Page 9 of Must Love Dukes
How annoying of her.
As the hostess, the least Lady Savorton could do was help Hugh beat off the young lady before him—and her overeager mother. Or instruct one of the footmen to come to Hugh’s aid. Instead, Lady Savorton was attempting not to laugh out loud, shoulders shaking as she tried to control herself.
So this is what it has come to. My life is a comedy.
“Your Grace,” the girl before him uttered softly, skirts splaying out until she appeared to be sitting in a buttercup.
“Your Grace.” Her mother had lowered beside her. “We were out taking the air and happened to see your coach arrive.” She nudged her daughter forward an inch.
The pair were probably lying in wait for me to appear.
“I fear you have me at a loss,” Hugh said politely, bestowing one of his polite but bland smiles on them, struggling not to show his irritation.
Brief introductions followed. Lady Mentor and her daughter, Miss Pilson. Hugh would likely forget their names before the meal was served this evening. That was the risk you took when accosting a hungry duke who still had the dust of travel on his clothing and required the bloody privy.
There would be anentire weekof this nonsense.
He moved away from Lady Mentor and her daffodil of a daughter and made his way up the steps to Lady Savorton. Hugh greeted her warmly, especially when, after taking a good lookat him, she immediately snapped her fingers and instructed the butler to show His Grace up the stairs.
“A tray and brandy will follow,” she whispered to him. “You look parched.”
“I’m starving.”
“That explains your mood.” She floated away, already preparing to greet the next coach coming up the drive.
Hugh’s temples ached dreadfully as he trudged up the stairs. After being shown to his room, he flopped on the bed, debating whether he could plead a stomach ailment and forego the entire evening, which might have been the case if he’d eaten one of those dreadful meat pies.
Completely worth a stomachache. Considering he’d met Miss Muriel Bell.
Was she wandering about below, deciding what sort of fruit to use in place of an ear in one of her paintings?
Or evading her unwanted suitor?
Hugh had been sitting at the coaching inn debating whether to go on to Savorton’s when she appeared, shaking him out of his thoughts by nearly running into a wall. He’d only just decided to return to London and avoid this matchmaking debacle when Miss Bell had delighted him by not knowing who the bloody hell he was.
No fawning. No attempts at flirtation. Instead, she’d insinuated that his ego was overinflated due to excessive arrogance. He couldfeelthe attraction between them crawl up his skin, sparking along his arms so forcefully, he’d nearly kissed her in the taproom. But he didn’t understandwhy. Miss Bell was entirely average. Height, form, and face. Nothing whatsoever about her should make a man like Hugh give her more than a passing glance.
Thatwas why he was here at this bloody house party instead of inside his luxurious coach headed back to London. Oh, he’dtold himself it was because he’d promised Savorton he’d come and didn’t want to disappoint his friend but…
I’m afraid it might be Miss Bell.
A maid appeared a few moments later, tray laden with tiny sandwiches, a decanter of brandy, and a carafe of water, all of which made Hugh feel a great deal better.
The Savorton drawingroom was filled with a collection of matchmaking mamas, herding about their daughters, all of them near breathless as Hugh made his entrance. There was a great deal of whispering, all done behind hands or fans. Fingers pointed discreetly in his direction.
Well, that was fine, he supposed. Admiration of a duke was perfectly acceptable. Being hunted to ground like a fox? Was not. But Hugh had been the only available duke for nearly two Seasons, which he supposed did make him something of a rare, exotic creature.
“Your Grace. I thought you might never come down.” Large brown eyes, like a doe save for the calculation gleaming in their depths, blinked prettily at him before Lady Lavinia Hutch dropped into a perfect curtsey.
“My lady, I didn’t realize you’d be here.” Though Hugh should have guessed, given Lavinia’s ambition to become a duchess. His, in particular. “Have you discarded Lady Fabel so soon?”
Her lips twisted ever so slightly. “Lord and Lady Fabel are just there.” She tilted her delicate chin towards an expensively garbed couple on the other side of the room. “My parents do not dog my every step.”
They probably should.
Lavinia was a beautiful girl. Intelligent. Perky bosom. Well-bred. Connected. She’d make an excellent wife. He’d considered, before coming here, to just offer for her and be done with it. Spare himself the continued stalking of his person. It was rather tiresome. Once wed, his life could return to normal. He would return to his mistress. Lavinia would likely take lovers after giving him an heir. Their union would be amicable, somewhat affectionate, and pleasant.
Nothing more.
