Page 19 of The Duke's Goddess

“The Duke of Baskim didn’t bring Boudicca flowers on his first visit.” And Joan regretted letting that juicy tidbit slip from her lips the second she heard the masked glee in Sally’s reply.

“You don’t say?”

Joan cleared her throat. “He—” She had no idea how she was going to finish that sentence. Doing her best to make it sound like Wes wasn’t a complete nincompoop. “He forgot.” Yes, that was her best in the moment because it also happened to be the exact moment her eyes caught sight of a dark headed waltzing wonder. Not that she thought that of James. But some women somewhere did.

“I can’t believe the duke forgot flowers.”

“He made it up to her, don’t worry.” Joan rushed the words in an attempt to shush Sally so that she could concentrate on James's movements. And then she realized that it was utterly foolish to track the dratted rake. She had far better things to do. Like, pretending she wasn’t following his every move with her eyes.

And even though she wanted to retract her clipped tone and replace it with the full story, she realized that Sally hadn’t even noticed because all she responded with was a hissed, “He’s here.” As if Joan needed the reminder.

James caught her eye, half-smirked and walked in the opposite direction of her and Sally. Joan exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath. Of course, James wouldn’t approach. He didn’t want to encourage Sally in any way. But what had the coy look been about?

“How do I look, Joan?”

“You look beautiful as always, Sally. But you needn’t worry. He’s not coming this way,” she said, turning to Sally more fully and ignoring James's presence.

“You’re probably right. Perhaps we can try to make him jealous again? Do you really think that plan would work?”

“It’s human nature to want what you don’t have.”

“I don’t have him yet, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have him,” Sally rejoined.

Joan held back on replying to that. Sometimes what a person didn’t have was for good reason. Like in this case. James was a notorious rake. A womanizer. He used women to bed. How many more ways did she need to say it? James was not looking for marriage. Did Sally not care that her reputation was on the line? That even if she did snare James, he would likely end up resentful of her and her scheming ways? That was no way to live a life: the object of someone’s resentment.

But Sally wanted what she didn’t have. What she shouldn’t have. And, in spite of her shyness, she was insistent in asking, “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Joan shrugged just as a man approached her side. She was about to be inwardly grateful for the distraction when she recognized the male figure. Lord Tamely extended his hand saying, “May I have this dance?”

It was rude—disgraceful even—to decline the man, despite him being a weasel. So she took his hand and was swept across the dance floor. But it wasn’t a nice, gentle sweeping, like how a woman might feel light on her feet, dancing on air even. No, it was a sweeping sensation as if she were a broom, being handled.

“Are you enjoying your evening?” the weasel asked.

“Yes,” Joan chose a monosyllabic response in an attempt to discourage further questions.

“It’s a nice night for a wedding, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She added a half nod with this reply so as not to appear too impolite. And she worked up a half smile to add to the half nod to round out the two halves and make a whole. Though inwardly she wholeheartedly cringed.

Thankfully the dance was short, and Lord Tamely was leading her back to Sally. It couldn’t have been more perfect timing because just as she was walking up, so were Jacob and James. She could feel James's eyes on her, piercing the skin on her hand where Lord Tamely was freeing her from his forearm.

If Lord Tamely could have read the room, or at least the small group he was in, he would have quickly acknowledged that hewas the fifth wheel.Unfortunately, he had no such abilities of perception.

“Tamely, didn’t you say you were going to dance with Lady Simone this evening?” James gave a curt tilt of his head whichTamely didn’t misinterpret.

“Quite,” he said, bowing and taking his leave. Though he gave one last look at Joan, and then at James. Turning to Joan, he said, “It was lovely dancing with you.” And he kissed the air above her hand.

And just before Joan could worry about Sally making another move on the wrong man, James stepped up. Again. “I believe this dance is mine.”

Another dance. Another dance with the rake. Surely it wasn’t so bad to agree to it. After all, it was saving her friend, who she could see from the corner of her eye taking Jacob’s hand to the dance floor. They both had a slight blush, and Joan could only hope that they would see (and quickly!) how they were made for each other.

James didn’t waste any time in getting to the heart of the matter. “Is love blossoming?”

Startled, Joan drew her eyes up to meet the ocean tide she knew awaited her. “What do you mean?” Could he read her? She didn’t even know what was going on inside of herself. Her heart was hammering. Here she was. Dancing with the rake. Again. At a wedding. Talking about love. That’s all the fluttering was about. The same damn environment had been recreated. Joan took a slow inhale to calm her nerves. And whatever that mad fluttering was in her stomach.

“Those two.” He canted his head in the direction of Sally and Jacob. “Are they in love yet?”

“I don’t think it happens that quickly.” Though…she couldn’t really be sure.

---