Page 38 of Tamed By a Duke
"Some men are sturdy enough to handle rejection," Charlotte thought aloud, only to be rewarded with coy smiles from her two friends.
"Hmm," Julia theatrically stroked her chin in thought, "Some men? Or one man in particular? Though methinks that that man has no need to worry about being rejected."
Charlotte flushed pink with indignation, and was about to correct her friend on her ridiculous assertion, when Julia elbowed her—discreetly but sharply—in the ribs.
"And unless my eyes deceive me," she whispered in Charlotte's ear, "That man is fast approaching."
Penrith was here? Charlotte ran a hand self-consciously over her hair, though she instantly regretted it when one of the buttons on her glove became stuck in her unruly mane.
She presented a rather sorry sight when Penrith arrived, accompanied by the intimidating Duke of Orsino. Both men waited patiently, as Julia delicately tugged at the strand of Charlotte's hair, with Charlotte's face getting redder and redder as the minutes progressed.
"Just a moment," Julia trilled nervously, and from the shake in her voice, Charlotte realised that her usually serene friend was becoming flustered.
"I'll just have to rip it out," a voice whispered in Charlotte's ear, and not a second later Charlotte felt a sharp tug as her friend finally freed her.
"Are you alright?" Penrith enquired, as Charlotte saw Julia hastily hide her hand—which contained a clump of red curls—behind her back.
"Perfectly," she replied, hoping that her eyes were not watering too obviously.
As she surreptitiously tried to check for a bald patch, Charlotte introduced Julia to both dukes.
"And this is Miss Havisham," Charlotte continued, turning to her right, only to find that Violet had disappeared into thin air. Dash it. Not only was Charlotte red-faced from pain and possibly bald, but she now looked like she was fit for Bedlam. She had been better off in her hiding place; there was a reason why wallflowers did best in the shade.
"Miss Havisham had to dash," Julia offered apologetically to both men, though only Orsino seemed interested in her excuse.
"I too must be on my way," he said, though he was not looking at either Charlotte or Julia, but over their heads as though searching the crowd for someone, "Please excuse me."
Orsino took his leave, but no sooner had he left than Penrith gave a cry of delight, as he spotted someone approaching.
"Montague," he called, and to Charlotte's surprise, Julia gave a sigh of irritation.
"I am afraid I have just seen my mama beckoning for me," she said, before quickly fleeing the scene, moments before Lord Montague arrived.
The handsome marquess wore a look of confusion, as he registered that the trio he had sought to join was now a duet.
"She went that way," Penrith said to his friend, pointing in the direction that Julia had taken. With a nod of thanks, Montague departed, hot on the tail of his reluctant prey.
It was all—to Charlotte's mind at least—utterly perplexing. Why had Violet disappeared at the sight of Orsino? And what was it about Lord Montague that Julia found so annoying that she felt it pertinent to flee at the very sight of him?
"I rather fear that my friends have scared your friends away," Penrith said softly, once they were alone. "Usually I would apologise on their behalf, but I can't say that I am sorry to have you to myself."
As he waited for her reply, Charlotte found that her mouth had gone rather dry and that she was unable to respond to Penrith's soft words and his intense gaze. Thankfully, the duke was a most solicitous companion and recognised that she was in need of a drink.
With a firm hand at her elbow, Penrith guided Charlotte toward the refreshment table, where liveried footmen were dolling out glasses of sweet ratafia.
"Drink," he commanded, as he handed Charlotte a glass.
"Yes, Major-General," she replied dryly, her lost voice reappearing at his high-handed manner.
"Major-General?" A thick eyebrow was raised in question, so imperious that Charlotte almost laughed aloud.
"Forgive me, your Grace," she retorted lightly, the sweet-punch giving her a jolt of courage, "But you were being rather bossy."
"Yes, I have been told that on occasion I can be somewhat overbearing," Penrith grinned easily in reply, all boyish charm, "And if you might permit me, I have one more demand of you, Miss Drew. I rather think that we are close enough for you to address me less formally."
Charlotte stilled, her heart beating a tattoo in her chest. Was it possible that he wished for her bestow on him a sweeter moniker? Might he actually wish for her to call him Shug?
"You might call me Penrith," the duke said stiffly, causing Charlotte to choke a little on the sip of punch she had just imbibed.
