Page 13 of A Chance to Dance with the Duke
“Oh for the love of—hold on!” He turned to see Kal moving away. “Where are you going?”
“Iam going wherever the Ferguson twins…are not.” Kal’s arch look was what had given him the reputation for being an untouchable Marquess.
No Ferguson, a twin or other, would dare to act so informally around the notoriously droll and cutting lord.
But Carver, on the other hand…
“Heard what you done,” the second twin clapped a hand on his shoulder, and Carver could smell the alcohol on their breath. One would have been bad, but two was enough to knock him over with their stench.
“You old blackguard.” The first twin slurred the words so it came out as one long string of nonsense.
“I don’t know what you heard, but—Kal! Stop. Wait for me, or—” But Kal was off, leaving Carver to deal with the twins. Alone.
It was moments like this that Carver fleetingly second-guessed his decision not to follow in his father and brother’sfootsteps. At a young age, he’d decided he wanted to be the sort of man who led through respect and goodwill, not fear and bullying. He’d never wanted to be the sort of lord who made grown men cower.
Until moments like this one.
“Did you really ask Pegleg Meg to dance?” The first one hiccuped as the other guffawed.
“Wish I could’ve seen her face. Heard the girl nearly burst into flames,” the other said.
Carver winced and glanced around to be sure they weren’t overheard. But of course, other partygoers nearby were already glancing in their direction.
The twins were loud and they’d been best known in their school days for their sheeplike tendencies. Which was annoying, but harmless when they were amongst a crowd of decent blokes. But when they latched themselves on to wicked men who got a thrill out of being cruel…
He pulled his shoulder away from the Ferguson twin’s hand. “It wasn’t like that.”
But neither was listening as they made each other laugh. Not seeming to notice that they were in a crowd, they cackled like buffoons as first one and then the other imitated her limp.
“Did she really think you’d dance with her?”
He tried to interrupt. “Listen, lads, this isn’t the place?—”
“Everyone knows you don’t dance with just anyone.”
He clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t dance withanyone.Period.
He did not dance.
“And right you are to turn your nose up at this lot,” the second twin sniveled.
The other nodded vigorously. “You’re too good for most of the sour faces and ugly chits that throw themselves at you, of course you are.”
Carver’s brows drew down. Was that what people thought? That he believed himself too good for the ladies of London?
But that wasn’t it at all.
Was that why Aunt Evie was so insistent that he dance at these blasted events?
He got so caught up in his own thoughts, he barely registered that they’d shifted back to making sport of Miss Taylor. One was limping while the other was fanning himself. “Oh, Your Grace, what an honor,” he trilled in a high-pitched voice that he supposed was meant to be Miss Taylor.
“What an honor, Your Grace,” Fergson continued, still fanning himself and causing a scene. Carver drew in a deep breath, readying himself to stop this nonsense right this instant. But before Carver could stop him, the nitwit Ferguson twin did stop talking. Abruptly.
And the other one stopped limping just as quickly.
Carver knew just one moment of relief that the fools had finally stopped.
But that relief turned to dread as he caught sight of their stricken faces as they stared at someone just behind him.
