Page 41 of Ne'er Duke Well
“I really think—”
Lydia fixed her with a clear blue stare. “Selina. The man has no intention of marrying me. I am absolutely certain of it.”
Selina felt a curious sensation unfolding in her chest. A twist, and then a shudder, like her heart was beating too hard for her body.
Frustration. Surely it must be frustration at Peter’s lack of progress.
It certainly wasn’t relief. It couldn’t possibly be.
She scrubbed her gloved fingers together restlessly. “I’ve got to talk to Iris.”
“Do you think he’s making more progress on that front?”
“He’d bloody well better be.”
Peter had done his due diligence. He’d conversed with Lydia Hope-Wallace. He’d danced with Iris Duggleby.
He’d kept his eyes and his hands and every other part of his body off Selina Ravenscroft, even though he could nearly smell her unnameable spiced scent, almost hear the hum of her voice from across the room.
He felt like he had a blasted tuning fork that vibrated at the sound of her. Except it was his cock.
He needed fresh air and maybe some awful frigid English rain, but failing that, he was going to get something alcoholic to drink.
He was halfway down the hall between the ballroom and Townshend’s office where half a dozen men had gathered for brandy and smoking when a silk-gloved arm stretched out from behind a partially closed door, caught his wrist, and yanked.
He stumbled into what appeared to be a library and fell into a pair of rum-colored eyes.
“Peter,” she whispered. “Finally! I’ve been in here an age.”
She shut the library door behind him.
And then she turned the key.
“Selina? What—”
“I’ve been talking to Lydia.”
Her eyes were bright, her hair dotted with pearls and spilling in heavy waves down her back. Her dress was bronze, darker than her skin, lighter than her eyes, and he wanted to run his fingertips across it all: satin and skin and antique gold hair.
Peter coughed and backed judiciously away from her. “Should we… open the door?”
She scowled at him. “I have been talking to Lydia,” she said again. “I asked her if she thought you might be on the cusp of proposing. And do you know what she did?”
“I really think perhaps we should open the—”
“She rolled her eyes,” Selina continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “And then I asked Iris Duggleby the same question. And do you know whatshedid?”
Peter had a feeling he could guess.
“She rolled her eyes too!”
“Selina,” he said, and felt behind himself awkwardly for the key to the door. Nothing. Just carved wood and a door handle. He tugged off his glove with his teeth and then reached for the door again.
She took a step toward him. “Peter, I know you said that you mean to pursue marriage in earnest. But somewhere between your intentions and what actually happens, you’re going wrong.”
“I’m sorry to tell you this”—had she not left the key in the lock? Christ, the woman had probably secreted it in her reticule using some kind of sleight-of-hand—“but you’ve just described most of my life.”
She sank her teeth into her lower lip. “I want to help you.”
