Page 14 of Who Wants to Marry a Duke
With Thornstock? Hardly. Thank goodness she wore gloves, because the very thought of being in his arms again made her hands grow clammy. Especially given that he was so unreasonably angry at her. “Actually, I tend to prefernotdancing. I enjoy watching people far more than I do participating.”
The duchess smiled. “I understand. Grey is very patient with me on the dance floor, but I just learned some of the newer steps in the past year, and I’m not quite as steady on my feet as he is.”
“I used to be awful at it, but my stepmother hired a dancing master for me, and after far too many lessons I feel a bit more comfortable.” Olivia cast Beatrice a rueful smile. “A tiny bit.”
“Thankfully, Thorn is light on his feet. Follow his lead, and you shall have no issues, I assure you.”
“Unless he carries me about,” Olivia said grimly, “I fear I most certainly will have issues.”
The duchess chuckled. “You’re among friends here, so don’t worry. The dancing is all in good fun. We can overlook a misstep or two.”
Wasshe among friends? She rather liked the thought of that, but she dared not pin her hopes to it. She’d been without friends her age for so long that she’d taught herself to enjoy the solitude. Sometimes she even believed she truly did.
A sly look crossed Beatrice’s face. “And speaking of friends, I gather that you and Thorn have met before. Dare I ask how?”
Olivia searched for the best way to put it. “We had a brief encounter at the Devonshire House ball during my debut.”
“That sounds fairly innocuous. Your conversation did not.”
Dear heaven, how could she possibly explain the complicated situation her stepmother had put her in that night? “Well, we . . . er . . . did have a misunderstanding of sorts, which has left your brother-in-law disgruntled with me and my stepmother for all these years.”
“Disgruntled. Hmm. No matter. You shall have one dance with him, and then you need not see him again.”
Olivia didn’t want that either. But whatdidshe want?
The impossible. For him to be attracted to her the way she was to him. For him to wish to marry her while also supporting her work as a chemist. Neither of those was likely to happen.
She sighed. Although she’d guessed he was being forced into offering for her, her refusal of his proposal had clearly also stung his pride and fired his temper. It made no sense. She simply did not understand men and their . . . odd reactions.
That was why she preferred chemicals to people. Chemicals behaved in predictable ways. One merely had to figure out what those ways were. Chemicals didn’t up and change their properties one day out of the blue, and they certainly didn’t lose their tempers for no good reason.
“There they are!” Beatrice said as Greycourt and Thornstock entered the ballroom. “I began to wonder if they’d left entirely.”
If only Olivia could be so lucky.
As the two half brothers approached, she studied Thornstock, looking for signs that he’d changed since they’d first met. Unfortunately, he hadn’t. His form was still as pleasingly fit as it had been in his youth, and his dark chestnut hair not only had no gray, but its short-cropped Titus style suited him better than his wild, untamed look from before. If she were a typical female, the very sight of him approaching with that icy look in his eyes would make her swoon.
But she was not, and it did not. By the time Thornstock and Greycourt had reached them, she had braced herself for an argument. She half expected to hear that Thornstock had talked his brother out of engaging her, and that her trip to Carymont was no more. So help her, if he had done so—
“Miss Norley,” Thornstock said, “would you do me the honor of standing up with me for this set?”
He really meant to go through with their dance? Very well, she’d do her best not to let the arrogant, nosy fellow cow her.
She stared him down. “Certainly, Your Grace.”
He surprised her by smiling. It threw her off guard, since she’d intended to be as cool to him as he’d been angry at her.
Then he offered her his arm, and a new sort of emotion hit her. Fear. She had exaggerated how far her dancing master had gone in improving her ability to dance, and the thought of having Thornstock see her bumbling about terrified her.
“Follow his lead, and you’ll be fine,” Beatrice whispered in her ear.
Olivia cast the duchess a grateful glance as Thornstock took her off to the floor. Fortunately, the dance was familiar, and the steps were ones she’d practiced often. She could almost enjoy the music.
Almost. Because his smile had vanished. The whole time they were doing the steps, he was staring intently at her. Glowering, really.
He stepped closer in the dance, his presence suddenly oppressive. She fancied she could feel the anger emanating from him, which was absurd. No experiment had ever proven that people could project their feelings into the air. Yet she would swear she felt palpable waves of bad temper coming from him.
She ignored the unsettling sensation. “Why are you so angry?”
