much, my dear,” she said. “The Duke was not out of line for wanting to keep his daughter away from such topics.”

Annabelle couldn’t refute her grandmother’s words. But… Heavens, he was such a brute!

“I still maintain that the Duke’s reaction was wholly disproportionate. The way he looked at me, as though I were personally responsible for corrupting his daughter.”

“And were you not?” the Dowager inquired innocently, and Annabelle fought her hardest not to pout.

“I had hardly spoken three words to the girl before he burst in like a scandal-sniffing bloodhound!” She protested. “Besides, I rather liked Lady Celia. She is courageous. And quite clever.”

Lady Oakley studied her granddaughter with knowing eyes. “Hmm, of course you would. I dare say, she reminds me of someone else I know. A certain young lady who, at Lady Celia’s age, climbed out of her window to attend a village dance against her mother’s express wishes.”

“That was entirely different, Grandmama,” Annabelle insisted, though her cheeks warmed a little.

The Dowager harrumphed. “Not by much.”

Annabelle pointedly ignored that bit. “The Duke should count himself fortunate to have a daughter with a mind of her own.”

“Indeed,” the Dowager agreed. “And perhaps, with a few lessons in channeling that independence appropriately, Lady Celia might avoid the more dramatic consequences that can befall spirited young women.”

---