Page 2 of Five Ways to Bed a Duke

The butler at the entrance announced her and her mother, and soon they were led inside. She was immediately hit by the sweltering air in the overpopulated ballroom.

Of course, what had she expected? Lady Townbrige’s balls were highly sought-after, as every member of the ton wanted to see and be seen. As Catherine was an almost-spinster in search of a suitor, this was considered to be the best place to start. But she hardly thought any suitor was worth the heat she had to endure.

She was barely inside for a minute, and she could already feel the humidity on her skin and the sweat trickling down her back.

She had barely spent a minute in this ballroom, and she already longed for her cool beddings and the comfort of her goose-down pillow. She was already falling deep into her fantasy when she was jolted by the sound of a cold masculine voice beside her.

“It so nice of you to grace us with your presence, Miss Burlow.”

Catherine turned towards that voice, and a dashing young man bowed deeply and took her hand, kissing it with reverence.

Benjamin Windham, the Viscount Livingston, was a prime example of a dashing suitor. He was handsome, titled, chivalrous, and just as practical as she was when it came to matrimony—at least she had gleaned that much from their earlier conversations.

This evening, he wore a white shirt with a midnight-blue waistcoat and a matching jacket, which she must admit complemented his olive skin and made him practically glow under the light of the chandeliers. His hair was slicked back so ruthlessly that there was no single stray hair on his forehead. His cravat was ironed immaculately, and his hessian boots were polished to perfection, reflecting the light in the room.

This man was strong-willed, and the force of that will was evident in his appearance.

Overall, he cleaned up well. She could bet her last money that his valet was the happiest there ever was, as his master had never been seen out in public with a strand of hair out of place.

He was by no means a dandy, but he was severe about everything in his life. Catherine admired that trait in him. As a lady born into a family that easily descended into chaos at the drop of a hat, she was very particular about marrying a man who valued order and discipline.

He was the perfect match for her. She just hoped that she didn’t scare him away like she did her previous suitors.

Every year, every Season, she gained a host of admirers, and it was no surprise, as she was quite aware she was well above average in the looks department. But, for some unfathomable reason, they all withdrew before the Season ended. It was an inexplicable phenomenon.

She was determined that whatever it was, it was not going to repeat itself. She was so not going to lose this prime suitor.

If everything went according to plan, she would be the Viscountess Livingston by the end of this Season. Never mind that a voice in the back of her head kept nagging her about an emptiness in her soul that the dashing Viscount would never fill. But that was just fanciful thinking, was it not? She squashed the thought faster than it could sprout.

“May I ask, Miss Burlow, if you would grant me a dance later tonight?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied, raising the wrist bearing her dance card and waving it till the Viscount had to swerve to avoid being blinded by the square of paper.

Grabbing her forearm, he kept it steady enough to sign his name on her dance card and hurried off with a harassed look on his face.

To her, nothing showed her interest like waving a dance card in the face of a gentleman, but instead of interesting him, it seemed to have alarmed him. She had always been awkward in social gatherings, but over the Seasons, she had learned to conceal it and play the avid conversationalist.

But it seemed that skill was slipping, and she was reverting to the shy, awkward girl she had been when she had debuted three Seasons ago. She couldn’t afford to lose that skill now that she needed it the most. Now that shedesperatelyneeded a suitor.

Suddenly, her reverie was interrupted by a high-pitched feminine voice.

“Cat…”

She turned to see the small frame of her dear friend forcing its way through the mass of human bodies. Her olive skin glowed with perspiration, while the blonde hair framing her face flew behind her like the halo of an angel. But that was where her angelic looks stopped, as the skirt of her white dress was raised with her hands, exposing her stockinged feet. When she ran, Catherine could swear she got glimpses of her calves, but Emmy did not seem to care as she made a beeline for her with such a wide smile on her face that Catherine half expected her face to split open.

Her friend’s joy was so contagious that she couldn’t resist cracking a smile of her own.

Trust Emmeline to show her enthusiasm in the most unladylike—and improper—of ways.

“Catherine!” Emmeline squealed, hugging her so tight that Catherine feared she would suffocate.

“Emmy, I need to breathe,” Catherine said in an amused tone.

“Oh, sorry.” Emmeline released her. “It is just that I have missed you so,” she added sheepishly.

“I missed you as well,” Catherine said, taking her friend’s hands in hers, forcing her to let go of her dress.

She just hoped that the guests had not noticed that her friend had committed the faux pas of showing her calves and ankles in public. But a look around immediately dashed that hope, as she spotted several ladies tittering behind their fans and gesturing towards them.

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