Page 56 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
My perfect duchess.
By the time the musicians played the last chords, and he and she slowed, halted, and he bowed and she curtsied, he was entirely in control, with both halves of him—the reckless and the caring—intent on the same aim. At some point, others had joined them on the dance floor, giving them an easy way of finding their path back to the much-less-exciting reality of their engagement ball.
With Meg on his arm, he smiled charmingly and moved into the crowd, conversing with his usual ease while his libido, unsatisfied and disgruntled with it, slowly retreated deep inside him.
It took Meg two conversational exchanges before she felt that she’d finally caught her breath and realigned her wits and senses with reality.
If he can do that with just a waltz, what will it be like…
She forced her mind away from such giddying speculation.
By Drago’s side, she moved through their well-wishers, more or less as he directed. He could see over the heads, while to her, the crowd formed colorful walls on all sides, and she trusted him to find those they really should spend a little time with.
While in the receiving line, they’d greeted most of the guests, including Lord and Lady Melwin and Alison, accompanied by Joshua, with a disapproving Hubert trailing behind. Drago found Alison and Joshua in the crowd, and Meg and Drago spent a few minutes chatting, but with so many others all around, it wasn’t the moment to inquire whether Hubert was still being difficult.
As Meg moved on with Drago, she leaned close and whispered, “At least Lord Melwin seemed comfortable with Joshua squiring Alison tonight, so presumably Hubert will eventually come around.”
“Presumably,” Drago agreed.
In between waltzes, in which they invariably indulged—given their surroundings and the impact those moments had on her senses and her wits, Meg wasn’t sure such unfailing pandering to their desires was necessarily a good thing—among the shifting crowd, they joined groups of family and friends and spent a little time with each, cementing connections and deepening family ties.
Supper came and went in pleasant fashion; they spent it at a table with Pru and Deaglan, Claudette and Pemberthy, and Melanie and Forsythe.
Later in the evening, they came upon George Bisley, Harry Ferndale, and Thomas Hayden. All three looked rather nervous, almost furtively looking over their shoulders, but as they chatted with Drago and Meg and no matrons with young ladies in tow appeared to accost them, they relaxed and grew expansive.
“Have to say”—Harry glanced all around—“that everyone in both your families seems thrilled with the prospect of the connection.” He slanted a faintly questioning look at Drago.
That look reminded Meg that these three had known of her and Drago’s initial plan. She’d forgotten to confirm whether Drago had as yet informed the trio of their revised direction.
Drago’s response to Harry’s unvoiced question—a serenely assured “Indeed, they are”—gave her no clue either way.
Whether George knew of their altered intention or not, he seemed entirely supportive of their current tack. “Excellent outcome, seems to me. Everyone’s happy, which is always a relief with big families. Even your aunt Edith seems content.”
Reserved as usual, Thomas had been studying Meg and Drago. “Still…there are other considerations, I expect.”
Meg wasn’t sure what Thomas meant by that, but Drago merely smiled and, seeming to wave the comment aside, raised the prospect of shooting parties at Wylde Court in the autumn.
Music intervened, along with partners for all three unattached gentlemen, confident young ladies who approached them and all but demanded their attendance in the waltz about to start.
Swallowing laughter, hand in hand, Drago and Meg slipped away and onto the dance floor.
Remembering her earlier question, before the revolutions of the dance and the associated distractions could claim her wits, looking into Drago’s face, she asked, “Have you told George, Harry, and Thomas of our revised plan?”
Drago blinked. He clearly thought back—it had been nearly a week since their walk in Regent’s Park—then refocused on her. “Actually, no. The opportunity hasn’t presented itself.”
Given he’d been spending so much time with her combined with the subjects gentlemen of their ilk usually discussed, she wasn’t all that surprised.
Drago smiled and whirled her around the end of the floor. When they straightened, still smiling, he observed, “Regardless, it’s fairly clear they approve of the notion.”
“George and Harry, yes, but what about Thomas? I find him hard to read.”
“He’s always reserved and…let’s say cautious.” Drago grinned. “It won’t surprise you to learn that of the four of us, he’s perennially the most careful.”
“The least reckless. I can well believe that.”
On that note—as Drago whirled her up the center of the room in a succession of rapid turns that drew envious gasps from some of the younger ladies looking on—she let slide the matter of what he chose to tell his friends.
The crowd was thinning when they came upon a group that included her sister and several married cousins and their spouses.
