Page 9 of The Duke Who Dared Me
“Are you in the market for a husband?”He drew closer, finishing his drink and handing off his empty glass to a passing waiter.“It’s been a few Seasons now since your debut.I thought you’d had difficulty landing a match.”
“Is that what you’ve heard?”she asked coyly.“I’m discerning.There's a difference.”
“Difficult is what I’ve heard.There’s even a bet on the books about you at White’s.”
“Is that so?”Her heart drummed against her chest as she finished her champagne.“Do I want to know the details?”She forced a laugh, doing her best to pretend she wasn’t interested.But she knew what people said about her.
Verity Baxter, while beautiful, was also fickle, demanding, and headstrong.The women in her acquaintance were only ever that.Acquaintances.She possessed no true friends.While it was clear at her debut that everyone either wanted to be her or be with her, it appeared now they preferred to hate her.
“Dance with me, Verity,” he said, switching topics.And for that, she was thankful.She preferred not to be left alone with her thoughts.Lately, she wasn’t good company, even to herself.
Hugh led her out farther onto the dance floor as the orchestra struck up.“You have a dangerous look about you this evening,” he whispered before he walked around her and stood in line with the rest of the male dancers.
Once the music began, she gracefully walked to Hugh and stepped around him, locking her eyes with his.“Pretend you are fascinated with me.”
He grinned, adjusting his grip at her waist.“Pretend?”
“Yes, you know I don’t like losing.”
The ballroom swirled around Verity as she weaved and ducked through the line of dancers.A strange flutter rippled through her chest as she spun and searched, certain she would set eyes upon the very man.
“It will be a terrible inconvenience to be interested in you, Verity.”
“It’s not like you to give up.”
Verity barely heard Hugh’s answering quip becausehewas watching her.
Alistair hovered near the edge of the ballroom, cravat crisp, shoulders squared, jaw clenched as if he were enduring some unspeakable torture.Beside him, Lady Clara fluttered her lashes like a moth recklessly flying into the light.
Verity smiled as Lord Brookhouse drew her closer.And then she laughed.Not forced, but not quite genuine either.Just loud enough to drift across the room, right where she knew it would land.
Alistair’s eyes darkened.
Hugh spun her again.“Oh, you clever minx.”
She pulled back and winked as her stomach dipped at Alistair’s glaring.“Not to worry, I won’t take up any more of your time this evening.”
“What if I told you I’ve enjoyed every minute of it?Was the aim to make the duke jealous?”
“Not jealous,” she corrected quickly, stuffing down the conclusions that word would bring around.
She was proving a point.That was all.That he was wrong about her.That she could be wanted.That she didn’t care if he noticed except, annoyingly, she did.
“What a good wife you will be someday, darling.”
When the dance ended, Hugh bowed, and she curtsied, ignoring the burning awareness of Alistair’s gaze still following her.
She should feel triumphant.
Instead, her stomach twisted as Hugh clasped her hand and brought it to his lips, holding it just a beat too long.It all felt wrong.Not because of Hugh, but because her plan wasn’t working as she intended.
She could wear the gown, smile at the proper moments, and charm a room, but there were days it felt like she’d missed some vital lesson all the other girls had learned, and she was simply pretending to know her part.
And worse, Hugh’s gloved hand didn’t feel like Alistair’s hand.Which was an absurd, marked difference for her even to register.She hated the man.Alistair’s hands were large and rough from years of refusing to wear gloves while riding.And far too confident.
He’d probably never once hesitated before touching a woman.Certainly not Lady Clara.The two were a picture.No doubt the darlings of the gossip rags in the morning.
He wouldn’t hold her hand like it was something delicate.He’d ruin her.
