Page 7 of A Duke's Temptation Poetess
“You seem distracted.” Had His Grace’s voice always sounded so smooth and rumbling like that? It was impossible to say. She had heard him speak before, but never to her. His words were always delivered from a distance away to one of his friends or Lady Matilda.
“Apologies, Your Grace. I suppose I am a little distracted.”
“Is there any particular reason why?”
Perhaps she should just admit that she had lost her book. This was his aunt’s ball. He could help her. However, a problem still remained. What if someonehadfound her book of poems and already read them? If she admitted the book was hers, those poems might be read and released to the world far sooner than she intended. Some of them were not even very good, but they had the potential to be.
Clarissa took a deep breath, silently weighing her options.
“No, Your Grace. I suppose not.”
Chapter 4
Lady Clarissa was a slender, delicate young miss, and yet there was something steadying about her presence. Even if she was clearly distracted by some matter, that made her, in some respects, all the more interesting. She was not one of those young ladies who requested a dance with himjustto seduce him. Lady Clarissa had other interests, other matters which consumed her attention beyond him.
Colin had experienced a lifetime of ladies who were only interested in him because he was the Duke of Hartingdale. A man with a title, money, and power drew attention wherever he went. He rather enjoyed the prospect of learning more about this young lady. What was it that made the young woman so riveted that not even a Duke could hold her attention?
But that is a terrible idea.
Even if Lady Clarissa had other matters occupying her attention, that did not change the fact that she was a well-bred and genteel woman. If he showed any interest in her, she was bound to interpret it as implying a future courtship and eventually a marriage. And Colin had sworn off marriage long ago, a vow which he didn’t intend to break, even for a lovely creature like Lady Clarissa.
“You are a graceful dancer,” he said, noting that Lady Clarissa’s gaze had dropped to her feet.
Perhaps she was anxious about the dance and worried about embarrassing herself before a Duke. That seemed like something that a young woman might be concerned about when dancing with him. She raised her eyes at once, staring at him with something like surprise.
“That is kind of you to say, Your Grace.”
She said those words strangely, as if she had never received a compliment in her life and was unsure how to receive one with grace.
“The waltz is my favourite dance, so I am pleased to hear that I meet your expectations as a dancing partner. It would be a pity if I were unable to dance well.”
“My words are true enough,” he assured her, at a loss for how else he ought to respond. Colin was accustomed to his compliments being accepted more elegantly or sometimes, with a batting of eyelashes and sweet, honey-coated responses.
“You are a graceful dancer, also,” Lady Clarissa said.
“I should be,” he replied. “My aunt Matilda had me take many lessons in my youth.”
It was not the best response. Lords were expected to be adequate dancers. Of course, he would be good at such a task.
Lady Clarissa smiled politely. “I see.”
The dance continued, and every time a step drew Lady Clarissa towards him, he inhaled her scent. She smelled of lavender and roses. He could not have said if it was her hair or her skin, but doubtlessly, it was the clever concoction of her lady’s maid.
Lady Clarissa was beautiful and elegant, and it was somewhat mystifying how a young lady who kept her hair pinned up in curls and embellished with twinkling pearls and delicate, pink flowers had a mother who allowed her hair to be dressed with those garish feathers.
Colin was far from being a perfect man, but he had enough tact not to mention that the red dyed tips of the feathers made them look as if they were dripping with blood. The whole effect was rather as if Lady Bentley had pulled the feathers straight from the bird and stuck them in her hair.
His lips twitched in amusement at the absurdity of that image: of the prim and proper Lady Bentley plucking feathers from a pheasant and preparing it for dinner.
“Do you intend to stay in London for a while?” Lady Clarissa asked.
Colin shook his head. “No,” he replied.
The song took them briefly apart, but they came together once more. Her skirts pressed against his legs, like a phantom touch. He resisted the urge to caress the hand he held and let his thumb slip just a little beneath that lovely silk glove.
“My sister, Deborah, has invited my aunt and me to join her in Bath. She intends to have a rather lavish birthday celebration, or so I am told.”
In truth, Deborah had said nothing of the kind, but her great passion was in hosting events for the ton. While Colin seldom desired any company from the ton, his sister delighted in their attention. She enjoyed their parties and soirees, in seeing all the new fashions, and hearing all the latest gossip. Sometimes, Colin wished thatshehad been able to inherit the dukedom. She was far better suited for this life than he was, and she was smart besides.
