Page 21 of His Tempting Duchess

Richard sighed. “The baroness is here tonight, Cass.”

Cassian glanced away, pressing his lips together. “Margaret is a free woman, Richard. As a widow, she has more freedom than any other woman in Society. She can attend a party if she likes. I know that she and the Duchess of Thornbridge are part of the same musical society. I daresay they’re friends.”

He wasn’t so sure of that. Margaret wasn’t particularly inclined to friendship.

At least, not anymore.

Richard only shrugged. “I don’t mean to tell tales, and of course, the baroness can do as she likes. It’s just that she’s been acting rather odd since the whole runaway-bride business. Since your engagement was announced, in fact.”

“Oh? Odd in what way?”

“Oh, I don’t know. She’s begun complaining, which she never did before, and is rather snappish. She raised her voice at me when I delivered the latest installment of her allowance, and demanded to speak to you instead. I told her to write to you, but I suspect she has not.”

Cassian suppressed a frown. Thatwasodd, but now was not the time to deal with it. He would attend to Margaret’s capricious moods later. Of course, she knew about the terms in his father’s will, and she understood his need to marry quickly.

Whatever offense he might have caused could be smoothed over some other time. For now, he had other things to attend to.

Pausing to glance at his reflection in one of the many mirrors hung around the ballroom—he looked pleasingly flushed, and not at all like a man wrestling with uncouth desire—he left Richard behind and hurried across the room.

The dancing had begun already, and Cassian briefly cursed himself for dallying. He wanted to dance with Miss Belmont as often as he could, and she might already have a full dance card. Out of habit, he made a careful note of each face that flashed by him, taking time to observe who was dancing.

He saw the Duke of Thornbridge and his new duchess, as well as the Duke and Duchess of Blackwood and Langdon. Miss Belmont’s sisters and their spouses. All dancing, swirling around in a flutter of colored fabrics.

This was a masquerade, of course, so he was surrounded by masked faces. Cassian had not bothered to wear a mask. Anyone with a scrap of sense could guess which face lay behind which mask, in any case. People tended to act differently when they were safely masked, which was foolish—they weren’t as safe as they thought they were.

Not from a man like me, in any case.

There was something bland about a Society party, too. Nobody could ever be themselves, not truly.

He paused on the edge of the dance floor, glancing around him. He had half expected to find Miss Belmont dancing. But no, she was not among the dancers.

After a moment’s search—and mostly thanks to her red costume—he spotted her. She was sitting at the very end of a row of chairs set against a wall. About half a dozen chairs separated her from a gaggle of matrons, all deep in conversation.

She was staring off into the distance, as if bored.

Something tightened in Cassian’s chest, and he swallowed thickly.

Steady on, man. Keep your head.

He strode towards her, and was about halfway there when she glanced up at him, her eyes sharpening behind her spectacles. She watched him approach almost warily but made no move to hurry away.

“Miss Belmont. We meet again. I did say I would find you, didn’t I?”

“You did,” she conceded.

“Not dancing?”

She shrugged. “No one has asked me. It’s probably for the best. I’m not sure I could dance in this costume.”

He decided not to keep looming above her. Ladies liked tall gentlemen, of course, but nobody liked a man wholoomed. He sat beside her, close enough so that their knees almost touched. Miss Belmont flinched and subtly shifted her knee away from his. He suppressed a smile.

“I should like to dance with you,” he said, grinning. “And, according to the rules of the game that governs Society, if you refuse, you may not dance with anybody else all evening.”

She rolled her eyes. “Heavens, what a fount of information you are! I know that,Your Grace. I’ve gotten away from many an unpleasant dance partner by feigning twisted ankles and whatnot.”

“Very clever.” He chuckled. “Is that a yes, then?”

She eyed him for a long moment. He wasn’t sure what he had expected to see in her eyes. Scorn? Resignation? Interest?

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