Page 2 of The Taming of the Duke
The young man flushed.
“Miss Catherine, I only wished to request a…” he began, but he was cut short.
“Save your breath, you fool! Do you think my sister would consider it anything other than purgatory to stand up with a man so far in his cups that he’s incapable of walking without bumping into walls?”
“Ye gods!” Horatio laughed. “The Spinster Shrew has a tongue sharp enough to tear a man to shreds. How can the lovely Blanche be related to such a creature?”
“They had different mothers,” Lucian said. “Blanche’s mother, Lady Eugenie, was Lord Parville’s second wife. It’s a wonder he didn’t marry a third time, given that he has no male heir.”
“Perhaps after seeing two wives into the grave and losing his fortunes at the gaming tables, he’s lost his appeal as a suitor,” Horatio said. “After all, a title alone isn’t enough to live on. And there’s no guarantee that a third wife won’t burden him with another daughter rather than furnish him with a son.”
At that moment, another man approached the two women. Older than the first, his hair was thinning at the top and graying at the temples. The shrew swatted the first man with her fan, then turned her attention on the second, who bowed and offered his hand to her sister.
“That’s Lord Gremshaw,” Horatio said. “Surely he’s not going to subject himself to Miss Catherine’s sharp tongue?”
She inclined her head in the manner of a monarch acknowledging her subject. Then, Miss Blanche stood, and let Lord Gremshaw lead her onto the dance floor.
“What does Lord Gremshaw have that other men lack?” Horatio asked.
“A wife,” Lucian said, “not to mention an advanced age. A young, unattached man has little chance of success securing a position for his name on Miss Blanche’s dance card, while her older sister is so thoroughly single.” He let out another sigh. “If only someone could be persuaded to court Catherine, then I might have a chance at courting Blanche.”
He glanced at Horatio, as an idea formed in his mind.
Horatio shook his head. “Oh no—don’t eventhinkit.”
“Think what?” Lucian asked.
“I’m not a fool, Lucian,” Horatio said. “You were going to suggestIpay court to Catherine long enough to persuade her father to permit you to court Blanche. But I wouldn’t do it if you paid me.”
“Not for ten guineas?”
“Not even for a hundred! I’m not so desperate for cash that I’d subject myself to even a moment in that unpleasant creature’s company. Besides—what makes you think Miss Catherine would accept a man’s suit? I’ve never heard her speak a civil word to anyone. It would take a very particular type of man to secure her affection.”
“Are you saying that you don’t possess the charm and wit to secure the affections of a lady?”
Horatio snorted. “Lady, indeed! Just because her father’s a viscount, doesn’t mean she’s alady. Ladies should be alluring, tender, and delectable.”
“You make her sound like a filet steak.”
“Miss Catherine’s more like a piece of scrag end,” Horatio said. “Tough on the palate and guaranteed to ruin a man’s constitution for life. No, my friend, you’ll have to find another poor, unsuspecting soul to take onthatchallenge.”
“Such as who?”
At that moment, a ripple of murmurs threaded through the ballroom, as if the atmosphere had shifted.
“I’ll be damned!” Horatio exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to seehim!”
A newcomer stood at the entrance to the ballroom, flanked on either side by their hosts, Lord and Lady Wilton.
Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a dark blue jacket and tightly fitting cream breeches, which clung to his athletic frame.
Daxton Hawke, fifth Duke of Petrush.
He stepped forward, and the company parted to make room for him. Several female heads turned, their feathered headdresses nodding in the air—blushing debutantes, desperate mamas—eager to catch a glimpse of most eligible bachelor in England.
A slight sneer curled on his lips, as if he considered the company beneath him, and for a moment, he reminded Lucian of the expression on Catherine Parville’s face.
“Nowthatmust be the Hand of Fate,” Horatio said.
