Page 1 of Never a Duchess
ChapterOne
Lord and Lady Kinver’s Wedding Ball
New Cavendish Street, London
Like the calm before the storm, the first slow strains of a waltz breezed through the candlelit ballroom. It was Lillian Ware’s cue to leave before the man who haunted her dreams came to claim his dance.
A lady dared not refuse the enigmatic Duke of Dounreay. The handsome Scotsman had pushed other suitors aside, snatched Lillian’s dance card and scribbled his name boldly next to both waltzes. Though an hour had passed, she kept revisiting their conversation.
“Will ye disappoint me, Miss Ware?” His soft Scottish burr had stirred her senses. His sinful smile had sent her heart fluttering to her throat. “Will ye make me watch another man take ye in his arms tonight?”
Heat warmed her cheeks, but she had given her usual dispassionate reply. “Please forgive me if I fail to keep our appointment. As you know, I’m quite forgetful, Your Grace.”
His dark eyes challenged her to defy him, as she had done so many times of late. Thank heavens he only spent three months of the year in London. Thank heavens he was to return to the rugged wilds of Scotland within days.
“Why do ye avoid dancing with me?”
Because whenever he pressed his hot hand to her back, a strange sensation flooded her body. When Dounreay twirled her about the floor, she lost herself in his warm gaze and wicked grin, and she had sworn never to become any man’s property.
“Perhaps because you have two left feet, Your Grace.” She loved teasing him, enjoyed convincing herself he had flaws. “Why do you not seek another partner? Many ladies crave your attention.”
Every woman wanted him.
She pictured him pulling Miss Pilkington against his hard chest, the sudden stab of jealousy stealing the air from her lungs. Oh, the man was a dreadful distraction. A menace to a lady’s sanity.
Dounreay had stepped closer, his exotic cologne flooding her senses. “Because when we dance, Miss Ware, I forget about my deformities.”
And therein lay the problem.
How did a lady distinguish falsehoods from the truth?
How did she avoid being duped by a rogue?
Many women believed in love only to find themselves ruined and—
Mina nudged Lillian’s arm, dragging her from her reverie. “Ah, it’s time for the waltz. I see the duke is heading this way.”
Panic gripped her, urging her to run. “Tell him I’ve gone to the retiring room.” And before Mina could comment, Lillian bowed her head and slipped away through the crowd.
She entered the ladies’ boudoir—her sanctuary from the only man who might tempt her to sin—and sagged in relief. Yet her reprieve was short-lived. The duke was the topic on everyone’s lips.
“Oh, he’s so handsome, Felicity. I might die.”
“And he’s as rich as Croesus, too.”
“I heard he asked Miss Cartwright to ride out with him tomorrow. She has Scottish blood on her mother’s side. A sturdy constitution is an attribute Dounreay seeks in a wife.”
A sturdy constitution?
What poppycock!
During Lillian’s research into men’s wants and desires, none longed for a lady who could brave the bitter Highland winds. Large breasts and a biddable temperament were often top of the list.
Lillian grumbled to herself. Would she be forever haunted by the devilish Duke of Dounreay? Disgruntled, she snatched a clean bourdaloue from the maid and darted behind the screen.
One woman tittered. “I might invent a Scottish ancestor.”
“Penelope, you complain when there’s a wee draught tickling your toes,” a lady replied, feigning Dounreay’s educated burr. “Beneath those fine clothes, the duke is like his brethren, wild and untamed. How would you handle a man who’s as sturdy as an ox?”
