Page 58 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
James leveled his gaze on her, only seeing warm compassion in her blue gaze. “I did.”
Her eyes widened at his succinct reply, but she did not probe for more; instead, she spoke to his mother of the loveliness of their gardens, admiring the azaleas.
Then the lady seemed to stumble on the air itself and took a most graceful fall to the ground, crying for her ankle and staring up at him with wide, imploring eyes that impressively held a glisten of tears. James stared down at her, suspecting this was somehow part of the courtship games. He was supposed to gallantly recuse her by lifting her into his arms and carting her away. Everyone on the lawns seemed arrested by the scene, and clearly waited for his reaction. Lady Emelia anticipated with an air of satisfaction and a smug glance over her shoulders at a few other ladies.
James canted his head. “What are you waiting for to stand up?”
The shock approbation that widened her eyes would be comical if he was not so irritated. And empty.
“Will you at least offer your hand, Your Grace,” she gasped, stricken.
His belly tightened. “No.”
Her blush of mortification stained her cheeks and she inelegantly pushed herself to standing and dipped into a curtsy. “I must return to my friends,” she said with another forced bright smile, “I can see they are very eager to hear about our meeting, and I might indulge them.”
He stooped and collected the parasol that had fallen with her. James offered it, and when her grasp closed over the handle he said, “I do not like touching others…or when I am touched.”
Except for Jules Southby.
He ruthlessly masked his reaction, for surely the hunger that sparked in his veins would be interpreted by anyone.
“Oh,” Lady Emelia murmured, and her expression softened. “I…I am sorry to have fallen at your feet then. It was badly done of me.”
“It was a beautiful fall.”
Her eyes widened and she laughed, fascination shifting in her gaze. “Would you perhaps one day tell me about your experience in the mountains, Your Grace?”
“No.”
She jolted at the flat indifference in his tone, but he would not offer her such ridiculous expectations, nor did he care if he was perceived as rude. James struggled to recall his sister’s pain and took a deep breath, releasing the emptiness. “Perhaps one day, Lady Emelia.”
It was not a promise he would keep, but it would be enough to convince this young lady he was not a beast without any polite manners or gentlemanlike graces.
Pleasure glowed in her eyes and Lady Emelia dipped into a curtsy. He watched the lady stroll away, nimbly twirling her parasol, laughing as she joined a few other ladies on the lawn. Footmen and servants were busy milling around, setting up lawn blankets and chairs with a covering. A picnic feast was to be had, and he was to walk through the midst of the fine offerings to vet his potential bride.
“Is she not beautiful?” his mother asked by his side, she, too, staring after the duke’s daughter.
“She is.”
That agreement seemed to please the duchess.
“She is nineteen, and this will be her second season. Lady Emelia did not lack for suitors last year and received no less than five offers, which she rejected.”
“Her father is indulgent.”
“Very,” his mother said with a small smile. “He has four sons, and Lady Emelia is his only daughter. That her parents allowed her to attend my impromptu garden party informs me that they are very open to an alliance with our family. Viscountess Beecham, who accompanied Lady Emelia as her chaperon, is a cousin of the family and has the ear of the duchess.”
“I presume you are advising me to impress Lady Beecham.”
His mother laughed, and the warmth of it seemed to seep inside his bones.
“Are you of a mind to impress her?”
“No.”
At first his mother seemed flustered, then she rallied and said, “Good. You are a duke…it isyouwhom the viscountess should try and impress. The ball will be held in a few days. Do you believe you will be able to dance with her?”
James glanced down at his mother and lifted a brow in query.
