Page 50 of Duke of Pride

Stephen watched as the conversation unfolded. Frederick argued for something unfitting with that rake Blackwell. And instead of rolling her eyes in disdain, Victoria bantered with both of them, becoming the center of attention in her usual effortless way. She was not trying. It was just who she was—magnetic and fascinating.

“Now you are going to tell me you dunk biscuits!” Frederick huffed.

“A proper biscuit must be dunked to soften,” Blackwell countered.

“Dunking is for schoolboys and invalids! A gentleman eats them crisp!”

Victoria grabbed both their biscuits and fed them to Euclid.

“This was for Anna!” Frederick protested and walked away.

Blackwell leaned into Victoria a little bit too close for Stephen’s liking.

Stephen would have preferred that Blackwell kept his distance. Far enough for him to be out of the country, ideally.

“I, on the other hand, believe that was the deserved punishment, Miss Victoria,” Blackwell said.

He tried to pat Euclid, but the dog growled lowly.

Good dog.

“Join me for a round to discuss the merits of coffee over tea,” Blackwell offered.

“Scandalous, Your Grace!” Victoria pretended to be scandalized.

“You don’t know the half of it, Miss Victoria.”

Blackwell offered her his arm with a flourish, and Stephen watched with a clenched jaw as she allowed herself to be led away. Their heads bent close together as they strolled around the perimeter of the room, Blackwell murmuring something that made Victoria laugh, the sound bright and unrestrained. It scraped against Stephen’s nerves like a poorly tuned violin.

He can’t be that amusing.

Stephen followed them with a rigid look.

With the impeccable timing of someone born to wreak havoc, Lady Weatherby started a sensual tune—a waltz. He was ready to protest when Dorothy jumped up from her seat and clapped her hands.

“A dance! Excellent choice, Lady Weatherby.”

Debatable.

His mother’s eyes gleamed as they landed on Victoria and Blackwell.

“Victoria, you simply must dance. You and the Duke make such a striking pair.”

Stephen’s glass paused mid-way to his lips. He looked up at his mother, who was glowing with the excellent idea she just had, and couldn’t believe the betrayal.

“Miss Victoria.” Blackwell, the blackguard, smiled. “I would be honored to have this dance.”

Victoria glanced at Stephen. He couldn’t see his face in the mirror. He couldn’t see how he looked back at her, his fingers clenching around his glass. But he was sure that his look was a dark, warning glare.

Do not dare dance with him!

Victoria tilted her head and, with a wide smile, gave her hand to Blackwell, who pulled her to the center of the room as other couples gathered around them. Stephen fixed his eyes on them.

He was afraid that he wasn’t being too discreet about it, but he needed to focus on one problem at a time, and right at that moment, Blackwell was the problem.

Turned out that Blackwell—damn him—was an excellent dancer. His steps were smooth, his turns precise, and worst of all, he had the audacity to make it look effortless. He swirled Victoria with flowing moves, his hand resting on her waist, a fact that made darkness twist in Stephen’s chest.

“They do make such a lovely couple.”

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