Page 30 of The Duke's Hellion

“Atoast,” Jacoblifted his hand in the air as Sally stood smiling at his side, “to my bride. I never saw love like this coming, but now I can’t unsee it. You are my everything. I can’t live without you.” His voice was quiet, it didn’t boom throughout the room, but his statements were bold. “To my bride, may she always feel loved and treasured, and because her happiness is mine, may her joy never cease.”

Sam watched and followed suit as the guests raised their glasses and toasted the bride. It was a little (or a lot) over the top for Sam’s preference—a man’s happiness shouldn’t depend on a woman—but he drank in support of his friends anyway.

And even though his body was facing the bride and groom, his eyes were still watching Mimi’s movements. He hadn’t been able to reach her before the toast started. Now she was clinking glasses with Roger. He studied her as she smiled, and took a sip. Could she be any more obvious? And oblivious?

The toast was over. Glasses were being placed on trays carried by footmen that had flooded the room. Now it was time to take action and save Mimi from herself.

As he moved toward her, Chris fell in step behind him.

“You’re actually following me?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“She’s not going to like what I have to say.”

“Has she ever?”

“True.” Sam mulled over that thought. It felt like he was swallowing gravel as he let it sink in.

“Don’t embarrass her, Sam.”

“I wouldn’t. I plan on speaking to her alone.”

Chris raised an eyebrow at that notion, questioning him and his judgment, and he didn’t like it. “How do you plan on doing that exactly?”

“I have my ways.”

“I know your ways, Sam.”

“Not like that. She’s a lady. I’m trying to protect her reputation not seal her fate in scandal.”

“Are you sure?”

Sam stopped abruptly and Chris’s shoulder bumped into him. The two men looked each other in the eyes. “Yes,” Sam ground out between his clenched teeth, “I’m very sure. I have no use for a young, naive girl like Mimi. Too many opinions. Too much drama. Too many dreams.” And then as an afterthought that really shouldn’t have been an afterthought, he added, “Besides, you know I’m not looking for a wife.”

“Yes. I do vaguely recall you uttering that vow. Not sure why though.”

Sam scoffed. “You don’t know why?” He stalled for time by repeating his confusion cloaked in disbelief. “You don’t know why? Need I remind you of my father?”

“Need I remind you that you’re not him?”

“This is too much in one evening, Chris. Leave the subject alone. I’m not marrying. She’s too naive, yet too independent. We would fight all the time.”

“So you’ve thought about it?”

Had he? The question shocked him. He had pictured Mimi in a few ways. And seeing them arguing about a silly game or competing against each other for another win…he couldn’tremember if he had actually envisioned a future with her. That would be odd. “She’s not for me.”

“No. She’s not.” Chris pointed toward Mimi and Roger. “Apparently she’s for him.”

The statement labeling Mimi as another man’s belonging cut his airway off. He coughed to gain some oxygen.

There was no more time to chat. With Chris. He needed to talk with Mimi, and that boring bland Roger was not going to stand in his way.

A few more strides and Sam was right in front of Mimi and her vexatious dress that screamed gentle femininity even though he knew the body beneath it was a competitive hellion. Before he could speak, his throat ran dry while he glared at Mimi. It took two quick swallows and Chris inserting himself in the conversation before Sam actually spoke.

“Excuse me, Mimi.” Her eyes lazily drew up from his waist (or lower?) and as they fell on his lips, he realized he didn’t have a plan as to how he would get her alone without alerting the guests of his intentions. Ahem—intentions he didn’t actually have.

Chris cleared his throat, side-eyeing Sam. “Roger, Zenobia, might I interest you in a game of piquet.”

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