Page 11 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
“Oh.” And there was a fourth present as well.
Meg was trapped in the rapture of the kiss, and the exclamations reached her as if through a fog. Her wits in abeyance, her senses only gradually refocusing, she was slow—very slow—to react.
Not so the man in whose arms she stood.
The effect on her partner in the illicit engagement had been immediate, instantaneous. At the first sound of the door opening, every single muscle in that long, large body had tensed to rocklike hardness, and he’d broken the kiss and looked down on the interlopers.
Meg saw his features before he wiped all expression from his face. He’d come very close to snarling at whoever had interrupted…
She followed his gaze down, into the front hall. To the bevy of four ladies, shocked into silence, clustered in the open doorway.
But then the name the first lady had used finally penetrated Meg’s brain, and with her eyes flying wide, she snapped her gaze back to the gentleman’s face.
To that too-handsome-for-anyone’s-good face.
Her brain seized.
Feeling as if someone had upended a bucket of icy water over his head, Drago took in his aunt Edith’s shocked and furious face and, beside her, the stunned look on Mrs. Compton’s face; Edith’s companion looked ready to swoon.
The pair had halted just inside the door. Beyond them on the stoop stood Lady Melwin and Alison Melwin. Predictably, hatchet-faced Lady Melwin was glaring, her eyes shooting daggers at him, while Alison stood staring upward, mouth agape and…apparently not that shocked.
He and his angel were standing at the top of the stairs, illuminated by a shaft of light lancing through the window above the cottage door. They were perfectly lit, perfectly recognizable.
Seeing astonishment being rapidly replaced by outrage in his aunt’s and Lady Melwin’s faces, after one swift glance at his angel’s stunned expression, he did the only thing he could.
He lowered his arms from around her, but captured her hand and squeezed it briefly in warning as he turned to face the threat. He smiled as if delighted to behold the cluster of ladies about the door. “Aunt. Mrs. Compton. Lady Melwin and Miss Melwin. You’re the very first to learn our happy news.”
He felt the fingers locked in his twitch, but his angel didn’t pull away. Instead, beside him, she shifted to face the newcomers, too.
His aunt blinked. After a fraught second, somewhat weakly, she inquired, “Happy news?” Her gaze drifted to his angel, and her eyes widened.
“Indeed.” Raising the hand he held to his lips, he brushed a kiss to knuckles only he could see were nearly white and, smiling down at the assembled ladies, with his customary arrogant assurance stated, “This lovely lady”—What the devil is her name? I should have asked—“has just done me the honor of agreeing to become my wife.”
His aunt’s eyes couldn’t get any wider. Her startled gaze had fixed on the lady by his side. “Miss Cynster. Is this true?”
Cynster?It was his turn to smother a flinch of pure shock.What the devil have I got myself into?
His fingers had spasmed about the lady’s, and she turned her head and regarded him, then with a smile that, to his surprise, matched his, she met his eyes, then she looked down the stairs and trained that utterly assured smile on his aunt. “Indeed, Lady Catterdale. I daresay our announcement is a surprise.”
To his continuing astonishment, she—Miss Cynster—started down the stairs, and still clasping her hand, perforce he descended behind her.
With her other hand, she gestured his way. “His Grace and I have only recently become acquainted, but, well…” She aimed her smile, along with an indulgent look, at him. “Here we are.”
He didn’t trust that look one iota.
“I…see.” Edith’s tone stated very clearly that she didn’t see at all.
Halting on the lowest step and thus retaining the high ground, the diabolical Miss Cynster calmly continued, “Drago and I had no idea you might call. Had we known, we would have welcomed you in more appropriate fashion.”
He dutifully looked as innocently sincere as he could and merely blinked when Lady Melwin snorted, “Indeed!”
“But…” Mrs. Compton frowned uncertainly. “Wasn’t His Grace supposed to call at Melwin Place at eleven o’clock to…?” She broke off in a fluster and flapped her hands ineffectually. “Well, clearly, that won’t be happening now.”
“Obviously not!” Lady Melwin’s eyes spat sparks. “It seems His Grace has made other arrangements.” Abruptly, she stepped back. “Come, Alison! Clearly, we are not required here!”
With that, Lady Melwin swung on her heel and stalked down the path to the cottage’s front gate. Looking past her, Drago saw the Melwin barouche standing in the road behind the gig his aunt used when in the country.
To his surprise, instead of immediately following her incensed mama, Alison smiled brilliantly at him and Miss Cynster and darted forward to grasp and squeeze Miss Cynster’s hand.
