Page 53 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
His gaze roved across the guests until it landed on her. When their eyes met, she quickly looked away, horrified that he had caught her staring. He may have been inside her, thrilled her, pleased her, but she wasn’t quite ready for him to know that true, intimate part of her—the part that loved.
“Your Grace, may I say how beautiful you look? You are a true example of how a lady can become more distinguished as she grows older.”
Priscilla giggled at the compliment. “Oh, Lord Bowden, are you saying I’m old?”
Arabella eyed him carefully. She hadn’t met this gentleman before, but he had a certain glint in his eye. She guessed he was around thirty years old and conventionally handsome, but there was no spark about him, no mystery.
Not like Sebastian.
“Wise and wonderfully matured,” he said, bowing to her.
Priscilla slapped him playfully on the arm. “You are a charmer, My Lord. Have I introduced you to my granddaughter, Lady Arabella?”
Priscilla stepped aside, indicating Arabella.
“I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.” He bowed deeply. “My Lady.” Arabella curtsied, attempting to act coy.
“This is Lord Bowden, Arabella. The third Baron of Eastchester and heir to the Holden empire. I believe he’s been in the colonies for the last few years. Is that right, My Lord?”
He bowed his head. “As always, Your Grace, you are quite correct. You know, Lady Arabella, your grandmother was just the kindest when I was a child. She guided me in the ways of the world after my poor, dear parents passed.”
“She is most definitely a wonderful woman,” Arabella agreed. “She has been a mother to me when my own was unable to. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Lord Bowden.”
“I say, how is your dance card looking? I believe they’re going to make a start soon, and I do adore a cotillion, don’t you?”
Arabella smiled shyly. “It is one of my favourites, next to a waltz,” she said, knowing her favour for the waltz would be controversial. She was testing his limits. She held her card out to him. “I currently don’t have a single name on my card. Perhaps you could assist with that?”
“I’d be delighted,” he said with a grin, slipping a pencil from his pocket and marking his name down next to the cotillion.
As she and Priscilla walked away, her grandmother whispered hurriedly in her ear.
“You are a flirt, young lady! Be careful, or you’ll get more of a reputation than you currently have. You know how the ladies talk.”
“Let them talk,” Arabella said bitterly. “There is nothing I can do about it regardless. I might as well enjoy myself while I am here.”
“That’s my girl.”
***
“It is unusual to have a cotillion so early in the evening,” Arabella said as the four couples lined up in preparation. To her surprise, she and Lord Bowden were to take the lead, but it excited her. She often practiced dancing with Priscilla or her lady’s maid, but she rarely got to participate in a real ball.
“It is, but aren’t the Elliots always going against the grain?” He chuckled as he took her hands in his and got into position. “It’s why their balls are so popular. There’s nothing quite like a little rule-breaking now and then, is there?”
He winked at her. She’d had enough rule-breaking to last her a lifetime, though it amused her that Bowden thought an early cotillion was salacious.
If only he knew.
The music began, the pianist accompanied by string instruments, and the couples moved in unison. Lord Bowden didn’t once take his eyes off her, his smile ever-present, and she felt a twist of pity for him. She had no interest in him as a prospective husband, and neither would she ever. She suddenly felt as though she was being unfair, cruel even, to dance and talk when she had no intentions of marrying any of the men here.
Except maybe one.
Arabella’s eyes drifted across the room to the corner where she had seen Sebastian. He wasn’t there, and panic flashed through her. She searched through the guests, her breath shallow, worrying that she had missed her chance when she finally saw him. He was sitting on one of the low sofas along one wall, drinking brandy and staring straight at her. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she turned back to Lord Bowden, wide-eyed.
“Blue is my favourite colour. It suits you, My Lady.”
“Thank you, Lord Bowden. That’s most kind of you to say.”
Their conversation died once more, their footsteps settling into a steady rhythm, and Arabella searched her mind for something to say.
