Page 47 of The Duke Says I Do
Which was another foul lie.
She wanted to twirl around in Alaric’s arms until the sun came up.
To her discomfort, curious glances arrowed in on her and Granville. Everybody would be thinking of how he’d courted Juliet and been found wanting. The events at Afton Place had fueled nearly a year’s worth of tattle. The peccadilloes of not one, but two dukes, and the lady once considered the doyenne of propriety had been irresistible fodder for the gossips.
Portia caught Kate’s eye across the room. From where they danced together, Kate and Leighton observed her with a concern that flooded her with dread. It could be that they were aware of the stir of curiosity in the room. It could also be that they sensed some connection between Portia and the duke.
That would be a disaster. Nobody –nobody– could ever know that Portia had developed a penchant for Juliet’s jilted suitor. Not even close friends like the Shelburns. But dear Lord, it was difficult pasting on a disdainful expression. She sent her friends a wry smile that she hoped conveyed the wish to be anywhere else but here.
Kate’s smile wasn’t convincing. Frowning, Portia focused on Alaric.
“That’s better,” he said. “You look unhappy.”
“I am unhappy,” she muttered. “Lady Shelburn suspects something.”
Alaric angled his head toward the Shelburns. “They’re not looking at us.”
No, Kate would have the sense to know that if she stared at Portia and her partner, other people might notice and ask questions of their own.
Portia’s heart sank as she realized that she took too many risks tonight. Good heavens, if word reached Papa about her making sheep’s eyes at the duke, there would be the devil to pay. He’d start promoting a marriage, however unsuitable the union. And Papa never did anything low-key.
“We shouldn’t have danced together,” she said in a bleak voice.
“Yes, we should. If only to save me from losing my mind.”
For a forbidden second, she let herself sink into his gaze. His eyes conveyed everything that she struggled to hide. Hunger. Need. Desire. “I’m having the most awful trouble pretending you mean nothing to me.”
His smile was swift, gone in a second. Even so, it bolstered her faltering courage. “I like that.”
“When we get back to London after our…tryst, we can never be in the same room or everyone will guess what we’ve done.” She stared over his shoulder to where Elizabeth Tierney danced with Ivor Bilson. It was safer not to look at Alaric. Partly because when she did, she didn’t want to look anywhere else. “How will we go back to being polite strangers?”
Another huff of amusement, although his expression remained grave. “When were we ever polite?”
“I always said what a lady should.”
“Yes, you did. Even if the tone shrieked ‘damn your eyes.’”
“You’re trying to make me feel better.”
“I am.”
When she chanced a glance at his face, he looked particularly ducal. “Aren’t you worried about what happens, once we do this outlandish thing?”
“It will all work out.”
She stifled a surprised laugh. “That doesn’t sound like you. You always plan ahead, do the sensible thing. You chose Juliet because she’d make the perfect duchess, not because you loved her.”
Portia saw that he didn’t like hearing her mention her sister. “Perhaps I’ve learned from my mistakes and stopped trying to control every moment.”
She’d forgotten not to look at him. “Gossip wouldn’t annoy you?”
His jaw set in a determined line. “I don’t want anybody speaking ill of you. That’s as far as my concern reaches.” He paused. “Now you need to stop looking at me like that, or else I won’t be responsible for my actions and people really will talk.”
Portia was horrified to recall that they remained in the middle of a crowd. A nosy, scandal-obsessed crowd. She straightened. Her body showed a lamentable urge to lean toward the duke. “I can’t wait for Tuesday.”
“Me either.”
He gave her an extravagant twirl as the waltz ended. The dance had been all too brief. Portia wanted to beg the orchestra to play the waltz again.
