Page 7 of A Virgin for the Duke of Ash

That, however, was not enough for Daniel. Not when he was painfully aware of all those men currently eyeing Evie as if she was a buffet set up in the middle of the desert.

“Lady Wellington and the Dowager Duchess left just a few moments ago to get some refreshments,” Phoebe explained softly. “They should be back shortly, Your Grace. You need not be worried.”

If she thinks that makes anything better, then she is sorely mistaken!

Daniel knew all too well the different tactics these so-called gentlemen employed to ensnare innocent young ladies. He’d be damned if he allowed them to attempt such a thing right under his nose!

“Fabulous,” he muttered coldly. “I guess that means I have to take care of you for now.”

Evie returned his glare with a fierce one. “Well, nobody ever told you to do such a thing! You can go over there”—she pointed haughtily to the other side of the ballroom—“and we shall be perfectly fine without your ominous presence hovering over us like a thundercloud.”

“Need I remind you of how your brother practically begged me to keep you out of trouble?” he retorted, an eyebrow raised. “Did he not promise me anything I wanted in return?”

“Well, he never would have made such a request if he had any idea how terrible you are to me!” she shot back.

For a moment, they stood there, glaring at each other, neither one of them feeling the need to give up.

Daniel had never met a more exasperating woman in his entire life. Not only did she insist on challenging him at every turn, but she was also pushing him past his limits. If a woman ever decided to become difficult, she would not have done as spectacularly as Evie at that moment.

“Your Grace, you must forgive Evie,” Phoebe interjected. “She is only vexed because her dance card is empty.”

Really? Is that all there is to it?

He felt a slight tingle of satisfaction that apparently, his earlier threat in the club had reached the rest of the male population of the ton. Sometimes, being the menacing scoundrel that Society made him out to be did have its advantages.

Evie, however, was not one to appreciate a good thing even when it landed on her lap and squawked at her.

He narrowed his eyes at his obstreperous charge, who only glared stubbornly back at him.

“Do you want to dance?” he bit out.

She appeared to be surprised by his question, but recovered rather nicely by scowling and crossing her arms over her chest.

Daniel pressed his lips into a grim line and prayed to the high heavens that his gaze did not stray to her bosom.

Do not look down. Do not look down. Do not look down…

“What does that have anything to do with you?” she scoffed, drawing his attention back to her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Her chest was heaving slightly, the soft swell of her breasts pressing against the beaded neckline of her dress.

But he had already managed to maneuver her deftly to the dance floor, where several other pairs had gathered. It was a much better move than to allow his gaze to linger longer where it should not.

Almost immediately, he heard the soft whispers breaking out all over the ballroom. Dozens of pairs of eyes swiveled to them—some of them surprised, some curious, but a great many more were envious. Fortunately, Evie was much too incensed with him at that moment that she was oblivious to it all.

“Just because I wanted to dance does not mean I want to dance with you,” she huffed under her breath.

Daniel could only smile mirthlessly at her. “Well, you are stuck with me, sweetheart. Take it or leave it.”

She glared up at him just as the musicians began to pick up their instruments. In the end, Evie was still a well-bred young lady, and well-bred young ladies did not leave their dance partners on the dance floor and storm off in a huff.

Besides, if she refused to dance with him tonight, she would have to refuse everyone else for the rest of the night. The rules of Society made no sense to Daniel, but for once, he was grateful for this one.

“Do not look so pleased with yourself,” she grumbled as she bowed.

He returned her scowl with a brilliant smirk. “I would not dream of it.”

There were much better things to dream of, in his opinion, but none of which were appropriate for polite conversation.

Arrogant jerk! Conceited idiot!

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