Page 17 of Must Love Dukes
“Are you…” She started, wanting to ask whether he’d been courting Lady Lavinia, but decided it was none of her affair, even if it did make her stomach sour a bit. “Never mind.”
“I haven’t yet decided to court Lavinia, though she hopes I will.”
“It isn’t any of my business, Your Grace. We are only acquaintances brought together by our mutual avoidance of marriage. I appreciate your help more than you can possiblyimagine, but what occurs after this house party is your business alone.”
Buxton regarded her for a moment, then proceeded to parade her about the perimeter of the room, making certain everyone took note. The strolling about took a great deal of time. Savorton had more than a handful of guests, most of which Muriel didn’t recognize. She’d spent the better part of her time in London unnoticed by theton, but that would change. In a few weeks, Miss Muriel Bell would be the object of pity, the poor girl heartbroken by the spectacular Duke of Buxton.
I’ll be stricken. Bedridden for weeks.
Nora and Father would never try to wed her off while she was in such a fragile state. At least, she hoped they would not.
“What are you considering, Miss Bell?”
“Only that once I return to London, I can only draw out your affection for possibly another week or so before Nora wonders why you haven’t called. I can only be heartsick for a month at most before she tries again.”
“A month?” Buxton pressed a palm to his heart. “That’s it?”
“I am not intentionally insulting you,” Muriel laughed. “Possibly two months. I promise to be bereft. Weep copious tears. Will that suffice?”
“I suppose,” Buxton said in a breezy tone. “Unless you get attached, Miss Bell.”
Muriel would not allow that to happen, though Buxton made her feel…somewhat intoxicated. “I’ll recall your arrogance, Your Grace. Your vanity. That will help keep such feelings at bay. Also—and do not take this poorly—I can’t imagine it is much fun to be a duke. Yes, everyone prostrates themselves before you, but I think that would become tiresome after a time. As your duchess, any woman would be subjected to the same.”
The green of his eyes sharpened. “A duchess has a great deal of power, Miss Bell. Lady Lavinia, for instance, would love toreceive the rest of London as if she were royalty. You’ll be given some deferential treatment as the object of my interest.”
“But it is only a ruse.” Muriel shrugged. “And even if it was not, I don’t think I’d care for being treated differently. But I’ll do my part, don’t fear. I’ll dangle off your arm and threaten to draw any young lady who approaches as a carrot.”
“I welcome your efforts. But don’t forget my portrait, Miss Bell.” The low rumble seemed to vibrate inside Muriel. “Nor the rest of our agreement.”
A gentle reminder that he meant to kiss her. Now that he’d repeated his intent once more, it would be all Muriel contemplated—which she suspected Buxton knew. She watched the light dance along the edge of his jaw, making the curl near his ear sparkle like beaten copper.
“I haven’t forgotten.”
He studied her with those catlike eyes. “Good. Remember, I don’t want cabbages for ears.”
“I never once said I favored cabbages, Your Grace. And you’ve informed me of your preference for radishes. Oh—and no fishhooks.”
Those dazzling eyes flickered over her, lingering on her mouth once more. The room warmed around Muriel, making the skin along her arms prick. Buxton was…not exactly a rake, at least not like the not-so-reformed Todson. But the air of…lazy sensuality about him was, nevertheless,potent. There wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t be drawn to him, duke or not.
And Buxton wants to kissme.
“Something wrong, Miss Bell? You’re staring.”
Wretch. He knows well the effect he has on women.
“I’m trying to decide where to use the radish for the best effect. Where it will make the most sense. Your nose, I think.”
“Hmm.” He spun her about so they could stroll back along the way they’d come. “Oh, Miss Bell, raise your skirts.”
Muriel made a soft gasp as another wave of heat rushed up her body.
“Forgive me, that sounded inappropriate.” A wicked glint sparkled in his eyes. “I mean in defense of me. As my shield,” he insisted, all innocence. “Lady Swindon and her daughter approach.”
5
Miss Bell’s cheeks had turned the lovely color of a fresh peach. No clever comeback for his naughty innuendo, though he assumed, given time, Miss Bell would come up with a tart retort.
“I meant no offense.”
