Page 34 of My Rogue, My Ruin
Tonight, though, it seemed as if the flame of life burned anew within her. Brynn told her so.
Eloise laughed, tossing her golden curls. “I do so love dancing. I had forgotten how much I adore it. As it seems, it is a trait I have inherited from my father.” Something like contempt thinned her lips before it was eclipsed by a bright smile. “Did you enjoy dancing?”
“Why, yes,” Brynn said, grinning back. “Although Lord Filbert gamely attempted to massacre my toes in the last set. Do not tell him so, but he is sorely in need of some lessons.”
“And Hawksfield? He is a capable partner, is he not?”
Brynn breathed deeply and kept her voice steady. “Lord Hawksfield is indeed capable.”More than capable.She remembered the competent glide of his body beside hers in the waltz, and the light press of his hand at her waist. He could sweep any debutante in this room off her feet with a few precise steps and a few well-placed caresses from his expert fingers. Brynn cleared her throat. “Speaking of, he left quite suddenly. Was something amiss with the duke? I heard they…fought.”
“Gossip travels faster than a foxhound,” Eloise said and then leaned down to confide in her. “Those two are more alike than either of them cares to admit. Stubborn and inflexible to the core. They are always disagreeing about something. Bradburne stumbled and fell. Nothing to fret about, it will all be forgotten by the morn.”
Inflexible. It was a word Brynn could understand. She could see it in every line of Hawksfield’s demeanor, but the duke? He was always smiling, always jesting. Even now, despite his altercation with the marquess, he was the center of attention with his group of peers. Brynn studied the duke over her fan as Eloise exchanged greetings with the Dowager Monteith. Though he was handsome, his son did not resemble him, except for his nose and well-shaped lips. With their similar coloring, Eloise favored him more than Brynn suspected the duke would care to admit.
Hawksfield looked more like his late mother, whom Brynn remembered as being a charming, willowy brunette who always had a kind word for anyone, from a scullery maid to highborn ladies. She supposed Eloise learned that from her. Kindness, unlike hereditary predisposition, was something that could be taught.
Brynn drew in a sharp breath as her gaze collided with the subject of her focus—the duke himself. He inclined his head slightly, his drink arrested halfway to his lips.
And then he winked at her.
Taken aback, Brynn glanced away, but when she returned her gaze, he was still staring at her with an odd, calculating look on his face. He had never paid much attention to her before. Had Hawksfield said something to him?
To her everlasting dismay, the duke excused himself and cut a path directly toward the refreshments table. Brynn looked around in desperation. Eloise was still in conversation with the dowager, her back to Brynn, and her mother seemed to have disappeared. She had no idea why she was in such a panic. She and her entire family had known the duke for years. But the look in his eyes now gave her pause. It seemed heavy and purposeful. As if he were a hunter and she were the prey…as if he were seeing something he suddenly coveted.
She had to be wrong. He was old enough to be her father! Older than her father, in fact. But as the duke neared, the admiring look in his eye was not to be imagined.
He took her numb hand in his and kissed it. “Lady Briannon, you are as beautiful as a new rose in spring.”
“Your Grace,” she murmured, curtsying and taking in a gulp of air as her mother materialized out of nowhere. Her mama had a bad habit of appearing in places where she wasn’t wanted, but for once, Brynn was exceedingly grateful.
The dowager turned, too, to converse with the duke, and so did his daughter. His mouth tightened, and his eyes grew frosty, and he did not deign to acknowledge Eloise, whose icy demeanor rivaled his for a brief second. Instead, he directed his attention to those who had accompanied Brynn’s mother. Eloise smiled and curtsied before allowing the Earl of Langlevit to escort her to the next set.
Bradburne engaged in polite conversation with her mother, but Brynn could feel his eyes fluttering to her décolletage, as if drawn there by the cursed rubies lying so blatantly on the bare expanse of her skin. Resisting the urge to claw the dastardly necklace from her throat, Brynn wished she still had her stole.
The strains of a waltz in the next set started to play, though the music seemed oddly distant. A buzzing in her ears was her first warning. And then she started to feel dizzy. Bradburne turned to her and extended his hand, the other still wrapped in a white winding cloth. The world began to spin, the floor beneath her feet tilting precariously.
“May I?” His stare was confident as though her answer was already a given. He was a duke, after all. No one would say no to a duke.
She licked dry lips. “I…”
Strong hands grasped her arms as the voices faded into an unrecognizable drone. A cool cloth was suddenly being pressed to her head and a glass to her lips. She sipped automatically, and the liquid burned a hot path to her stomach. Brynn coughed, opening dazed eyes that came into contact with a pair of laughing blue ones leaning over her.
“Your Grace,” she said. “Please, you do not need—”
The duke grinned. “She is awake!” he pronounced and a wave of cheering ensued. “It’s been quite some time since I have caused a young maiden to swoon simply by asking her to dance.”
“Still a rake,” someone shouted, and the crowd erupted into laughter again.
The duke helped Brynn to her feet, and she swayed unsteadily, managing a sliver of a smile. “If it pleases His Grace, I will retire now. Perhaps I may have the honor of claiming your dance another time.”
He bowed, his lips pressing against her hand once more. “I look forward to it with pleasure, Lady Briannon.”
Brynn curtsied, trying not to be sick all over the polished floor at his emphasis on the wordpleasure, and rose to take her leave. Her mother’s face expressed astonishment, her father’s resignation, while Gray looked as if he’d swallowed an insect the size of a pomegranate. Brynn, however, felt like she needed a scalding bath.
She could feel the duke’s eyes on her all the way to the staircase and hear the laughter and raucous comments as he rejoined his friends. She held her head high, walking gracefully up the stairs. As for the rubies and the offending dress, she would chuck both the instant she got home.
“Not one word,” she warned Gray as they collected their coats. She wrapped the silver stole around her shoulders. Likely for his own safety, her brother remained quiet as they climbed into the waiting carriages.
If the duke offered for her, her father would be hard-pressed to refuse, and her mother…good Lord, the promise of a coronet would make the age difference between them disappear. Brynn sighed at the coil she had gotten herself into, all because she had dressed to unmask a marauder.
