Page 65 of Never Beguile a Duke
His first obstacle appeared in the form of his daughter, who spent the whole of dinner murmuring to Miss Fernsby-Webb about various subjects, including her desire to play Snapdragon, a sentiment that was echoed by Miss Venning.
“Would any other ladies,” Miss Venning asked, raising her voice, “care to join our host’s daughter in the parlor for a game of Snapdragon?”
Every woman seated at the table agreed to participate, and they rose in unison, exited the dining hall—the corridor filling with swishing gowns and clacking heels—and paraded down the hallway.
“You appear peevish,” Roxburghe said from Silas’ right. “Are you not pleased your guests are treating Miss Juliette with such kindness?”
“Toad-eating chits!” Silas growled, swiping a wine goblet from the table and sloshing burgundy liquid onto the white tablecloth. “Do you truly believe the Sutton sisters want their delicate fingers anywhere near fire?”
Frowning, Roxburghe sipped his drink. “Your complaint is that some of the ladies are feigning interest in entertaining your daughter to gain your favor. Would you prefer they shunned Miss Juliette?”
“No.” Silas ground the word between his teeth.
He preferred Juliette asleep and Miss Fernsby-Webb upstairs in his chamber, undressed and shivering… His guests were preventing that.
“Gentlemen!” Silas stood and saluted the room. “It’s an honor to celebrate this happy occasion with all of you. Now that you’ve filled yourself with food and drink, I invite you to lighten your pockets with a game of cards.”
Situating himself nearest the doorway, Silas found himself distracted each time a feminine voice floated down the corridor. He lost three hands in a row before excusing himself under the guise of needing to find his luck.
He hastened down the hallway, filtering through several excuses as a means to explain his presence in the parlor, but paused in the doorway upon discovering the room empty and issued a low curse.
A chuckle caused him to whip around; Lennox stepped out of the shadows.
“When Roxburghe suggested you might be in earnest, I assumed he’d misread the situation.” Lennox placed a hand on Silas’ shoulder and grinned. “Who were you hoping to speak with?”
“No one.” Silas jerked away.
“Don’t lie to your friends, Beaufort.” Lennox followed him across the foyer. “We know you better than you know yourself.”
“If you’re so intelligent, why do you need confirmation of my affliction?” Silas scowled as Lennox cut him off.
“I want to hear you admit defeat.”
“No.” Silas stalked around Lennox.
“Would you confirm your sentiments if I guess the lady’s name?” Lennox’s question chased Silas up the steps.
Silas stopped, turned, and marched back down. “As Roxburghe has already shared his suspicions, I suspect he also provided that detail.”
“He did not.” Lennox’s mouth pinched. “He merely said I would approve of the lady.”
“Swear to drop this subject,” Silas said, crossing his arms over his chest, “and I’ll provide one clue to the lady’s identity.”
“Agreed,” Lennox said, nodding his head once, “if you swear to confirm when I guess the correct name.”
“One guess,” replied Silas, holding up his pointer finger. “The lady is currently in this house.”
“That discounts Miss Webb and Miss Braddock.” Lennox stroked his chin. “You haven’t fallen for one of those dim Sutton women, have you?”
“Are you jug-bitten?” Silas glowered at Lennox.
Holding up his hands, Lennox grinned, taking a step backward. “Half-sprung at best. However, you’ve removed Mr. Sutton’s daughters from the list of potential matches.”
Silas swore and strode up the staircase as Lennox’s laughter echoed through the foyer.
The deserted second floor did nothing to ease Silas’ annoyance at having missed a chance to converse with Miss Fernsby-Webb that evening. He stomped down the corridor, entered his chamber, and slammed the door with all the strength he could muster.
A moment later, a soft tap came at the door, and his heart leaped, thudding furiously as he traversed his chamber. However, when he flung open the door, disappointment waited on the other side.
