Page 49 of Never Dare a Duke
“Give her a Season,” Gwen said with sarcasm. “She’ll learn quickly.”
“Then it’s a good thing I have her now.” Abigail eyed herself in the mirror, critically examining the way her breasts mounded over the square neckline. “What if I sew more lace across the bodice?”
“Coward. Do you not want his eyes on you, to make him keep up this pretense? And if you alter the gown, it will lose its historic appeal.”
Abigail couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh Gwen, you are too good to me.”
“It is so easy to do.”
Abigail smiled, but inside she realized she was going to have to start lying to Gwen, who would have to seem clueless about Abigail’s whereabouts when asked. Abigail could not tell her that tonight she planned to search the duke’s rooms while he was attending the dance.
When Christopher entered the blue drawing room, he was glad that Elizabeth had seen reason and not used the second-floor ballroom. The party of fewer than twenty people would have seemed inconsequential in such a lofty space.
But in the drawing room, with the rugs rolled up and the chandeliers shining with thousands of candles, the atmosphere was intimate, yet festive.
To his amusement, several of the men had changed their minds about their costumes; they were wearing knee breeches and had powdered their hair. Their enthusiasm must have pleased his sister, whose face was alight with happiness.
He enjoyed the sight of the women, all dressed in gowns from the past century. They’d arranged their hair in elaborate ways that better suited a dessert concoction.
And then he saw Abigail. Although she, too, was hidden beneath a mound of hair, he could not miss those incredible breasts, nearly overflowing the gown.
He was not the only one taking notice. But he was the only one who’d had them pressed against his chest just that afternoon—who’d thought of little else but having them in his hands and mouth since he’d kissed her.
And now they were practically hanging there, ripe for the taking, and he could hardly stop looking at her.
But wasn’t that the point? He was allowed to appear smitten, wasn’t he?
So he approached where she stood with Lady Gwen and bowed low before them both. Abigail gave a graceful curtsy, which almost made him choke over the bounty she displayed.
“Miss Shaw,” he said softly, when she arose. He remembered almost too late to say, “Lady Gwen.”
Lady Gwen hid her amusement behind her fan. Abigail didn’t bother to hide hers, as if she thought him endearing.
It was getting difficult to tell what was real and what was not. He hated admitting even silently that his mother had been right. He had to remind himself that Abigail was not what she seemed, that her costume was merely another disguise.
He smiled. “You both look quite delightful.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Abigail said.
“Is that a bird’s nest, Lady Gwen?” he asked, and could not keep himself from laughing.
“Only an artificial one, Your Grace.”
“Just as well,” he responded. “Else you might be visited by unwelcome tiny companions, as I understand that most birds are rife with ticks and other creatures.”
He noticed that more than one person had turned at the sound of his amusement, their expressions ranging from astonishment to calculation. So he was not in the habit of showing his emotions. Let them look; that was the point.
On a dais in the corner, the small orchestra began to play a quadrille, and Christopher turned to Abigail. “Would you care to dance?”
She seemed briefly surprised that he’d asked her. She must have experienced some trepidation after what had occurred between them in the attic.
Then she smiled and put her small, gloved hand in his. “I would enjoy it, Your Grace.”
They lined up with the others, and since this was not a dance when she’d be long in his arms, he could not easily speak to her. They met up with others, bowing and performing intricate steps. But always they came back together. He saw her tension slowly dissipate; she was good at the dance. She did not seem to notice the way the other young men were watching her, as if she’d blossomed over the several days of the house party.
He was surprised by the uncomfortably tight way that made him feel. After only one kiss, he was already jealous of her future suitors? How preposterous.
When the dance ended, he offered to bring her some punch. He wound his way through the small crowd, speaking briefly to several people, forced to listen to Lord Swarthbeck, who’d decided to be bold as he proclaimed the merits of his daughter, Lady May. Christopher knew that an alliance between their families might be a suitable match. Lady May obviously understood what a noble marriage would mean, being the daughter of a marquess. But Christopher found himself watching Abigail all the while Lord Swarthbeck was talking. He liked the way she tilted up her face to speak to the taller Lady Gwen. Was that the shadow of a dimple in one cheek as she smiled? He hadn’t even noticed before.
