Page 2 of My Demanding Duke

Her words came to an abrupt halt, as Hugh moved to block her way.

She stilled, though she did not look frightened. Hugh was so close to her now, that he could admire the swell of her bosom as she held her breath.

She gazed up at him, with eyes which were now dark with a desire which mirrored his own. Her full lips were parted, begging for his kiss, but Hugh resisted - his pride would not allow him prove her right about his rakish reputation. What’s more, he did not dally with innocents - at least, not usually. His fallen angel was upsetting not only his sojourn in the garden, but his moral equilibrium too.

“You are correct about my reputation,” he conceded, “I do not usually seek formal introductions to young ladies out for their season, but for you, I’m certain I can make an exception.”

He took care to lace his words with all the intent and desire which stirred within him. For a moment, he was rewarded, as her eyes grew hazy with longing.

Hugh stepped forward, desiring to be even closer to her; to feel the heat which radiated from her body, to better smell her teasing scent of jasmine and vanilla.

He soon regretted his sudden move, for his companion’s eyes narrowed and she took a step back.

“Am I supposed to feel flattered, your Grace?” she queried, archly, “I am no fool; I am well aware that men of your ilk will whisper any pleasing words that spring to mind, if they think it might gain them a kiss.”

Hugh was torn between two feelings at her words; annoyance that she had thought he was trying to steal a favour, and rage at the very idea of any other man doing just that. The possession he felt toward her was not rational, though few men could be accused of being rational when confronted by a beautiful face.

And he was, after all, just a man.

“You place great weight on reputation,” he observed, his calm voice belying the roar of passion within.

“I do,” she answered, primly, “And I’ll wager, your Grace, that when you learn of mine, you’ll make no attempt to make the formal introduction you say you wish for. Now, please stand aside, I should like to return inside.”

He frowned at her words, unsure of how a creature like she could think that anything might deter him for his pursuit. Still, he duly stepped aside to allow her pass; her tone of resignation had dampened the simmering tension between them.

The angel disappeared into the shadows, without so much as a backward glance. Once she was out of sight, Hugh exhaled a sigh of frustration.

He tapped the cheroot in his hand with his index finger, but made no move to light it. His desire for tobacco was now subsumed by a burning desire to know the name of the vixen with whom he had traded barbs..

Not wishing to seem too eager - he was a duke, after all, he had to show some modicum of pride - Hugh paced the garden, for a few minutes. Once a suitable amount of time had passed, he slipped through the French doors, across the dimly-lit library, and back to the ballroom where Lord and Lady Morland were hosting at least a hundred guests.

Once there, he found the room alive with energy. A string quartet in the corner played a jaunty tune, as guests swirled around the dancefloor in a lively country set. Included amongst the dancers was the object of his desire. She was partnered with a young buck of about twenty years, and each time the dance returned her to the young buck’s arms, Hugh felt an overwhelming urge to commit murder.

He remained on the periphery of the crowd, his face set in an unhappy scowl. It was not just the sight of the woman he coveted dancing with another which irked him, but the fact that he was unhappy at all.

In his two and thirty years, the ladies of the demimonde had soothed the worst of Hugh’s masculine urges. Actresses, opera singers, the occasional dashing widow - Hugh’s love affairs had all been brief, neat dalliances, free from the restraints of social strictures and scrutiny.

Occasionally, he had been tempted by forbidden fruit, but he had never wished so much to take a bite as he did now.

An impatient sigh escaped him and he turned his eyes to the other guests, in the hope that someone might distract him from his thoughts. He scanned the faces present, until his eyes alighted on a very familiar one.

“Beaufort,” he called, as he approached Lord Bartie Beaufort - an acquaintance of sorts, from White’s. Lord Beaufort was the type of fellow who knew everyone and everything; if anyone present knew the name of Hugh’s angel, it was he.

“Falconbridge,” Bartie replied, his round face breaking into a smile of genuine pleasure, “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“I shan’t stay much longer,” Hugh assured him, his tone droll, “Lady Morland is a close friend of the family’s and my mother demanded I show my face.”

“A face showing’s worth about an hour, by my watch,” Bartie replied, with a knowing grin.

“Then I have but a few more minutes to endure, before I can safely flee,” Hugh stated, turning his gaze back toward the ballroom floor.

The pair exchanged pleasantries for a while, until Hugh decided it was time to strike.

“I assume she’s been declared the season’s diamond?” Hugh said, with as much nonchalance as he could muster. He nodded his head in the direction of his mysterious blonde, who was now dancing with another chap - much to Hugh’s chagrin.

“Who?” Bartie queried, turning his eyes in the direction in which Hugh had nodded. His gaze fell upon Hugh’s angel and lit up with excitement. Hugh stifled a grin; it was obvious that Bartie had gossip to impart.

“That is Miss Anna Mosley,” Bartie stated, in a staged whisper, “A girl with her looks would usually be batting off suitors, but alas she suffers from a terrible affliction.”

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