Page 27 of What's a Duke Got to Do With It
For a wild moment, as he pulled her into his arms for the waltz—of course it was a blasted waltz—she was overtaken by the urge to run. It was with incredible willpower that she allowed his arms to come about her. This one dance was not a promise of more to come, after all. Despite her very limited choices, she did not have to take the first man who came along promising respectability.
But as the first strains of the song started and Mr. Finley swung her in a turn, Katrina had the impression that she had erred horribly, and respectability was the last thing on the man’s mind.
That feeling was not lessened—rather, it worsened considerably—as Mr. Finley brought her a touch closer than proper and leaned in to speak in her ear. “I admit, Miss Denby, I did not think I would ever be able to entice you to a dance. I don’t suppose my sudden luck has anything to do with the death of a particular gentleman some weeks past as he fell from your bedroom window?” When she merely gaped at him, feeling as if she had been slapped, he chuckled. “Have no fear, my dear. I am not so picky as all that. I don’t mind a woman with a bit of history to her. Especially one with such… endowments as yourself.”
With that, he tugged her even closer, so suddenly Katrina gasped, and leered down her bodice.
Before she could think how to react—she knew now without a doubt that Mr. Finley did not have matrimony on his mind at all but something far less permanent—a sudden masculine hand on the man’s shoulder had them stopping dead in the middle of the dance floor. Stunned, she looked up to see the duke’s furious face glaring down at Mr. Finley.
“Forgive me, but it seems, sir, that you have taken my set with the young lady.”
Sebastian had known that the last thing Katrina needed was for him to make a scene on her behalf. She was suffering enough from the latest scandal. And he had managed to heed that voice of reason in his head as she walked out into the set with her dance partner. For all of ten seconds.
But when that disgusting man had blatantly pulled her closer and leered at her in such a way, there was nothing on heaven or earth that could have stopped him from racing to her side and extracting her from the arms of that libertine.
The libertine in question, some oily-haired coxcomb whom Sebastian had blessedly not had the displeasure of meeting, gaped up at him. “I say,” he sputtered, “what is the meaning of this?”
Sebastian, heedless of the dancing couples that twirled around them, smiled. But it was not one of friendliness. No, this was a mere baring of teeth, something that made the man before him flinch. “I said, this set with Miss Denby was promised to me.”
Mr. Oily’s meager chest puffed up like an enraged rooster. “Look here, I don’t know who you are, but Miss Denby promised this set to me. Isn’t that right, Miss Denby?”
And then he did something incredibly stupid. Or, at least stupider than what he had already done in ogling Miss Denby. He snaked an arm about her waist and yanked her closer to his side.
Even then Sebastian might have been able to step back and assess the situation—had Miss Denby not winced.
In an instant he planted a hand once more on Mr. Leering’s shoulder. Though this time it was not just a firm means to stop the man in his tracks. No, this time he squeezed, pressing his thumb into the sensitive hollow between his collarbone and the curve of his neck.
Mr. Disgusting gasped, his arm dropping from Miss Denby as if she were a hot coal as he broke free of Sebastian’s hold. Sebastian, not quite done with the man, leaned close to his ear.
“If I see you treating the lady in such a way again, I will do much worse to you. Now off with you.”
The man did not need further encouragement. Giving Sebastian a furious glance, and Miss Denby no glance at all, he bolted from the floor. Leaving the two of them blessedly alone. Or as alone as two people could be in the middle of a crowded dance floor full of gawking people.
Which, of course, made him realize that he had been an utter fool in drawing so much unwanted attention to Miss Denby. No, more than a fool; he had been an unmitigated arse, not much better than the other man in his treatment of her in this public setting. Clearing his throat, he looked apologetically her way, certain she would give him a well-earned tongue-lashing for his boorish behavior.
But no, she appeared wan, her eyes glazed. Concern flooded him and he took hold of her hand. Even through her glove he could tell it was ice cold.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “So very sorry, Miss Denby.” Then, knowing they could not just stand there in the middle of the floor, and needing to detract attention from Miss Denby, he gently tugged her toward him. “I cannot apologize enough for my actions. But let us dance so we don’t draw any more attention our way.”
She did so mechanically, placing her hand on his shoulder, allowing him to lead her in the steps. Her gaze remained fixed unseeing on his cravat, and he thought perhaps she would remain silent for the remainder of the dance—however much was left after that little scuffle. But suddenly her voice, a brittle thing, reached him.
“Thank you for that,” she said.
Stunned, he could not think how to formulate a response.
But it seemed Katrina was not quite through. She looked up at him with eyes that were brimming with frustration. “Nevertheless, I am more than capable of handling men like Mr. Finley on my own. I cannot have you stepping in every time I am dealing with a prospective husband.”
“You are so very right. It was not my place to—” Suddenly he stopped, the meaning of her words finally sinking in. He gaped at her. “Prospective husband? That horrible man? You must be joking.”
“I assure you, I’m not.” Her lips twisted, pain flashing in the clear blue of her eyes. “There are not many men who would willingly take on a wife with such a reputation. I need to look at all my options.”
His hand tightened on hers. “But surely you don’t mean to consider someone likehim? Dear God, he was ogling your… endowments,” he finished lamely.
She shrugged. “I admit, I made an error in Mr. Finley. But I was fully aware of that fact and was prepared to retreat before you stepped in and made me once more a subject of gossip.”
Here she looked nervously about them. When Sebastian followed her gaze, he saw that, sure enough, they were still garnering more than their fair share of stares. Damnation. He had been trying to help, and he had only made things more awful for her.
That glaring truth was only made worse when, with the end of the waltz, Bridling suddenly came bounding up to them.
