Page 59 of How to Seduce a Duke this Autumn
They might as well have announced their intentions to the whole world.
Needless to say, annoyance was the mood of the evening.
He had tried everything to escape this insufferable arrangement, short of being immensely rude, and considering fleeing the bloody country on his ship. His mother, however, was nothing if not persistent, as always.
I just hope Charlene won’t be here to see this.
Now he’d almost been blinded by the sheer light of the ballroom. Why did they have to use a thousand candles? The air was thick with candle wax. And perfume. The combination assaulted his senses as much as the crowd, and he truly wanted to be anywhere else. Even a mathematics exam at Oxford would be more enjoyable than this ball.
“Will you dance?” Miss Martin asked him with a bright smile.
“No.” Certainly not with you.
Only with Charlene.
The thought formed before he could stop it, as natural as breathing. He had no interest in dancing with anyone but his Charlene. Just the idea of other women—Miss Martin—their smiles, their hopeful expressions, none of it touched him. In fact, it bothered him for he already felt as though he belonged to Charlene.
“Oh, but I already put your name on my dance card.”
Also, Adam realized as she held it up to him, his name was there more than three times. A wedding announcement in theTimescouldn’t be any more conspicuous. “Miss Martin, I’m not playing your games. Neither am I in the mood to dance.”
“Oh, stop it, Rotheworth,” his mother said with a touch of exasperation. “Dance with her. The girl, Adam. You practically grew up dancing together, did you not?”
Yes, and no. Those childhood days felt like a distant echo of no significance. They were both adults now. Things weredecidedly… different. And then there was Charlene. But he did not tell his mother that. It would only stir memories that were best left undisturbed, memories tied irrevocably to his brother that he didn’t wish to burden his mother with. She’d only just come out of mourning and the one good thing about Miss Martin was that she’d led Mother to the first ball since Father’s passing. And he did not want to think about that scoundrel twin brother of his, not tonight. What he had unearthed at the barrister’s office lingered like a dark cloud over him, but until it solidified into a storm, there was no point in troubling anyone. It was his problem to handle as duke.
Yet, should he warn Charlene?
The thought darted through his mind before he quickly banished it. No. Not yet, not until he had something concrete. To broach it prematurely would only send her guard up, and he needed her guard down. He was uncomfortably aware of how selfish that seemed, but he had only one chance to set things right.
Adam’s thoughts trailed to the paper. He’d carried the apology with him all year and still hadn’t delivered it. Unless he did, he didn’t dare woo her. He didn’t dare ask for her father’s permission. And if that brother of hers found out that he’d already kissed her, he’d probably demand to duel him.
Thus, if he misstepped, if he erred in this delicate matter, the chance to win her family’s trust, to truly gain her favor, might vanish forever. And the newly found trust between them was fragile. The specter of his brother’s misdeeds whispered at the edges of his thoughts, an intrusion both unwelcome and inescapable for they threatened to shatter it all.
Miss Martin’s laugh cut through his reverie, light but brittle, an attempt at charm that only grated against his nerves. Charlene’s laugh was different, softer and more sincere, with alilt that lingered. Without meaning to, his gaze raked idly over the gathering when, suddenly, he saw her.
She was half-turned, the pearls at her throat catching the candlelight as she tipped her head in response to some jest he could not hear.
Charlene.
The sight of her, so composed yet achingly vibrant, hit like a blow he should have braced for but hadn’t. Everything stilled inside him. For an instant, the room fell away, the clamor of the crowd dissolving until there was only her. She wore an emerald-green gown that would have paled on anyone else, but on her, it glowed, a perfect match for the hue of her sharp, perceptive eyes. His pulse lurched against his will.
Even from across the room, it was clear she knew precisely how many sets of eyes were wandering too long in her direction. She did not so much as blink under the attention. Present, yet always apart. This was Charlene.
“You’re so dreadfully serious this evening, Adam,” Miss Martin said with another feeble attempt at flirtation.
“Call me Rotheworth,” he replied absently, still watching Charlene.
“Why?” she pouted. “That’s so formal.”
“It is proper,” he returned coolly, finally dragging his eyes away. “Which I prefer.” With you.
“Honestly, Adam,” his mother snapped with impatience. “A dance is not a proposal. One would think you were being dragged to the gallows, not the ballroom.”
She put my name down without my permission. Four times! How is that fair warning?
He resisted the urge to agree, as it wasn’t far from the truth. Their plans thrummed like alarm bells in his head, and the way Miss Martin’s gloved fingers tightened on his arm as though fearing escape only solidified his decision.
Smart woman. He just might run away from her.
