Page 8 of In Scandal with the Duke
His mother would bemoan her dissatisfaction, and he would indulge by attending a couple of balls, a garden party or even a rout. They meant nothing to James. The duchess realized this was a dance they had performed for the last couple of seasons and grew more determined in her efforts. However, James could not be persuaded against his own will. He would have to put a stop to it, for his attending society events would only give his mother a false expectation that he would one day marry.
Something inside his chest jerked. If he stopped going to society outings, he might not encounter Miss Elizabeth Armstrong again.
Do any of your words carry the weight of sincerity, or are they just well-rehearsed lines meant to chase and disarm?
His words of flattery belonged to the ruthless part of him that went after something he wanted. Her soft laugh, her scent, and the way she spoke to him had tugged at something unknown inside of James. He’d felt as if the indifference that haunted him for the last few years had been sliced open with the sharpest blade.
Just who are you, Elizabeth Armstrong, and why the fuck are you taking up any space in my thoughts after a single meeting?
“You roused my sister’s ire,” Brandon Armstrong said, walking into a large room where they lounged, awaiting Madam Rebecca to entertain them with a sensual dance that was rumored she learned from the boudoir of a pasha.
“Think of the devil, and someone she knows appears,” James drawled, glancing up to stare at one of his most recent friendships. “I gather provoking your sister is a dangerous thing.” He smiled, feeling that prick of amusement.Why do I find her so interesting from that fleeting encounter?
“It is for me,” Armstrong groused, sitting on the armchair opposite him. “Our mother and aunt are not pleased with her. Hell, I am sure my sister might never be invited to another ball, and that would defeat the purpose of everything. My mother has ordered me to fix it, and I am at a damn loss. My aunt is saying my sister is ruined.”
“Why?”
“By God, man, surely as a duke, you know! My sister was rather rude and did not consider your stature and consequences when she made her remarks.” Brandon raked his fingers through his hair. “Are you a man that others can afford to offend?”
“Your sister did not care that I was a duke.”
“Exactly,” he hissed. “She should have been mindful.”
That hollow feeling rushed inside James. “Why? She merely defended her dignity that was slighted.”
“You are entirely serious,” Armstrong echoed, his eyes widening before they narrowed. “I do not like that you sound as if you admired Bette’s willful nature.”
James’s lips quirked in a small smile. “Is that a cause for concern, Armstrong? You are sitting like a hen whose feathers are ruffled.”
Armstrong scowled. “Given your profligacy, it damn well is.”
Bemused, James stared at the man he had claimed as a trusted friend these last two years. “Are you warning me from your sister?”
“There is no reason to sound so appalled. I know she is not fit to be a duchess. That is not what I am talking about, but …”
“But what?”
“There is a look in your eyes just now … it was one of want, and you have said more than once you willnevermarry. So what is that look about? Should I not fear debauchery for my sister, who I damn well know own an impetuous and willful nature?”
In the dimly lit room, the atmosphere grew thick with tension as James fought to keep his features impassive, his voice steady. “Do not be silly. Your sister is remarkably pretty, and I am sure behind that … sharp tongue, she is a charmer, but she is like all ladies who flit around the season attending balls. I will never be interested in any lady who is clearly seeking a husband. That is a trap I am not interested in. What you saw was mere admiration for the fact that your sister did not flatter my vanity or seek to form a self-serving connection. That is all.”
Brandon sighed heavily, his face etched with concern. Radbourne, sensing the tension, deftly filled a glass with whisky and handed it to him, a small gesture of solidarity in the face of his friend’s frustration.
“What exactly happened at this ball?” Ambrose inquired.
With clipped, precise diction, Brandon recounted the incident involving his sister. Radbourne couldn’t help but laugh while Ambrose’s smile hinted at his admiration for Elizabeth’s audacity.
“A fearless lady,” Oliver remarked. “And admirable that she did not care you were a duke or even cared for society’s reaction.”
“She left the damn ball in an uproar and our mother in tears. She’s now afraid no one will entertain Elizabeth,” Brandon snapped, the worry evident in his voice. “I am certain my sister will regret her actions once her temper cools because she is indeed seeking a husband this season.”
“That is easily fixed,” Radbourne said, ever the strategist.
“How?” Brandon asked, his eyes lighting up with a flicker of hope. “Your society can be damn unforgiving.”
“Basil was the one at fault. Let him fix it by dancing with your sister at a few balls or even taking her out in his new phaeton to Hyde Park. The attention he flatters her with will make everyone want to be associated with her,” Radbourne suggested, outlining a plan that sounded both plausible and beneficial.
“No,” James said, setting his empty whisky glass down with a slightclink.
