Page 14 of The Wayward Duke
The stale, perfumed air was suffocating.
“Stop fussing,” Grace hissed out of the corner of her mouth. “You look beautiful.”
Caroline managed a wan smile for her friend’s benefit. Grace’s mother, Viscountess Harcourt, had used all her influence to secure the coveted Almack’s vouchers. Caroline was grateful, but a soul-deep terror gnawed through her veins, whispering that she would fail.
Again.
And failure would mean utter ruin for her.
She forced herself to scan the opulent ballroom, but all she noticed were the shrewd eyes judging and finding her lacking. Cruel mouths curved in malice, waiting for her to stumble or misspeak so they could pounce.
And then she saw him.
Julian.
Even across the crowded floor, the Duke of Hastings’ beauty was almost violent in its intensity, aquiline profile and sharp cheekbones lending him an air of detached grandeur, as if he found polite society beneath his interest. Power and easy confidence clung to him, drawing eyes, though he remained largely indifferent to the speculative gazes following his every move.
Something hot and hungry curled low in Caroline’s abdomen at the sight of him. She remembered too well all the times he’d posed for her in recent weeks – sprawled across the grass, lean muscle and warm skin painted gold by the sunlight.
But this reaction went beyond artistic appreciation or even friendship.
Julian glanced in her direction, and Caroline forced her gaze away. He was her friend. Nothing more. His heart was destined for Grace.
“Introduce me to someone amusing,” she said to Grace under her breath. “Before I faint and make a fool of myself.”
Grace threaded her arm through Caroline’s. “If you do swoon, aim left. I’ve no doubt Lord Beaumont would be only too happy to catch you.”
Caroline risked a subtle glance at the ruddy-faced viscount leering down the front of her gown. “I’d rather crack my head open on the marble floor.”
A smile quirked Grace’s lips. “There’s that rapier wit I love so well. You’ll have all the gentlemen eating from your palm.”
If only Caroline shared her friend’s confidence. She’d endured three disastrous balls so far, and not a single bouquet brought to the doorstep in the morning. Just crude ogling over weak lemonade. Each wasted evening was another nail in her family’s financial coffin.
“I can hardly string two words together. I’m afraid I might resort to hiding behind the potted plants before the night ends.” Caroline picked at her gloves, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles.
“Well, string three words together and aim for witty,” Grace said. “Lady Asterley is waving us over. Time to work your charm.”
She allowed Grace to tow her into the fray. For the next torturous hour, Caroline echoed inanities about the weather and the lateston-ditsswirling through theton. All the while ignoring the way the gentlemen’s gazes caressed her cleavage like groping hands. Bile scalded the back of her throat even as she maintained a pleasantly vacant smile.
Not a single gentleman asked her to dance. With each wasted moment, Caroline felt another unseen door closing in her face, locking her into penury.
Grace pressed close. “There are the first chords of the waltz. And don’t be glum – at least a dozen gentlemen are ogling your bosom right now. We’ll bring in reinforcements.” She caught Julian’s eye through the crowd and crooked a finger in summons.
“He ought to dance this set with you.” Caroline kept her voice low, swallowing around the bitterness. Jealousy was unbecoming. “I suspect Hastings might be rather desperately in love with you.”
Grace laughed, the sound soft and knowing. “I appreciate the confidence, but you think too little of yourself and too highly of me in this scenario.”
Before Caroline could protest further, Julian arrived, inclining his head. “Miss Harcourt. You summoned me?”
“Hastings, time to do your duty by our friend,” Grace said. “Linnie needs a handsome duke on her arm to strike envy into the heart of every gentleman present. You’ll oblige us both, won’t you?”
Amusement lurked at the corner of that stern mouth. “Hardly a trial, playing the besotted suitor to a beautiful woman. Consider me at your disposal.” He swept Caroline an elegant bow. “Miss Winslow. Would you do me the honour?”
Caroline had little choice but to accept the proffered hand. His fingers engulfed hers, radiating warmth even through the fine kidskin. He ignored the curious glances as he led her onto the gleaming parquet.
When he pulled her close, Caroline inhaled his clean scent to steady her nerves – soap and spice.
“Just like when we practised in the meadow last summer,” he murmured, evoking memories of their bare feet twirling in the grass. “You know this dance better than anyone.”
