Page 6 of A Duke's Temptation Poetess
“You can purchase another!”
But the words that made up her precious poems would be lost forever. Stunned, Clarissa could only curl her hand more tightly around her pen, as her own mother nearly dragged her further from her book and nearer to the Duke of Hartingdale.
All at once, Clarissa was nearly in Lady Matilda’s face. The woman brightened at once. “Ah, Lady Bentley! Lady Clarissa! Have you been enjoying the ball?”
“It has been divine,” said Lady Bentley with a sly, clever smile.
Clarissa’s face grew warm. “It has been lovely,” she said.
She was aware of the cold blue eyes fixed upon her face. His Grace stood beside Lady Matilda, her delicate hand still resting at the crook of his elbow.
The Duke of Hartingdale was undeniably handsome, but Clarissa could hardly understandwhyall these mothers, including her own, were so eager to offer their daughters to such a reprehensible man.
How better would the world be if all those mothers, rather than caring about positions and wealth, simply refused to let their children court such scoundrels? Clarissa was mystified how a kind, selfless woman like Lady Matilda had the great misfortune of having such a rakish nephew.
“You have not yet met my nephew, have you? This is His Grace, the Duke of Hartingdale,” Lady Matilda said. “Your Grace, allow me to introduce you to my dear friend Lady Bentley, and her daughter, Lady Clarissa.”
“Good evening,” His Grace said.
Clarissa clenched her jaw. She curtsied and slowly raised her eyes to His Grace’s gaze. He bowed elegantly. Clarissa’s stomach lurched at the intensity of his eyes. Although she had seen His Grace before from a distance, she had been unprepared for his cold, hard expression.
There was no outward indication that he was a rake. Perhaps that was how he managed to win as many women as he did. Villains were often cowards who seldom revealed their true nature upon a first meeting. Of course, the Duke of Hartingdale would seek to hide his from her.
Perhaps, if the Duke of Hartingdale looked that hard at her, His Grace would not like what he saw, and Clarissa could return to the ballroom floor. She would be free to search for her pen and book. The book, especially. Her pen was a replaceable, albeit regrettable, loss, but her poems were not. She would never be able to create them again if they were lost.
“Good evening,” Clarissa echoed, trying to sound unenthused but still suitably polite.
The Duke of Hartingdale smiled at her, the gesture somewhat awkward. Perhaps he was not used to smiling, but Clarissa could not fathom why that might be. Surely, a man so adept at winning ladies to his bed would know how to charm them.
“It is unfortunate that you were unable to attend the Season’s earlier events, Your Grace,” Clarissa’s mother said. “There were many wonderful balls and soirees.”
“There usually are,” His Grace replied with a hint of depreciation. “I suppose I am sorry to have missed them all, but fortunately, I was able to attend the best of the bunch.”
He inclined his head towards his aunt, and she smiled brightly. “Indeed,” she said. “I would have been most remiss if you had missed it.”
Clarissa tried not to look distracted as the pleasantries continued. She had no desire to be rude, but her book of poems was somewhere in the room. She must retrieve it. Clarissa considered mentioning the volume’s absence and perhaps excusing herself to look for it.
However, her mother would not approve, and worse, what if one ofthemfound it? She did not want a near-stranger to read her poems, and if she did not reveal that the volume was hers, it would be just someone’s book of poetry. If someone picked it up, they could not determine that she was the poet as long as she said nothing about the absent book.
Lady Matilda’s eyes met hers. It was strange to gaze at the lady’s peaceful, unworried expression when Clarissa herself was a maelstrom of feelings. The lady leaned towards His Grace and whispered something to her. Clarissa did not catch the exact words, but she was fairly certain that her own name was among them.
When Lady Matilda drew away once more, His Grace fixed his aunt with an odd expression. A silent understanding seemed to pass between them, and Clarissa’s heart hammered against her ribs as she wondered what it might be.
The introduction of a waltz began, and Clarissa could feel the impatience of the other mothers and daughters vying for the Duke’s attention. A dance was beginning, and this would be an ideal moment for His Grace to choose a partner for the evening.
At last, His Grace cleared his throat. He bowed, the gesture very stiff and formal. “Lady Clarissa, would you do me the honour of dancing this waltz?”
Clarissa opened her mouth to reply, but no words came forth. Did he not notice all the other daughters being offered up to him? Why would he choose her? It was not as if she was exceptionally pretty, and besides, he could surely see that she was older than many of the beauties who approached him.
“It is so kind of you to offer!” Clarissa’s mother cut in. “Clarissa would be honoured to accept your most gracious invitation, Your Grace.”
Clarissa swallowed hard and accepted His Grace’s hand. They joined the dancers just in time. The Duke’s placed his other hand on her lower back, and a warmth spread from his palm up the path of Clarissa’s spine. Her toes curled in her slippers. As the Duke of Hartingdale drew her close, she inhaled the freshness of his cologne, the soft warmth and understated spice of Bay Rum.
It had been a very long time since she had danced with a man, but the steps came readily to her. Even if she had not practised recently, she had not forgotten them. She and His Grace moved together in perfect harmony, and Clarissa tried to recall if she always felt like this when dancing with a man. At once, the urge overcame her to try and halt the dance, so she could write about all the strange emotions which soared inside her.
But he is a rake.
She needed to focus on the task at hand, which should be to find her missing book, but that was difficult with the speed of the dance and all the strange, fierce emotions coursing through her.
