Page 20 of Claiming His Lost Duchess
“Is that so? My apologies, but such behavior is to be expected from a Scot. We are quite a rowdy bunch,” he explained softly.
Joan clenched her jaw and tried to ensure her thoughts weren’t wandering in any way as they danced, keeping her gaze settled on a fixed position over his shoulder, so she wouldn’t have to look at him.
That barely did anything other than cause her to lean closer to his body, the warmth of it reminding her of the vivid memories she had tried her best to outrun but was seemingly unable to. Slowly, the thoughts started to leak from the walls she barricaded them behind, carrying memories she had worked to hide away from.
She recalled his smell, his kiss, the way he drew noises repeatedly past her lips –
Panicking, she tried to pull away, grunting moments later because he wasn’t having that, especially now that he had seemingly gotten her where he wanted her.
“I feel as though our recent meetings were fated. I have never been a superstitious person, but surely something or someone is at work, ensuring that you are in my line of sight tonight,” he murmured.
His words were almost… romantic, but Joan also found them strange and scary. Had he been looking for her all night? Perhaps even before that, before their meeting in the park?
Why? Did he know? Had he suspected for a long time that she had something of his?
“What a strange thing to say, given we only met a few days ago in the park,” Joan pointed out, ignoring the unease bubbling within her.
His grip around her waist tightened slightly, almost possessively, as she found herself being pushed closer to his chest as he wondered,
“Is that so? You are strikingly familiar, though. I could’ve sworn we’d met before that.”
Joan quickly shook her head. “We did not. I assure you.”
Graham nodded slowly, his lips pulling into a slight smile.
“In that case, I believe we are due a formal introduction. My name is Graham Lennox, Duke of Rutledge.”
Joan nearly froze in her tracks.
A duke? The father of her child was a duke? Had he always been a duke, or was this a recent development?
As though he read her mind, he told her, “I received my title five years ago, following a chance encounter with a beautiful woman in an inn. It is the strangest thing, though. You look just like her — the woman I met then. I remember she had such curious eyes that made her seem skittish, like a baby deer that had just learned to walk.”
Without waiting for her to speak, he asked,
“And you? What is your name?”
Joan couldn’t help but squirm beneath his intense gaze, wondering if it would do her good to evade his questions some more.
But… she felt as though it would ease his suspicion if she acted like she had nothing to hide.
“Joan, Your Grace. Joan Brooks.”
His grip around her tightened once again.
“Joan,” he said, as though he was testing how the name felt on his tongue. “Did you travel out of London with your aunt to take care of your sick grandparents in Germany?”
“That is an interesting line of questioning, Your Grace. Do all your dance partners have to go through this?”
“Only the ones I feel are special,” he replied far too easily.
She couldn't tell, even then on that night all those years ago, exactly what spurred him on to be so charming in a way that didn't irritate her greatly.
She did not answer, even as her insides twisted themselves into flustered knots.
“You are being difficult,” he told her after a moment.
“And you are being unreasonable. I do not understand what you want from me,” Joan sighed, exasperated.
