Page 10 of The Duke Who Dared Me
Verity pulled back too quickly and smiled too brightly.
“Careful, my lord,” Verity said lightly, though her heart gave a foolish little jump.“If you keep looking at me like that, people might think you mean to court me.”
Lord Brookhouse lifted a brow, his gaze never wavering.“I daresay some already do.”
She arched a brow, feigning surprise.“Because of a few dances?”
“Because of a certain wager,” he said softly.“The gossip columns are quite taken with your enterprising spirit.”
Enterprising?No, they simply were hungry to watch the impending social disaster.
Verity gave a little laugh and tapped her fan against his sleeve.“You mustn’t believe everything you read, Hugh.”
“Not everything,” he agreed, then leaned in slightly.“But some things I rather hope are true.”
She tilted her head.“Such as?”
“Such as the rumor that you’re finally in the market for a husband.”
She pretended to consider.“And if I were?”
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then returned to her eyes.“Then I’d be very foolish not to make an offer.”
“But I’m not interested in a lie,” she said softly, brushing past him and toward escape.She didn’t care where.The garden, the hallway, she’d even hide in the library if she needed.She was partial to linen closets.Anywhere as long as she could escape the man staring at her across the room.
Those dark, determined eyes of his.That firm set to his brow.All tall, easy grace.
And for a heartbeat, she wondered what it would feel like if the man she was trying to provoke finally allowed himself to be provoked.
* * *
Alistair preferredthe speed of a gallop to the crawl of polite conversation.He liked knowing where he stood, with reins in hand and wind at his back, not hemmed in by chandeliers and champagne.He attended these damn balls out of obligation to his title, his mother, and the thin pretense that he might someday find a suitable duchess who was as boring as she was amenable.She would fulfill the duties needed and leave him to spend his days how he wished.
He’d been dodging the gossip all week, but he swore the entire ballroom quieted when he arrived an hour late to discover her already there on the dance floor.
Verity Baxter, with her wicked mouth and that gleam in her eyes, like she was plotting someone’s ruin.It wasn’t hard to guess whose.Why, when he was eight, she threw his best pair of riding boots into the pond on his estate because he wouldn’t go riding with her.That wasn’t the beginning, and it certainly wasn’t the end of the trouble between them.
He stood near the edge of the ballroom, smile fixed in his charming way that made society mamas sigh.But his gaze never left her.
Or the bloody peacock dancing with her.Lord Brookhouse.God help him.
The marquess looked like every mother’s nightmare and every daughter’s downfall—tall, dark-haired, with a lethal dimple that could melt any woman’s better judgment away.
He was also the exact sort of man Verity would choose to flaunt in Alistair’s face.Which meant this wasn’t a coincidence.It was war.
But what was her endgame?The damn cad wouldn’t marry her.Did she want to be ruined?She’d lose the bet, and he hadn’t known her this long for her to be so careless.Had Percy underestimated her?Did she want to be a companion to her elderly aunt and live in the countryside?
“How are you enjoying the evening, Your Grace?”Lady Clara drew up beside him with small white flowers tucked into her blonde hair.“The musicians are excellent this evening.”
He dragged his attention back to the present, even as he twirled his signet ring around his pinky finger.The Duke of Cranbrook had sent the ring after the pair met at a private gallery the evening prior.
Clara’s pale-blonde curls were arranged in an elaborate twist, and her dress was a subdued rose-pink trimmed in cream.She was wrapped up like a petit four, and by the way her mother had shoved her in his direction this evening, he supposed she was supposed to be his temptation.She was the daughter of the Duke of Ladbrook, who recently made several bad mining investments.
“I’d agree,” he said absently.“They’re playing well.”
Clara beamed.“I heard you were musical.What instrument do you play?”
Alistair’s focus snapped back to the menace on the dance floor as she tossed her head back and laughed.This woman never played by the rules, even in the house of someone who could make or break her reputation in society.Which was precisely why Percy pleaded with him to put an end to this madness.He sought to have his little sister settled and provided for before she could forever ruin her chances of a good match.
