Page 5 of Wedded to the Ruthless Duke

“Yes, thank you for that, Celia,” Grace said tightly while Celia smiled comfortingly at her.

“Swoon into his arms, and he will romantically catch you. Ask for some fresh air, and he will gallantly escort you outside on his arm.” Celia made a strong impression of a gentleman offering his arm to her. “Violet, you can run after as a chaperone, can’t you?”

“I can.” Violet smiled. “I can also cleverly disappear into the bushes when you go to kiss him.”

“When I attack him, you mean,” Grace muttered. Despite her words, Grace was curious to know what it would be like. It was this that made her want to do it, rather than her friends encouraging her. She looked down at the gown she was wearing and did her best to smooth the skirt as much as she possibly could.

It was not the dress she had wanted to wear tonight, but her mother had insisted on it. Grace had chosen a rather bold Pomona green dress, cinched high on the waist.

It was beautiful, unlike anything Grace usually chose, but she had fallen in love with the material in the shop, and her father had insisted on having a dress made for her when he saw how much she loved it.

That was before he fell ill. Oh, Papa, how I wish you could still come to events such as these. I would be so much happier then.

She had longed to wear the gown, but Althea had stood at the door forbidding it, comparing it to Tabitha’s choice. The green was not as fashionable as ivory white, and it revealed far too much of Grace’s figure. In the end, Grace was made to change into the rather boxy cream gown she wore.

She smoothed the skirt once again.

“Now, go; he’s alone,” Celia urged in her ear. “Now, Grace.”

“God, I will live to regret this; I know it.” Grace stepped away.

Across the room, she caught a glimpse of her mother and Tabitha together with the gentleman who had collided with Grace earlier as if she was nothing but a breath of wind beside him. Tabitha was elegant in her tinkling laughter, and Althea’s gaze was set firmly on Tabitha in admiration.

Something squirmed in Grace’s gut. It was a need to think of something else, to be someone else, even if it was just for a few minutes.

She set her path to walk past the Marquess of Morton, who now stood alone, looking around himself in search of someone to talk to.

Grace barely needed to even fake her trip. She caught the edge of her gown, and her usual clumsiness did the rest. She fell into the Marquess of Morton with much more vigor than she had intended, and he caught her in a fumble.

In a flash, Grace remembered being in another gentleman’s arms.

She saw Eleanor’s brother, the dark burnished eyes of the Duke of Berkley, then all was gone.

The Marquess of Morton may not have done quite as smooth a job of catching her, but he certainly steadied her in the most gallant of ways.

“Lord Morton, I am so sorry,” Grace hastened to say, standing on her own two feet again. “Forgive me…”

“Worry not. Are you well?” he asked kindly, his hand still gently on her elbow as she stood straight. “Did you trip, or is it the heat? Sometimes these ballrooms can make one swoon with the heat, can they not? I find myself sometimes struggling with it.”

“You are kind.” She smiled at him. “It’s a wonder we’re not all in fainting fits, is it not?”

“Indeed!”

“Would you care to escort me outside, My Lord? I believe a breath of fresh air might help me.”

“I’d be delighted to help you.” He smiled broadly and offered his arm. “If, of course, a chaperone could be offered.”

Violet appeared suddenly at their side as if she had been summoned there with a magic wand.

“Oh, good evening, Your Grace,” Lord Morton said with considerable surprise as he noticed Violet beside him.

“I will happily be your chaperone, My Lord.” She fluttered a hand in front of her own face. “I agree the air in here is too stifling. I’d be glad to take a turn in the garden myself.”

Grace could have rolled her eyes at Violet’s rather obvious appearance, but she held herself back and forced a smile for the benefit of Lord Morton. As he helped her outside, she continued their conversation, talking softly.

It was clear Lord Morton was a gentle soul indeed, considerably kind, but Grace strangely found the notion of kissing such a man lacked any luster or attraction. In fact, there was no spark at all.

Oh well.She sighed with the thought.The dare was to steal a kiss, not to fall in love!

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