Page 25 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
Fashioned in the very latest style, her morning gown was of expensive figured twill in a greeny shade of bronze that emphasized the creaminess of her complexion and the soft blue of her eyes, while her golden curls had been tamed into a striking arrangement of plaits and sweeping loops that made his fingers itch with an unexpected urge to disarrange them.
For just a second, he’d been fixated by visceral awareness.
He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d experienced such a moment.
Perhaps never.
Now, however, her parents were waiting, and he and she had a charade to perform.
He smiled reassuringly, released her hands, and offered his arm. “I take it your parents are available. Shall we?”
She took his arm with a look that stated that she was willing to allow the moment to pass. “I believe our way is already well paved, but Papa will still want to grill you.”
“Understandable,” he murmured as they approached the open doorway leading to the drawing room. “Luckily, given my previous intentions, I already had everything prepared and rehearsed.” He briefly met her gaze. “I’ll just be making my case to a different papa.”
Her lips quirked, and she walked beside him into the room.
A short lady with graying golden curls rose from the sofa to greet him. Her expression was all interest and eager curiosity.
His charming smile in place, Drago took the small hand she offered him and bowed over it. “Mrs. Cynster. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Your Grace.” She dipped into a slight curtsy, but Drago drew her up and, eyes dancing, shook his head.
“Drago, please. As I’m here to plead to be allowed to join your family, formalities are surely unnecessary.”
Felicity Cynster beamed at him, her expression open and encouraging. She gestured to the tall gentleman who broke from his commanding stance before the fireplace to prowl to his wife’s side. “In that case, Drago, allow me to make you known to my husband, Meg’s father.”
Drago braced himself as, still smiling with charming ease, he shifted his gaze to Demon Cynster’s face and met the man’s steady hard blue gaze.
Demon Cynster was a legend in the Thoroughbred horse racing world, and although he had to be in his early sixties now, Drago had no difficulty seeing what it was about the man that had made him one of the select group at one time known as the Bar Cynster. Rakehells, one and all, until they had married and become pillars of the haut ton.
Drago inclined his head. “Mr. Cynster.”
His gaze shrewd and penetrating, Demon had been studying him. Now the older man thrust out his hand. “Drago.” They shook hands, then Demon said, “I understand you wish to marry Meg.”
“Indeed.” Drago glanced at Meg as she came to stand beside him. He took her hand and faced her parents. “I hope to convince you to grant me that honor.”
That, he realized, had been just the right thing to say; some of the starch went out of Demon Cynster’s stance, and with a soft snort, he waved Drago to a chair. “At least you realize that despite your rank, marrying Meg will still be an honor.” Demon sank into the armchair opposite. “Come. Sit. And let’s discuss your suit.”
Somewhat to Drago’s surprise, Meg and her mother remained, overtly interested parties if not participants in the exchange that followed.
It was an exchange that rolled from point to point in a smooth, not to say polished fashion. The encounter proceeded more easily than Drago had imagined it might; it soon became obvious that Demon had been this way before, and Drago recalled that Meg had mentioned that her older sister, Prudence, was now the Countess of Glengarah, which no doubt explained Demon’s familiarity with the process, which in turn paved the way for Drago’s responses.
Forty painless minutes later, his application for Meg’s hand had been approved. It was only then, as relief—somewhat unexpected given this was all a charade—flowed through him, that Drago caught a glimmer of…yes, it was definitely expectant amusement in Demon’s blue eyes.
The sight reminded Drago of the gleam he’d detected in Christopher Cynster’s eyes.
What is it that I don’t know?
He had no time to pursue the thought, as arrivals in the front hall brought him and Demon to their feet as a fashionable lady and gentleman swept into the room.
“Pru, my dear—and Deaglan, too!” Mrs. Cynster smiled in delight. “We were wondering when you would get here.”
“Mama.” The tallish lady bent to kiss Felicity Cynster’s cheek. “For once, the winds were favorable.” Straightening, the lady looked from Demon to Drago to Meg. Then she returned her gaze to Drago. “Papa. Meg. And I don’t believe…” Pru’s blue eyes narrowed.
“Drago Helmsford.” He used the name she would most likely have known him by. “And yes, we’ve met, although it was at least a decade ago.”
Pru’s eyes had widened. “You’re Wylde now! Of course.” Then she frowned and looked at the rest of her family.
