Page 14 of What's a Duke Got to Do With It
Somehow—he would never know how, for he was bound and determined to erase this moment from his mind the instant he escaped from her presence—he managed to get to his feet. And he was left staring down at the beast that had caused the chaos.
It did not look nearly as menacing as it had when it had been running full tilt toward them, though it was still impressively huge, even from Sebastian’s taller-than-average height. Mayhap that was because it was next to Miss Denby, who was incredibly petite. He had a feeling that, if she had been at all inclined to, she could have ridden the beast like a horse.
But there really was no denying it was larger than any dog he had ever seen. Paws like dinner plates, a madly wagging tail that could no doubt do considerable damage, a deep chest. All topped by a comically large head, made even more laughable by the fact that everything drooped on it, from ears to eyes to jowls. As he stared, its tongue lolled out of its mouth, uncurling like a great pink banner, making it appear for all the world as if the dog were grinning at him.
And then a memory surfaced, one that hit him with all the force of a kick to the chest.
“This is Mouse? But I thought he was the runt of his litter.”
Something akin to pain muddied her gaze. “You remember,” she whispered.
I remember everything you have ever told me.The words were as clear as the day he first said them to her at that fateful ball in London.
But he was drifting into forbidden waters. He could not go back to that time. Not ever.
Clearing his throat, he took a surreptitious step back and said, “He is an impressive dog. Much larger than I expected, that is certain.”
“He was supposed to have been locked up upon Miss Denby’s return,” Lady Tesh said from her seat, which she had not budged from. She laid her hand on her own calmly seated pet, as if to say,This is what a proper dog is supposed to be.
Suddenly she frowned. “But I do think introducing your pet before properhumanintroductions have been made is quite beyond the pale. Though,” she drawled, looking back and forth between Sebastian and Miss Denby, “it seems, Your Grace, you are acquainted with my companion already.”
“Your companion,” Sebastian repeated, looking sharply at Miss Denby once more. After his retreat from London following his father’s death, he had been too immersed in his own troubles, too preoccupied with his own cares and grief, to have heard any of society’s gossip. He may as well have been on another planet for how completely he had separated himself from everything. A part of him had assumed that Miss Denby had found a husband, that she would have a home of her own and blond children frolicking at her feet and all the happiness she deserved. It had been that assumption—and the pain it brought him—that had prevented him from asking after her upon his return to London.
But in all that time, he had never once thought that Miss Denby might have been reduced to acompanion, a position that only those of greatly reduced circumstances and with no family to care for them took on.
He looked her up and down, seeing her with new eyes. If there was anything he had learned in the past years himself, it was how to hide the visible proofs of a sudden reversal of fortune. And he saw that proof in Miss Denby, most obviously in her muslin gown which, while lovely, was years out of fashion and showed signs of being mended more than once. Her jewelry, too, was simple, a small gold heart, secured not with a chain but rather with an inexpensive ribbon. What had happened to put her in such a position?
But she must have seen his too-obvious perusal of her person, for she flushed mightily, her apple cheeks going bright pink. He hurriedly rearranged his features, looking away—and immediately caught sight of Bridling gaping at her. Ah, yes, Bridling. The reason he was here on this godforsaken Isle when he should be planning a wedding to Miss Bridling and her fifty thousand pounds and getting ready to save his family and tenants from something so much worse than mere ruination.
Miss Bridling. Damnation, in the past minutes, transfixed as he had been by Miss Denby and how she made him feel, so achingly similar to what he had felt as a carefree young man, he had completely forgotten her. He set his shoulders and drew in a steadying breath. He would not do so again.
“But forgive me,” he murmured. “You are so right, Lady Tesh; I am being incredibly rude. Miss Denby, please allow me to introduce you to Mr. Harlow Bridling. Bridling, this is Miss Katrina Denby, an old acquaintance of mine.”
Miss Denby smiled at Bridling and dipped into a pretty curtsy. “Sir, it is a pleasure.”
Sebastian expected Bridling to mutter a greeting and fall back into the sullen mood he had been in since leaving London. The boy had not been at all happy to be forced away from his lady love, declaring loudly to anyone who would listen that this time away from her would make no difference in his feelings, and that he would marry her with or without his father’s blessing.
Now, however, he looked like a changed man. His face was alight with interest, a smile softening his formerly pinched features. He stepped up before Miss Denby, taking her hand in his, bowing low over it, and pressing his lips to her knuckles.
“The pleasure, I assure you, is all mine, Miss Denby,” he said in a low, intimate tone.
Sebastian blinked. What the devil?
Miss Denby looked equally taken aback. “Er, thank you, Mr. Bridling,” she replied in that clear, sweet voice of hers.
A jolt of something bitter chased away the remnants of shock that were still present in Sebastian’s body. Bridling looked utterly taken with Miss Denby, as if he had been struck by Cupid’s bow. Not that Sebastian could blame the man. She had always been a stunning woman, almost too beautiful to be real. That, along with her sweet nature, had made her one of the most popular ladies in London during her time there, a diamond of the first water.
And her looks had not altered in the intervening years of what must have no doubt been stressful circumstances. If anything, she was even more lovely, an ethereal fairy, almost otherworldly. No, he could not blame Bridling for his instant attraction.
That, however, did not mean he understood this acidic gall that soured his stomach. What the devil was it? Certainly not jealousy. He was angling to marry Bridling’s sister, after all. It was his whole reason for dragging the boy here, to distract him from thoughts of his actress and thereby win Lord Cartmel’s approval of Sebastian’s suit. And if these first minutes in Miss Denby’s presence were any indication, it would not take much at all to dissuade Bridling from wanting to marry a woman who his father had decreed was an improper match.
Yet no matter how firmly he told himself that Miss Denby was not for him and therefore he should not care who Bridling’s affections might stray to, the sour feeling in his gut persisted, even growing as he watched the boy gift Miss Denby with what he no doubt thought of as a melting smile. The blasted little rake.
But Bridling was not through surprising him. Nor, it seemed, was he about to make things easy for Sebastian.
“You know, Miss Denby,” he said, “you remind me so very much of my darling Mirabel.”
Miss Denby gave him a confused little smile. “Mirabel?”
