Page 11 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

Annabelle’s expression sobered. The ghost of her own scandal whispered in her mind before she straightened her skirts.

“Well, I wish you luck with her, Grandmama,” she said with forced lightness. “I suspect you’ll need it if she’s anything like her father.”

Two days later, Annabelle found herself standing before her mirror, fussing unnecessarily with her hair. She was staring ather dress, a modest but becoming gown of pale lavender that complemented her fair complexion.

Why was she fussing over her appearance?

She was most certainly not doing this because she was attracted to the Duke of Marchwood.Certainly not. He was overbearing, judgmental, and entirely too convinced of his own importance.

The fact that he possessed the most striking pair of blue-grey eyes she had ever encountered was entirelyirrelevant, as was the way his perfectly tailored coat had clung tightly to his wide, muscular shoulders.

She was being absurd. The man had practically accused her of moral corruption. And for that, she was not going to forgive the brute.

“His Grace, the Duke of Marchwood, and his daughter, Lady Celia,” Hodgins announced as Annabelle reached the bottom of the staircase. “For the Dowager Viscountess.”

The Duke of Marchwood’s gaze snapped to her immediately, as though some sixth sense had alerted him to her presence. His eyes narrowed fractionally. His expression was as forbidding as a winter storm.

“Miss Lytton,” he acknowledged her with the barest incline of his head.

Annabelle straightened her spine and lifted her jaw slightly. She hoped her expression was as unfriendly as his own.

“Your Grace,” she returned, dropping into a proper curtsy, but not too deep, not to give him the satisfaction of showing deference. “Lady Celia. How lovely to see you again.”

The young woman, however, deserved a smile, and so, Annabelle gave her one.

The girl brightened visibly. “Miss Lytton! I was hoping I might encounter you. I’ve been thinking about what you said regarding literature and?—”

“Celia,” the duke interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “Lady Oakley is expecting us.”

And just like that, the girl’s mouth snapped shut, even though her dissatisfaction was clear on her face.

What an ogre.

But Annabelle smiled sweetly. “Of course. My grandmother is waiting in the blue parlor, Your Grace. I believe she mentioned you might join them, correct? To observe the lesson?”

“Indeed,” he replied coldly. “I intend to monitor my daughter’s instruction most carefully.”

The implication hung in the air between them. He did not trust either Annabelle or her grandmother to provide suitable guidance without his oversight.

Annabelle’s smile tightened ever so slightly.

“How fortunate that my grandmother’s lessons in propriety can benefit both father and daughter,” she remarked, unable to resist the small barb.

The duke’s jaw tightened visibly. “Your grandmother’s reputation for decorum is well-established. It is a quality that appears to have skipped a generation.”

Ha!What an infuriating man he was!

Before Annabelle could formulate a suitably cutting response, the Dowager Viscountess appeared in the doorway of the blue parlor.

“Your Grace, Lady Celia,” she called, beckoning them forward with a gracious smile. “Do come in. We have much to accomplish today.”

With a final glare at Annabelle that no doubt sought to sting, the duke ushered his daughter forward.

Does he think I would want to be in the same space with him, either? Good riddance!

Whirling around, Annabelle made to retreat toward the library, but her grandmother’s voice stopped her.

“Annabelle, dear, would you ask Mrs. Pike to prepare tea at four? I believe we shall require refreshment after our first hour of instruction.”

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