Page 12 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
“Thank you,” Alison whispered. “Thank you so much!” Her gaze flicked to him. “I hope we’ll meet again soon.” Then she whirled and rushed after her mother.
Utterly confused, Drago stared after her.
“Well!”
His aunt’s exclamation drew his gaze. Her gaze, he noted, was flicking between him and Miss Cynster. He could almost see the wheels whirling in her brain as she calculated the benefits of him marrying a Cynster rather than Alison, who despite being the daughter of a dear friend was, relatively speaking, a nonentity within the wider ton.
To his relief and also his delight, Miss Cynster withstood his aunt’s scrutiny with as little reaction as he.
“I believe…” his aunt began, then ventured, “Margaret, isn’t it?”
Miss Cynster nodded. “Meg.”
His aunt’s gaze turned limpidly innocent. “Have you known my nephew for long?”
Calmly, Miss Cynster replied, “I’ve known Denton for many years. However, I only recently became acquainted with His Grace. I often visit my cousin and his wife at Walkhurst Manor, and this year, I decided to spend the weeks leading up to the Season in Kent.”
Drago very nearly applauded that piece of masterly misdirection. He would wager that everything she’d said was true.
Of course, knowing that he often paid lightning visits to Wylde Court, which lay only a few miles from Walkhurst Manor, his aunt leapt to precisely the conclusion that wily Meg Cynster had intended. “I see.” His aunt met his gaze. “So you recently became attached. Really, Drago, you might have thought to mention it. I could have smoothed matters over with Agatha had I known.”
He conjured up a suitably contrite expression and shot a glance at his new partner in deception. “I apologize, Aunt, but in truth, I wasn’t at all certain until…well”—he waved up the stairs—“just now.”
His aunt primmed her lips, but it was clear she wasn’t the least displeased with how her attempts to get him suitably wed had played out. “Very well. We’ll say no more about it. But now I must rush after Agatha and smooth her ruffled feathers, pour oil on troubled waters, and all that. Miss Cynster, you will excuse us.”
“Of course, Lady Catterdale.”
“Come, Millie.” His aunt collected her companion, who had been a silent observer of the entire scene, with a sweeping glance. “We need to be off.”
“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Compton beamed at Drago and Miss Cynster. “So thrilling to be the first to know!”
With that, she whirled and fell in behind his aunt as she marched determinedly back to her gig.
Drago remained in the open doorway, and Miss Cynster—Meg—remained fixed beside him until his aunt and her companion had climbed into the gig and rattled off down the road.
Only then did Drago reach for the doorknob and carefully close the door. Then he turned to face his unexpected fiancée, only to find her frowning.
She met his eyes. “For what did Alison Melwin thank me?”
He arched his brows. “An excellent question.” He waved her into the sitting room and, when she consented to enter, followed her in. “I’m not sure I know the answer.” Replaying Alison’s words, he frowned. “I was assured Alison had no prospective suitors.”
“Suitors?” Meg halted before the window in the small room, then swung to face him. Sudden suspicion filled her blue eyes. “Just what was that all about? Surely you weren’t expecting such a visit.” Her eyes narrowed. Holding his gaze, she crossed her arms and demanded, “Tell me all and tell me now.”
He was a duke; no one issued demands to him. All but instinctively, he arched an arrogant brow that should, by all rights, have firmly depressed her pretensions.
He wasn’t entirely surprised when that didn’t work.
Her chin firmed, and her eyes narrowed to sapphire shards. “You got me into this. The least you can do is explain exactly what ‘this’ is.”
He wagged a finger at her. “You were an equal partner in that kiss.”
“And what has that to say to anything? You’re Drago Helmsford. It’s common knowledge that you can kiss life into a statue!”
“Really?” He looked suitably impressed.
Her eyes flashed. “Don’t let it go to your head!”
“Permit me to observe that you’re not a bad kisser yourself.” While she continued to stand, he couldn’t sit. He halted facing her, two paces away.
