Page 4 of The Defiant One
"His Grace the duke of Blackheath . . . Lord Andrew de Montforte . . . Lady Nerissa de Montforte."
Instantly, all movement in the ballroom seemed to stop, and even the barking dogs quieted as anyone who was Anyone — and anyone who wanted to be an Anyone — converged on the newly arrived trio, bowing, scraping, posturing, smiling. Sycophants, all of them, thought Celsie, who had no patience for opportunists and hangers-on. Nevertheless, she was grateful that the duke and his siblings had come, for the presence of the de Montfortes, a family renowned for its generous contributions to society and famed for its extraordinary good looks, would put the seal of approval on her charity ball. Only the king of England himself might have endorsed it better.
"I say, Lady Celsiana!" Celsie nearly leaped out of her gown. She had forgotten all about Taunton, who had managed to corner her behind the refreshment table. He was dark-haired, with merry blue eyes and a slightly lopsided smile, saved from classic handsomeness by a nose that was too big for his face and a certain lack of chin.
Celsie frowned. What was it about these chins tonight?
He was also drunk.
Disgustingly so.
"I say, Lady Celsiana!" he repeated, falling — quite literally — to his knees and clutching her hand for balance. He pressed it to his lips and immediately frowned; it had just been licked by the turnspit and was still faintly slimy. "Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
Taunton's earlier words came back to her. No, but she owns half of England. To hell with the rest of her!
Celsie gazed down at him, arched a brow, and said in a high, clear voice, "And would you, Lord Taunton, allow my dogs to sleep in the marriage bed if I were to accept your offer?"
Taunton sobered. Shocked gasps nearly drowned out his stunned reply.
"S-sorry?"
She smiled sweetly. "I said, would you allow them to sleep in the marriage bed? I would be much obliged if you would, for I'm told that her wedding night is a most frightening event in a woman's life and I would like the comfort of their company."
The hinges broke in Taunton's jaw. Then he leaped to his feet, his cheeks turning as pink as the inside of a spaniel's ear. He managed a curt bow, then shot off into the crowd, loud guffaws following him all the way.
Celsie, her dog-painted fan pressed to her smirking lips and her eyes twinkling with mirth, smiled triumphantly after him.
Yes, to hell with the rest of me. And my fortune too, you grasping cad.
"I say, madam, that was the most charming rejection I have heard in some time."
Celsie turned, the smile still dancing on her lips. "Your Grace!" she said, curtseying. "It is good of you to come."
The duke of Blackheath bowed over her hand. "I am glad I did, otherwise I would have missed the delightful setback you just gave that pup Taunton. Really, my dear. You can do better than him . . . why, the lad has no chin."
Celsie frowned. Now how on earth could he have known about her feelings about chins?
"Chins aside," she said, raising her own, "he doesn't like dogs, either. I could never marry a man who doesn't like dogs."
"Ah, yes. Especially one who won't tolerate them in your marriage bed."
Celsie stiffened. The duke had eyes like nightshade, black, unfathomable . . . omniscient in an unnerving sort of way. Was he laughing at her? Mocking her? Flustered, she added, "Never mind that, he would never take in a homeless or suffering creature as I would — and do." She gestured toward the open doors on the far side of the room. "Why, I have kennels outside and shelters set up throughout Berkshire just so these poor little animals will have a second chance. I've started a program here in the local village to educate the children. I plan to create more of these programs throughout the county, until every animal is saved."
He was listening intently, perhaps too intently, his black-ice gaze studying — no, assessing — her in a way that was making Celsie feel vaguely, inexplicably, uneasy. Rattled, she was just about to excuse herself when he gave a slow, spreading, smile that might have put her at ease if the cunning gleam hadn't remained in his compelling black stare. "It seems, my dear, that you have a quite a soft heart for . . . shall we say, the cast-offs of society?"
"As a castoff myself, I suppose my empathy is quite natural."
"Surely that is not how you perceive yourself?"
Her mouth tightened, and, suddenly fanning her hot face, she gazed stonily at a group of young bucks gathered around Lady Nerissa de Montforte. "These are the same people who took a savage delight in taunting me when I made my debut. Then, I was just another young chit on the marriage mart. But now that Papa has died and left me everything, they find me irresistible. Or they pretend to." She turned and regarded him with defiant eyes. "Is it no wonder I prefer the company of animals? The unconditional love of a dog?"
"My dear girl, you must pay no attention to Taunton and his sort. Why, there are plenty of eligible young men in England, probably right here in this room, who not only could care less about your fortune —" again, that slightly unnerving smile —" but would quite happily let your dogs sleep on the bed."
She looked down, finding a sudden interest in her fan. "You flatter me, your Grace."
"Do I? Well, I purposely sought you out in order to do just that. Flatter you, that is. How much more interesting our world would be if every woman had the sort of courage and creativity you have displayed here tonight."
"I beg your pardon?"
