Page 59 of A Wicked Game

As ever, he was surrounded by an admiring group of women, mainly matrons with eligible daughters in tow. A shaft of jealousy pierced her as he laughed at something one of them said, effortlessly extricated himself from the lady clinging to his arm, and led another onto the dance floor.

Any one of those girls would make him a suitable wife. Millicent Connors had a fortune for a dowry. Emily Goodford looked like a fairy princess, with silken blond hair and limpid blue eyes. And Elizabeth De Vere could trace her family back to before the Norman Conquest.

Not that Morgan would care for an illustrious name, particularly. He was the brother of an earl; he didn’t need a titled wife to add to his consequence.

He might need arichwife, though. Harriet had no idea how much a captain in the Royal Navy was paid, but she doubted it was much, and Morgan was only a youngerson. His father had undoubtedly left him something in his will, but it was a rare man who refused a wife who came with an influx of cash.

Millicent Connors was laughing up at him in a cloying way that made Harriet feel slightly nauseous. Morgan really shouldn’t marry her, even if he did need the money. Her only interests were fashion and gossip: Morgan would strangle her before the week was out. He needed someone to challenge him, to keep him on his toes, not a simpering ninny who agreed with every word he said.

“That man is a menace to the female half of the population.”

Harriet gave a guilty start and looked down to find Aunt Prudence’s diminutive form seated to her right. “Oh! Hello, Aunt Pru. I didn’t see you there. Who are you talking about?”

Prudence sent her a shrewd, twinkling smile. “Why, Captain Davies, of course. Thatiswho you were looking at so intently, isn’t it?”

Harriet felt heat rush to her face but she was saved from lying by Aunt Constance’s bawdy chuckle.

“A veryattractivemenace, though. I do love a rogue. He reminds me of that highwayman we once encountered on Hampstead Heath. Do you remember, Pru?”

Prudence rolled her eyes. “The one yougaveyour amethyst ring to, you mean?”

Constance shrugged. “He’d already taken the matching earrings. No point in separating the set. And it was worth it for the kiss he gave me in thanks.”

Harriet laughed. She’d never heardthatparticular story from the Aunts before. Despite the fact that neither of them had ever married, they’d clearly lived lives far more exciting than hers.

“I see he’s busy finding the next Mrs. Davies,” Prudence said, eyeing Morgan and Millicent as they swirled past in a waltz. “I do hope he doesn’t choose that Connors girl, though. The chit hasn’t a thought in her head. Do you know she once asked me if they had the same moon in France as we do here in England?”

Harriet let out an involuntary snort.Dear God.Morgan would strangle her in three days, never mind a full week.

“Now Harriet, it’s your turn to make yourself agreeable. Look who’s coming our way!”

Harriet forced herself not to swing around. “Who?”

Prudence sent her a congratulatory look. “Why, young De Montfort. The Duke of Evesham’s heir. He’s been staring at you ever since you got here.”

“Almost heir,” Constance corrected softly. “He’s the duke’s nephew. His father is the heir presumptive, since the duke doesn’t have any children of his own.”

“So he could be duke himself one day,” Prudence insisted. “And he’s handsome too. He would be an excellent catch, Harriet.”

Harriet, still with her back to the man, frowned. “He’s not a trout, for heaven’s sake. And I don’t think I’ve ever met him.”

“That’s because he’s been away at sea ever since he turned eighteen.”

“Who needs Debrett’s when they have you two?” Harriet muttered.

Both Prudence and Constance preened at the compliment.

“Ibelieve,” Constance said, with the air of someone about to impart a vital pearl of gossip, “that he was on the same ship as our Captain Davies—”

Harriet swirled around, suddenly interested, and bumped into the man who’d come up behind her. “Oh, I beg your pardon!”

The man laughed, blue eyes twinkling. “The fault was mine. I was so eager to make your acquaintance, Miss Montgomery, I’ve practically run you down.” He sketched her an easy bow. “Oliver De Montfort, at your service.”

Harriet blinked. Prudence had been right to call him handsome. Guinea-gold curls fell in an artless style around a face that could have graced a young Adonis, and his smile was so open, so contagious, she found herself smiling back at him.

He offered his hand. “Shall we dance?”

“Why not?” Harriet allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor where a waltz had just begun.

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