Page 66 of Duke of Destruction
“My dear lady,” he said, and though there was ample sarcasm in his tone, she also thrilled at the idea of beinghisdear. This was stupid, however, so she stopped thinking about it at once. “I must confess, I find the idea that your sense of self could be so shaken by another to behighlysuspect.”
Stubborn. He was calling her stubborn.
Why did it feel like a compliment?
“I am notimmovable,” she countered, feigning affront. This was fun. It was a great deal of fun. She shouldn’t be thinking it, but she was, and she didn’t know how to stop.
She didn’t know how to do anything except enjoy it, even with the full knowledge that it would sting beyond measure when it was snatched away from her.
“No?” he countered. He had such a stern brow and was so prone to frowning that seeing him arch his eyebrow sardonically struck her as being somehow miraculous. She admired it shamelessly, just for one stolen moment. He was so handsome. It was really so dreadfully unfair.
“No,” she returned.
Lord, when would those flashes of grin become less devastating?
He looked at her, smiling, and it made him a thousand times more handsome than he was before. It threatened to upend Catherine. It threatened to undo her.
“Then dance with me,” he countered.
She laughed. She had refused, and so he had negotiated her into a corner, where she had to admit to immovability or give him the thing he wanted.
And he had wanted it, she realized only now. He’d covered it in gruffness, in the idea that he needed to bow to. Her desire for propriety, but he’d come over here because he wanted to ask her to dance.
That, more than anything, more than any challenge laid at her feet, made her give in.
“Very well, your Grace,” she said, putting her hand in his. “I would be honored.”
The opening notes of a waltz began to play as they took to the floor, and Catherine nearly laughed at her luck—she wasn’t certain whether to say it was good luck or bad. Of course, it would be the dance that brought them in closest proximity. Of course it would.
As Percy let her to her place, she caught a glimpse of Helen, still standing with Xander as they prepared to dance together again. The idea made her smile.
Her brother had once been as fixated on propriety as Catherine kept reminding herself to be. He hadn’t wanted to marry Helen at first for that very reason, because Helen was a no-name bumpkin from the North. He hadn’t wanted people to talk.
And now, here he was, dancing twice in a row with his very own wife—scandalous behavior in double, that was—without any apparent twinge of regret or apprehension.
All because of love.
“What are you smiling about?” Percy asked as he guided her through the first steps. She could feel his hesitation as a dancer, and, strangely, it made her smile even more. It was oddlyendearing to see him do this thing at which he did not excel. It was very human.
“I’m smiling at you,” she told him, now that it was true. “You seem awfully determined to let me lead this dance.”
He scowled, so her smile became a laugh, and by the time she was done throwing her head back, he was smiling at her, too.
They were back in London now, and they had agreed that, once they returned to the city, they would stop with this nonsense between them.
But it was so dreadfully easy, as she moved through the steps of the dance, to imagine that they were back at the Duke of Wilds' estate, to feel as though they should have one last chance at one more night.
“Rank snobbery,” he informed her, though his smile didn’t disappear. “Goodness, my lady, you really ought to hide that hauteur of yours better. Lightholders donotinspire gossip.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, how wrong you are there, my dear duke,” she said. It was just as exciting to speak the endearment as it had been to hear it. “But it shan’t be me causing gossip this evening; my brother and his wife will no doubt secure the headlines tomorrow.”
She’d said this in the same light, cheery tone of their previous halfhearted barbs, but, for some reason, this comment madePercy’s head jerk up. He scanned the room, apparently for Xander and Helen. Catherine thought he might have become a better dancer when he stopped paying attention. Apparently, he had been overthinking matters.
“What do you mean?” he asked. The question felt weighty, important. She couldn’t quite pinpointwhy. It was a nothing statement she’d made, a little jibe at her poor, lovestruck brother. But, to Percy, it apparently mattered.
“Well,” she said carefully, “everyone loves to talk about them, so even just showing up here tonight will sparksometalk. Helen was just in her confinement,” she clarified, “and she’s rarely been seen out in Society since my niece was born, several months ago. But also, she and Xander are simply appallingly in love. So, no matter what they do, no matter where they go, someone has something to say about how a girl with a Northern accent managed to bewitch the most eligible duke in London—begging your pardon,” she tacked on, realizing that Percy, another eligible duke, might take offense to this.
If he did, though, he gave no reaction.
