Page 3 of The Duke and his Hellion
In that case, please accept my apologies,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Charles Rowling, the Duke of Grouton.”
“Abigail Wilkinson,” she replied curtly, still bristling from his earlier comment.
As they continued to dance, Charles studied her intently. “Tell me, Lady Abigail, where are you from? Surely not London.”
Abigail stiffened, her chin jutting out defiantly. “And why do you assume that, Your Grace? Is it so hard to believe that I could be from the city?”
Charles chuckled. “If you were, you would know better than to behave in such a manner. Your actions tonight have been quite... unconventional. No, I am quite certain that you are not well-acquainted with the finer rules of the ton.”
“Enlighten me then,” Abigail said, a challenge in her voice. “What exactly have I done that is so scandalous?”
“Well, let's see,” Charles began, twirling her out of his arms and back before speaking, his voice low and measured. “You laughed far too loudly, you were excessively blunt in your speech, you removed your gloves in public, and you approached a gentleman and requested a dance. Need I go on?”
Abigail let out an exasperated sigh. “It is ridiculous! There are so many rules! How is one supposed to keep track of them all? Especially when no one bothers to explain them to you!”
It was true, she thought with a frown. And she was quite certain that Harriet or Hugh ought to have done so — but she had to admit that she had not really given them much of a chance.
Charles's expression softened slightly. “I understand your frustration, my lady. But if you want to navigate the treacherous waters of the ton, you must learn the system.”
“The system?” Abigail echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You make it sound like a business.”
“Perhaps you are right,” he said with a laugh. “You see, to play the game, you must first know the rules. Only then can you find the small windows of opportunity to bend them, to have a little fun. But you must be careful, discreet.”
A glimmer of understanding dawned in Abigail's eyes. “Is that what you do, Your Grace? Play the game?”
Charles grinned, a roguish glint in his blue eyes. “Indeed, Lady Abigail. And I pride myself on being quite skilled at it.”
Abigail could not help but laugh at his self-assured tone, the sound ringing out clear and unrestrained. “I see now,” she said, shaking her head. “You are quite the rake, are you not, Your Grace?”
Charles found himself captivated by her laughter, the way it transformed her face, making her even more alluring. He twirled her around the dance floor, enjoying the way her eyes sparkled with mirth.
“A rake, you say?” he teased, pulling her a bit closer. “I prefer to think of myself as a man who knows how to enjoy life's pleasures.”
Abigail's eyes widened slightly at this, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “And what pleasures might those be, Your Grace? Scandalizing innocent young ladies on the dance floor?”
“Among other things,” Charles replied with a wink. “But in all seriousness, my lady, I do believe you have the potential to take the ton by storm. You just need a little guidance, that's all.”
“And I suppose you're offering to be my guide?” Abigail asked, her tone skeptical but her eyes alight with interest.
“If you'll have me,” Charles said, dipping her low as the music swelled. “I can teach you the ins and outs of society, help you navigate the treacherous waters of the season.”
Abigail considered his offer as he righted her, her mind racing with possibilities. On one hand, the Duke of Grouton was clearly a man with a reputation, a rake who delighted in flouting convention. But on the other hand, he seemed to genuinely understand the workings of the ton, and his advice could be invaluable.
She frowned, however.
“What would you want in return?”
Charles merely laughed at this, his mouth curling in what seemed to be delight. “You are not as naive as I thought,” he said simply, and Abigail lifted her chin.
“I am many things, Your Grace, but naive has never been one of them,” she lied easily.
“What if I do not want anything in return? Simply the pleasure of helping a damsel in distress?” His retort came swiftly, and Abigail's cheeks flushed.
“I am certainly no damsel, Your Grace,” she said quickly and the stoic mask cracked a little to show the hint of a smile.
“I am not sure of that,” he said now. “You seem to be drowning in the rules of society.”
Once again, Abigail felt her cheeks grow hot and she crossed her arms over her chest with a dark frown.
