Page 34 of The Dark Duke's Virgin

“What?” he said, bracing himself.

“Caroline will be there also.” She winked at him and then, before he had a chance to respond, was gone.

Frederick sat frozen behind his desk, mind racing as he tried to puzzle out what his grandmother meant in saying that… not that it was not obvious. Frederick tried to tell himself that it made little difference, for he was not going to this party to meetwomen, and the idea of marriage was as far from his mind as was possible. And yet, the mention of Caroline’s name…

Perhaps he might bathe before choosing a new outfit, also? Yes, Frederick thought to himself as he rose from his chair, stomach fluttering in ways he did not like. A bath and a shave… just to be safe.

Frederick was having a hard time concentrating. While he was trying his best to be present as his grandmother introduced him to the various guests at her party, his eyes continued to stray across the garden at the one person he knew he should not be looking at.

“Your grandmother has not been able to stop speaking of you, Your Grace,” Lord Chesterfield said carefully. An elderly gentleman, Frederick had met his son on many an occasion but knew little about him. “Doting is the word I might use.”

“Oh, I have not been that bad,” his grandmother chuckled.

“Worse,” Lord Chesterfield said rightly.

“You cannot blame the woman,” Lady Chesterfield cut in. She and her husband stood back a small way, as if worried to get too close. As if Frederick might bite their head off should they do so. “It was such a kindness of you, allowing your grandmother to stay here with you as you have.”

Frederick did not respond, for his eyes were wandering to places they should not.

“Ah…” Lord Chesterfield looked to his grandmother for support. “Perhaps this is a bad time?”

“Nonsense!” his grandmother insisted. “Frederick—Your Grace,” she corrected, “Lord Chesterfield is speaking with you.”

“It is quite all right,” Lord Chesterfield hurried. “If His Grace is ah… indisposed, I do not want to distract.”

“What distract?” his grandmother said. “He wants nothing more than to speak with you. Right, Frederick—Your Grace.”

“Hhmm?” Frederick pulled his focus back, noticed the five pairs of eyes watching him, and forced a smile. “Oh yes, very much.”

“See!” his grandmother said happily. “Now, Lord Chesterfield, what were you saying earlier about you granddaughter?”

Lord Chesterfield’s eyes went wide. A quick glance at Frederick, panic seeming to take over. “Oh… nothing, really. Just ah… well, if His Grace might be amenable—honestly, it is not a bother if it is too much trouble.”

“Lord Chesterfield has a granddaughter,” Frederick’s grandmother explained for him, rolling her eyes at the shaking lord. “And he was saying she might be perfect for you, Your Grace. At the very least, the two of you should meet.”

“Is that so?” Frederick said, feeling a sudden desire to free himself of this conversation. He curled his lip without realizing, an act which had Lord Chesterfield and his wife’s faces paling.

“He would love to meet her,” his grandmother said. “Perhaps later today if time permits.”

Lord Chesterfield looked hesitant. “That is… I cannot wait to tell her.”

Frederick fixed the man with a cold, dispassionate look. Not done purposefully, just one he was used to giving to men whom he did not wish to speak. And Lord Chesterfield, typically, jumped in fright.

This party was going about as well as Frederick had expected. That is to say, not well at all.

He had stepped outside exactly thirty-five minutes ago, expecting to spend an hour at his grandmother’s garden party. Surely that would give him enough time to say hello to a few people, have his face seen, not embarrass or anger his grandmother in any way, and then head back inside before anything untoward should happen.

Thirty-five minutes in, and he was beginning to get the impression that if he wished to leave this garden party at a reasonable time, he might have to start being rude… or more rude, for he was doing his best to be polite but dammit if it wasn’t hard to do.

From the second his foot touched grass, his grandmother was on him, forcing him to join various circles and meet various guests. That alone would have been painful enough were it not for the fact that none of these guests seemed eager to meet him. Oh sure, they forced themselves too, for he was a duke, and it was expected, but none appeared happy about it.

They were scared of Frederick was why. Known for his cold temperament, his short temper, and his general lack of care when polite conversational formalities were concerned, it was little wonder that his reputation had proceeded him to such a degree that he was a pariah at his own home.

But his grandmother persisted, for she was his grandmother and loved him dearly… and was desperate to show him off. She led him by the arm from group to group, forcing him into monotonous conversation that always went down the same path. First, they would hesitate in speaking, shaking as if worried he would snap. Then they would find bravery and compliment him on his home—a safe topic. Next his grandmother would force their hand, always mentioning a daughter or niece or cousin whom the lord was related to that would be perfect for Frederick! And then, it was onto the next.

More than once, Frederick thought to lean into his reputation and simply scare everyone away. A steeled gaze. An angered glare. A snarl. Surely, these little groups that his grandmother was leading him to would dissolve before he arrived at them. But his grandmother kept a close eye on him, and he had made her a promise.

Also, and this was very important, he was a little too distracted for that.

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