Page 9 of A Lady's Beastly Duke
“Daughter,” he said firmly. “There is a person to whom I wish to introduce you.”
Anastasia glanced at Camilla. Her heart thudded with nerves.
“I’ll come with you,” Camilla said instantly.
“Thank you,” Anastasia said firmly. She took a deep breath and followed her father through the room towards the side door.
“Ah! Lord Ridley,” he greeted a man who stood there. The man in question was, Anastasia guessed, close to ten years her senior, with a long oval face and intense blue eyes. His mouth was a small bow and somehow it seemed mean to her, his lipsbarely lifting into a smile as he saw her. He was wearing a dark blue tailcoat, dark blue knee-breeches and white stock, and an elaborate cravat. He smelled of expensive cologne. His eyes contemplated her inquiringly. They were slate blue, and she saw no expression there except a mild interest as he might pay to a minor diversion.
“Good evening,” he greeted her neutrally.
“Lord Ridley. May I introduce my daughter, Lady Anastasia? Anastasia, this is Thomas Baker. He is Viscount Ridley.”
“Good evening.”
The man bowed low and straightened up. When he cast his gaze over her again, it seemed almost calculating.
“Lord Graystone?” he began, addressing her father respectfully but ignoring Anastasia herself utterly. “If I may, I would like the honour of claiming your daughter’s hand for the waltz.”
Papa blinked. Anastasia stiffened. There was no precedent for him asking Papa that. He had to ask her permission, not her father’s. Her father looked surprised but turned to the viscount.
“Of course. I don’t see why not.”
Anastasia stared at her father, horrified. It would have been appropriate if he had told the viscount that he had to ask her, not him. That it was her permission that was needed, not his own. Her mouth opened and she shut it. There was no point in saying anything to either of them.
Anastasia glanced sideways, seeing her mother approaching them. She felt her stomach twist. If Mama had heard what had just happened, she would doubtless say something. Part of her hoped she had not—it would do Mama no good to be angry, and it would do no good if she tried to intervene.
“Come, my lady,” Lord Ridley murmured. He gestured towards the refreshments table. “May I fetch you a glass of something?”
Anastasia shook her head. She could smell brandy and when she stared into Lord Ridley’s prominent eyes, he barely seemed to notice her.
“No, thank you,” she murmured.
“I will fetch some port,” he announced. “And you will have lemonade.”
Anastasia blinked. She had already said she did not want anything, but he apparently had not heard or had not cared to listen. She watched as he wandered off and came back a minute later with his own glass, and some lemonade. She accepted it wordlessly.
“A fine ball,” Lord Ridley continued, and it was not apparent to her if she was supposed to say something, since he was not looking in her direction. “I think the waltz will be soon.”
“Yes,” Anastasia murmured.
She heard the quartet tuning up in the corner and her heart sank as she noticed that they were playing a waltz. Theintroductory notes were distinctly in a waltz tempo.
“Come,” Lord Ridley demanded. Anastasia followed him and winced as he took her hand. The correct place for the other hand was over the shoulder-blade on her back, and she prayed he would know that. His touch was cold and forceful, and she recoiled from it. He rested his hand, fortunately, on the region of her upper back. They stepped onto the dance floor.
“Careful,” Anastasia hissed as they whirled round and almost collided with another couple. She tensed, inwardly counting the meter of the dance. He was clumsy, almost stepping on her feet. She shut her eyes, wishing that she could run.
Papa wanted to introduce me to him, she thought confusedly. The implications of that were clear. He had intended her to meet this man, and that spoke volumes. He had a plan in mind. He was naturally good at investing, and he had made a considerable fortune for himself on top of what he had inherited, making Graystone a wealthy estate. And looking at Lord Ridley, he was wealthy too. She felt her heart sink, wondering if her father was seeing yet another opportunity to make money.
She felt Lord Ridley misstep, and she gazed upward, watching the whirling, winking chandeliers. They were so beautiful, mesmerizing in their beauty. She counted the steps but otherwise she barely focused, losing herself in the world of bright silvery light overhead.
The sound of the melody shifting brought her head sharply down from her contemplation of the candle-light. The waltz was rounding off. She slowed and stopped, her gaze moving abruptlyfrom the ceiling to the crowd around them.
Lord Ridley was bowing, and she curtseyed automatically as the people around them did likewise, some politely applauding each other’s efforts. Her gaze roamed the crowd distantly and then she froze in place. Her eyes locked with striking green ones, and she knew she was staring at his grace, the Duke of Willowick, who was just a few paces away from her across the room.
She looked hastily down and then up again, her heart thudding at that striking green stare. She took a step off the dance floor, and her feet led her, almost without her conscious choice, across the floor towards where he was standing, lost in the crowd.
Chapter 4
