Page 31 of My Rogue, My Ruin
Eloise rolled her eyes. “Are you keeping count?”
“I need to know who to call out in a secluded glen, that’s all.”
“You may want to wait until you’re able to walk without limping,” she replied, her gaze dipping to his leg.
It was starting to ache like hell, and apparently he wasn’t disguising the injury as well as he’d thought. “Hunting accident,” he murmured by way of explanation.
“I don’t think you have to worry about calling either of the poor men out anyway. The earl had not officially made my acquaintance, as he has been overseas for some time. I’m sure he will hear the rumors of what lies behind my mask, and that will be that. And Lord Suffield has not yet realized who I am, despite his terrible attempts at flirtation. For now, I am enjoying the moments that I have. When morning comes, all will go back to normal, and I shall be Eloise the Recluse again.”
Archer turned to his sister, thinking perhaps he’d see her light words were a protective shield to cover her true hurt. But there was nothing but honesty in her expression.
“Would it be so bad if one of them offered for you?”
“What makes you think one of them hasn’t?” She smiled in jest. “I do not wish to be wed, Archer. I am content with my life as it is. We have been through this same argument countless times. I do not have a name—”
“But you have a dowry,” Archer interrupted.
Eloise took a deep breath, her blue eyes shining with humor. “One that my generous brother has provided, and one that is enough to compensate for a face no man would want to wake up next to.” A stabbing sensation—part guilt, part fury—made him grimace. She placed a hand on his arm, halting his protest. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I fear it is I whom you will have to meet in a secluded glen if you persist in trying to marry me off. Now please, go enjoy yourself. Give some young lady a glimmer of hope, and leave me to my enchanted evening.”
Archer watched as the handsome young earl approached, and with a bow, whirled his sister off into a dazzling quadrille. A part of him hoped Langlevit wouldn’t be as shallow as so many of his counterparts, but deep down, he knew that appearances were everything in theton.
Archer could hear Eloise’s tinkling laugh from across the room, and he let out a breath. She was so splendid, and so brave. If only his father would claim her, it would be the tipping point, regardless of her appearance. A title trumped beauty, or lack of it, every time. He glanced around the room. Take Lord Falconshire. He had the face of a boxer on the losing end of a match, but he had a title, and the gorgeous young woman on his arm was testament to Archer’s theory.
He took a deep breath. If Langlevit continued to show interest in Eloise even after he saw what lay behind her mask, there was nothing Archer would not do to help the man along toward a proposal. Downing the whiskey in his hand and signaling for another, he strode to his father’s side. As always, a throng of admirers and a dozen of his closest friends, including Lord and Lady Rochester, surrounded him.
“Ah, Hawksfield,” his father slurred, throwing an arm around Archer’s shoulders. “My boy.” He chuckled loudly. “He’s too good for the rest of us. Won’t even wear a mask at a masquerade. You need to let loose, learn how to dance a good Scotch reel with a bonny lass.” He winked at Lady Rochester who twittered behind her fan. “Surely we can find one for you.”
“I assure you that I am more than capable of filling my own dance card.” Archer took a whiskey from the quick servant’s tray. “May I speak to you?”
The duke threw back his head and laughed. “Speak your mind, boy, we are all friends here.”
“This matter requires some discretion.” Archer took his father by the arm. “I insist. It will be only a short stroll on the balcony. You are, if I recall, overly fond of taking the air at these sorts of things.”
Secretly he wondered if any illegitimate half brothers or sisters had been conceived on shadowy ballroom balconies or lawns. It would not shock him, if so.
“His Grace has promised me a dance,” pouted Countess Mayfield, an aging widow who took pleasure in scandalizing thetonby taking lovers half her age. “Will you, dear Hawksfield, be an acceptable substitute as his second?” she asked with a leer.
“Not if I expect to keep my virtue intact,” Archer teased with forced good nature. The entire group broke out into raucous laughter, including the countess. “Please excuse us. We will be but a minute. I will return him to you posthaste.”
As they arrived on the balcony, and Archer shut the door behind them, his father’s jolly mood exploded. “What the devil do you mean by this? We are at a masquerade, son. Enjoy yourself. Be merry. Find a wife.”
Archer knew the duke had had more than a few drinks, but he would take the risk for Eloise’s sake.
“Your daughter is here, too,” Archer said. His father’s face immediately went a dark shade of red. Archer did not let that stop him. “It appears that the Earl of Langlevit is quite taken with her. He may even decide to make an offer.”
“That is no business of mine.”
Archer fought to keep his anger under control. “Itisyour business. Eloise is your blood.”
“She is the daughter of a commoner. Nothing more.” His father wiped the sweat from his forehead. “She is no more my blood than any child found in the streets.”
“Mother didn’t think so.”
The duke sighed as if the mere thought of his late wife had sapped his strength. “Your mother’s heart was always soft. El…the girl is a ward, no more than that. I cannot claim her, if that is what you are asking.”
“I am asking.”
“And I am refusing. It shouldn’t surprise you, boy. For heaven’s sake, I am a duke!”
