Page 11 of The Design of Dukes
She pointedly looked at his hand on her elbow, staring at his fingers until he released her. Marching smartly to the door of her carriage, she tossed over her shoulder.
“Good day, Your Grace.”
* * *
David Warburton,Duke of Granby, had recognized the little termagant the moment he saw her inside the modiste’s shop even though she’d been wearing what looked like a flour sack. The last time he’d seen Lady Andromeda Barrington, he hadn’t known her name or that she was the sister of the Duke of Averell. She’d been dressed as a tree of some sort, floating about Lady Masterson’s garden party with a small notebook, hellbent on insulting dukes and their tailors. He’d returned the favor by stating she resembled a shrub.
The most beautiful one he’d ever seen.
Lady Masterson’s garden party had been some time ago, yet David had never forgotten the mostannoyingcreature he’d ever met. Andromeda hadn’t offered any apology for hurling insults toward a duke. No one of his acquaintance would have spoken to him in such a way, man or woman. Not only was he a duke, but David’s size often intimidated those around him, something he generally used to great advantage. He’d wondered, later, why the little shrub had been so unimpressed by him.
Because she’s the daughter and sister of a duke, albeit tarnished ones.
After Andromeda had dismissed him and lost herself in the crowd of guests at Lady Masterson’s, David had meant to seek out his hostess and ask the identity of the young lady, but a sudden rainstorm had disrupted the party, sending the guests back to London. He’d spent the rest of the season searching for her among the gaily dressed ladies of every event he’d attended, but her slender form had never reappeared.
Now he knew why. Andromeda’s father, the Duke of Averell, had died.
As David watched her carriage maneuver itself into the snarl of London traffic, he jerked down the sides of his coat to hide his reaction to Andromeda. The attraction to her was so biting and immediate upon seeing her, it had taken the breath from his body. Desire for her ebbed and flowed through his bones and cock, unwanted and unavoidable.
All things considered, it was for the best she was the Duke of Averell’s sister, a man David neither liked nor respected. The family’s charming list of eccentricities, as society politely referred to their tarnish, included a bastard, Elysium, and a dowager duchess who’d once been a lady’s companion.
A bastard son should be sent to the military as soon as possible with the hope he should be honorably killed in battle. A female should be put into service or shipped off to Australia.
His father’s teachings still resonated loudly within him, dictating his actions and molding him into a duke who would make his father proud. The Barringtons, by their very nature, invited attention, something the current Duke of Granby avoided at all costs. He’d learned well from his father’s mistakes, vowing never to repeat them.
As the carriage rolled away, David caught Lady Andromeda’s delicate profile in the window. She was stunning, as all the Barringtons were rumored to be.
Desire once more curled around his thighs.
“Your Grace.”
David turned to see Lady Beatrice Howard gliding out of the modiste’s shop, sun-kissed curls sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Another beautiful woman, but one possessing an impeccable lineage and a family tree with no spare branches. She rarely expressed an opinion on anything other than the weather. Beatrice would never insult him. She would be an obedient wife and bring little unwanted attention to the Duke of Granby.
In short, Beatrice, unlike Andromeda, was perfect.
2
Romy picked at the lamb on her plate as Cousin Winnie prattled on and on about Lady Ralston’s ball the previous winter. Cousin Winnie, Lady Richardson to those outside her family, could recall with startling clarity the color of each lady’s dress in attendance, how many gentlemen had danced with her daughter Rosalind, and who had been caught on the terrace in a compromising situation.
Romy tried desperately to remember exactly how Cousin Winnie and Rosalind were related to the Barringtons. On her father’s side, she was certain, but the actual connection had never been made clear.
“Goodness, Winnie. Your memory certainly rivals my own.” Romy’s mother picked at a piece of lamb with her fork, smiling at their guest.
A foot nudged Romy’s. “What a coincidence business called Tony away just as Cousin Winnie’s carriage arrived,” Romy’s younger sister Phaedra whispered. “I find it all rather suspect.”
“And poor Freddie,” Theo said to Romy’s left. “Imagine—our nephew suddenly had a new tooth come in just as Cousin Winnie stepped into the foyer. And Maggie had to tend to him personally. I’d not thought our sister-in-law so devious.”
“Olivia,” Phaedra said in a hushed voice to their mother’s ward who sat just across the table. “You look quite ill. Pale as a sheet, in fact. Perhaps I should escort you to your room and read to you until you feel better.”
Olivia calmly chewed a sliver of carrot, barely raising a brow at Phaedra’s audacious suggestion. “I don’t think your mother would approve. And I resent being told I resemble a bedsheet.”
“Approve of what?” Amanda Barrington, the Dowager Duchess of Averell looked down the table at them, a slight frown marring her pretty features.
“Why, attending Lady Molsin’s house party.” Cousin Winnie clapped her hands sharply. “Knowing you girls haven’t been out much”—she gave Romy’s mother a pained expression—“and justifiably so, I have asked Lady Molsin if she has room for two more guests in addition to myself and Rosalind. Isn’t that so, dear?”
Rosalind, seated next to her mother, gave the table a weak smile.
“How wonderful,” Romy said before Cousin Winnie began to regale Romy’s mother with the lavish details of a dinner party she’d once attended at Lady Molsin’s, right down to the pattern on the china the meal had been served upon.
