Page 90 of A Duke in the Rough

After the meeting with the League, Honoria had retired to her room to rest before the ball, but the kiss she shared with Drake had made her efforts futile.

An aching tenderness swelled in her chest, and she touched her fingertips to her lips. Grateful she was alone, she stared in the mirror at the blush covering her cheeks. If just thinking about him stirred such a reaction, what would happen when she saw him again?

Had her feelings always been so obvious?

The clock on the mantle chimed fifteen past the hour. She did her best to school her features into a sedate and dignified expression, then rose and made her way down to the ballroom.

Burwood stood at the entrance greeting everyone, his gregarious smile on full display.

Until Charlotte approached. Then it vanished in an instant.

Honoria worked her way closer, curious to hear their exchange.

Burwood bowed over Charlotte’s extended hand, taking her fingers as if some horrible disease covered them. “Lady Charlotte. I hope your corset is loose enough for you to enjoy the festivities.”

Standing next to him, Drake surreptitiously elbowed the duke, who gave a softoof.

“You look radiant, my lady,” Drake said.

“Thank you, Mr. Merrick. At least someone has manners. But perhaps the duke’s small clothes are too tight.”

Honoria lifted a hand to stifle her laugh, her gaze locking with Drake’s, whose own eyes danced with amusement.

Although Honoria couldn’t see Charlotte’s face, she could imagine her disdainful expression as she turned ever so slightly toward Burwood and snatched a dance card from his fingers.

The scowl on Burwood’s face, on the other hand, was clear to all in proximity. Like the changing winds, his face brightened once again. “Ah, Lady Honoria!”

Drake’s gaze swung to her. Resplendent in his perfectly tailored black evening clothes—the contrasting silver waistcoat giving light to his face—he smiled his lopsided smile, and fireflies skimmed her stomach.

Although, in truth, he could be wearing the rough clothes of a groom and Honoria would have still found him dashing.

Burwood snapped his fingers. “Frampton, Lady Honoria’s dance card.”

Cards were spread in a fan-shape across a mahogany table, except for one that sat to the side. Frampton plucked the isolated card from the table and handed it to the duke.

“A special card for you, my lady.”

Unease quelled the fluttering in her stomach, the fireflies dropping like pebbles, especially from the mischievous grin on Burwood’s face as he handed her the card. She glanced down and frowned. “But this has already been filled out, Your Grace.”

“Yes, isn’t it delightful?”

Drake leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the card. His eyes lifted to hers.

Four of the sets had Drake’s name written next to them, one of which was a waltz. Effervescent bubbles trickled through her veins. And yet...the completed card was most inappropriate. “And are the gentlemen aware of this?”

“They will be when I make the announcement.” Giddy, Burwood grinned like a naughty schoolboy.

Honoria lowered her voice. “Your Grace, not to be indelicate, but this simply isn’t done. Gentlemen request dances with the ladies of their choice. And never with the same lady more than twice.”

Burwood swatted her protest away. “Bollocks!”

A feminine voice behind Honoria gasped.

“Forgive me,” Burwood said, peering around Honoria and appearing not in the least apologetic. “But I thought it was about time to mix things up a bit. Have some fun. It’s a ball, after all. No one will be a wallflower at my party!”

Her mind reeled with the unorthodox methods of the new duke, but she moved toward Drake.

He took her hand in his. “Lady Honoria, might I hope my name is on your card?”

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