Page 14 of The Taming of the Duke
No wonder Hardwick was experiencing a return to his youth!
“Don’t tell me I’m expected to dance tonight, Hardwick,” Dax said.
Hardwick let out a laugh. “Of course not! But you must admit that dancing is the onlyrespectablemethod by which a man can become acquainted with a young woman without enduring the company of her chaperone.”
“You were never much of a dancer, if I recall.”
“That’s because I hadn’t yet found the right partner,” Hardwick said. “One could say the same of marriage.”
“So, you’re finding life in the parson’s chains agreeable?” Dax asked.
Hardwick laughed good-naturedly. “My dear boy, is that cynicism I hear in your voice?”
“I recall a time when you were the most cynical man I knew.”
“Only because I’d not found the right woman. I’m most fortunate to have my beloved Beatrice.”
“You’ve weathered much at the hands of a woman, if I recall,” Dax said.
“Those days are long gone,” came the reply. “My Beatrice is an angel compared to her predecessor. She’s unlike any other woman I’ve known.”
Dax glanced once more toward Lady Hardwick, who was embracing a couple—Lord and Lady Thorpe. Though she lacked the decorum expected of a countess, he couldn’t deny that her artless joy made a refreshing change from the cold civility of most hostesses. She was the antithesis of the prickly Miss Parville, but each of the two women was intriguing in her own way, being utterly unlike the bland misses who paraded themselves in front of him.
As for Hardwick himself…
Dax couldn’t help but compare the man to Lord Parville—and find Parville wanting. Hardwick, like Parville, had lost his first wife in childbirth. He’d suffered the further indignity of knowing that the child was most likely not his. But rather than wallow in bitterness, he’d picked himself up and remarried—not purely to furnish himself with an heir but in search of love.
And he’d found it.
Lucky bastard.
Bloody hell, that’s all he needed—to be envious of the marriage state.
Thrusting his hands in his pockets, Dax made his way indoors, where a footman was waiting to lead him to his chamber. There would be time to ponder on the benefits of a happy marriage over supper.
*
There she is.
Dax’s quarry sat at the opposite end of the table between their host and Lord Thorpe.
She was several places away from both her father and sister, who’d been seated halfway down the table, near to Mr. Bond. Horton sat directly opposite Miss Blanche—by manipulation or sheer luck, Dax couldn’t fathom.
He resumed his attention on Miss Parville. Her gown was as plain as the one she’d worn at Lady Wilton’s ball, but her eyes were as clear as ever, and her hair shone in the candlelight, shimmers of red and gold. Miss Parville may never be described assparkling, but at least there was no sign of her shrewish incivility. He found himself wanting her to secure the good opinion of Hardwick—one of the few men of his acquaintance whose good opinion held any value.
Given her reputation, Miss Parville seemed almost congenial. She neither simpered nor scowled but paid attention to her dinner companions and seemed engaged in a conversation that was not merely a trade of insults. Perhaps her incivility depended on the company she kept.
And on the distance between herself and her father.
Any husband—just to get you off my hands.
That’s what the bitter old man had said to her on the terrace at Lady Wilton’s ball. And not long after she’d almost run through the terrace doors, returning to the ballroom, her features lined with distress, until he caught hold of her, and she’d composed herself almost in an instant.
He’d almost admired her at that moment—the way she had refused to wallow in self-pity, choosing instead to trade insults with him. Her spirit had stirred something that was not mere physical lust—though he had to admit that a woman that spirited would be an exciting prospect to tame in the bedchamber.
Sweet heavens!He crossed his legs to ease the ache in his groin and conceal the cockstand in his breeches.
“Your Grace? Is something amiss?”
