Page 16 of In Scandal with the Duke
Elizabeth placed her hand in his and drew a collective gasp from the onlookers. As they took their positions, she peered up at him, wondering why she felt this shattering awareness. The strain of the waltz started, and the duke drew her closer than she had anticipated. Their gazes collided, and there was a wicked devilry lurking in the depths of his silver eyes. They started waltzing, the duke guiding her in the sensual dance with powerful yet graceful movements.
“Why is everyone staring at us and whispering behind their fans,” she asked when he tugged her close.
He spun her in a wide arc, drew her back in and then said, “I have not asked a young lady to dance in three years.”
“Is this a cause for gossip? I’m impressed by theton’sskill in transforming even the most mundane topics into tantalizing gossip. Or is there something special about a dance from a duke?”
A cynical smile touched his mouth. “Many speculate on my actions and put their own reasoning behind it. The most important conclusion they will draw is that you are a treasure they perhaps foolishly overlooked.”
A heart-pounding awareness burned through her. The duke did this to help her. Feeling tossed out of order, she said, “Thank you for asking me, Your Grace; I understand your intentions.”
He pinned her with an insouciant stare. “It is my apology, Miss Armstrong.”
As they danced, the whispers grew distant, and the world narrowed down to the man whose hand was warm in hers, whose steps matched hers flawlessly, and whose eyes’ dangerous allure quickened her heartbeat. At that moment, under the glow of a hundred candles and the watchful eyes of society, Elizabeth began to realize that the duke might not be the wretched adversary she had imagined but perhaps someone far more intriguing.
* * *
The evening had unfoldedwith far more ease than James had anticipated. Miss Armstrong had handled herself with poise and grace, uncaring that so many people stared at her behind lifted fans. He had not danced with any other lady, an upset he knew would be mentioned in several newssheets in the upcoming weeks. He had made his way through the ballroom, pausing only to speak with a few political allies. Yet as he navigated the crowd, a wave of shameless whispers trailed in his wake.
“Why did he dance with Miss Armstrong?”
“Perhaps there is a tendre,” another suggested, sparking further speculation.
“With an American, when we have so many suitable English ladies?” a third voice gasped, both incredulous and a bit disdainful.
“Do not be foolish; everyone knows the duke has an aversion to marriage.”
“But did you see the look on his face when they danced? His Grace certainly seems taken with her.”
James retreated to the quiet of the gardens, realizing he would need to dance with another lady or two to contain their speculations.
“What want is this that I am unable to bloody hide?” he hissed, irritated that the awareness he had of the lady was naked on his face for people to speculate.
Boredom crept over his senses, and he lifted his gaze to the night sky. James had never enjoyed the frivolities of balls and dancing. There were no more sessions to be held in the House of Lords until next year. Perhaps it was time to visit his sister, Alicia, Viscountess Hadleigh, and his nieces. James missed their company.
A soft sound caught his attention. Lifting his brow in curiosity, he watched as Miss Armstrong discreetly made her escape through the music room windows. She moved with a grace that belied her apparent haste, smoothly lifting herself over the sill and then pausing to glance over her shoulder, ensuring her departure had gone unnoticed.
Hidden in the deep shadows of the gardens, James observed as she made her way down the cobbled path, illuminated only by the soft glow of a lantern. His heart quickened with each step she took toward him, though she was unaware of his presence. She paused, tipping her face up to the night sky, her expression one of wistful longing. The moonlight cast a soft glow over her features, lending her an ethereal, almost otherworldly beauty.
James’s breath caught when he saw her lift a finger to swiftly brush away tears from her cheeks. The sight stirred something deep within him, a mix of concern and an inexplicable urge to comfort her.
Why do you cry?he wondered silently, his earlier resolve crumbling as he felt an unexpected pull to go to her. It was a source of annoyance that what he wanted to feel and what he felt were two different beasts.
Her shoulders shook, and more tears trailed down her cheeks. It felt as if he was driven by an outside force when he stood, tempted to reveal himself and hand her his handkerchief. James steered clear of young ladies whose eyes sparkled with matrimonial fervor whenever they spoke and danced with him. Over the past decade, he had skillfully avoided six such outrageous traps. The most recent involved a public scandal that had cost him a few notable supports in the House of Lords, which had been needed to pass a motion to relieve the horrific burdens/poverty mothers and wives faced after losing their sons and husbands in the war.
The lady’s reputation had suffered greatly because of James’s refusal to marry her under such deceptive circumstances. Many in society pointed condemning fingers at him, arguing that a man of honor and good breeding would have married her to salvage her good name. However, he was determined never to be deceived into any decisions he made.
James only allowed himself the company of women seasoned in the arts of romantic liaisons and discreet affairs. These women understood exactly what James had to offer and were clear about what they could reciprocate. This mutual understanding fostered relationships that were straightforward and devoid of any burdensome expectations. For this reason he should allow Miss Armstrong to cry her silent tears and not make it known that he was present.
Fucking hell!He raked his fingers through his hair as she sobbed harder. Miss Armstrong pressed her palm against her mouth as if to contain the sounds. Her ragged sigh pierced through James’s body, and the unhappiness he heard pricked at his chest. He started to walk toward her, intending to make his presence known, when she gasped, whirled and fled in his direction.
James received no chance to sidestep her unexpected flight.
“Oomph!” she gasped upon colliding against his chest.
Instinctively, he slipped a hand around her waist to steady her from falling and pressed the other over her mouth to prevent her screaming. Her scent filled his nostrils, sensual and heady. He couldn’t stop himself from inhaling deeply. James was thoroughly tempted to bite, and that he wanted to was damn aggravating.
“Be quiet,” he said, “It is James. Do not scream, or we will be discovered, and I assure you, Miss Armstrong, you will be irrevocably ruined.”
