Page 21 of The Taming of the Duke
She cringed at the desperation in his voice.
“Papa—keep your voice down,” she hissed. “You’re not rid of me yet.”
“Perhaps not, but if I can do anything to help him along…” He stood and smoothed the lapels of his jacket.
“Whist, eh? I wonder if they’d be averse to a little piquet instead.”
Catherine’s heart sank. “No, Papa, please. You’ve little left to wager, and piquet requires a degree of skill, which you lack.”
“True,” he said, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “But, if I’d been furnished with a son, rather than cursed with two daughters, I’d not have been in such dire need of funds.”
The arrow hit home. Papa rose to his feet and sauntered off in the direction of the games room where, in all likelihood, he’d parade his desperation in front of the Duke of Petrush.
An evening in Papa’s company would be enough to put off even the most determined suitor. In all likelihood, by tomorrow, the duke would have given up all intention of courting her.
Chapter Seven
Where the devilis she?
Dax glanced across the breakfast table, his gaze wandering from guest to guest. This morning, Lady Hardwick had waved him over and invited him to sit beside her. Lord Hardwick sat at the opposite end. Halfway along the table, Lord Parville sat next to his younger daughter, Miss Blanche, but there was no sign of Catherine. Parville’s skin had a greenish tone, and dark rings circled his eyes.
Good. It served the old bastard right after his behavior last night.
Guests continued to enter the breakfast room, crossing the floor to the buffet table and helping themselves. Footmen wandered about, offering tea to the guests. The air filled with the low murmur of chatter, punctuated by the clink of silverware and china as the guests spooned sugar into their cups, sliced into bacon, and sipped their tea.
Horton sauntered in, helped himself to a plate of breakfast, then approached the empty space beside Blanche Parville.
“Is this seat taken, Miss Blanche?”
“Join us, do,” Lord Parville said before his daughter could reply.
Horton met Dax’s gaze. Then he winked and sat beside his quarry.
“Are you enjoying your breakfast, Miss Blanche?” he asked.
“Very much so,” came the reply.
Dax found himself smiling at the besotted expression on Horton’s face. He seemed genuinely fond of her. Blanche Parville was a genteel creature, softly spoken, and cordial.
The exact opposite of her sister.
Horton lowered his voice and murmured something unintelligible—some profession of admiration perhaps.
Miss Blanche shook her head. “My sister was a little indisposed this morning. I believe she’s taking the air outside.”
Lady Hardwick leaned forward, her brow furrowed in concern. “Was Miss Catherine not hungry—or thirsty?”
Blanche looked up. “I believe not, ma’am.”
“Oh dear,” Lady Hardwick said. “It does a young woman no good to venture out on an empty stomach.”
Lord Hardwick spoke up. “I’m sure she’s perfectly well,” he said.
Dear Lord—I hope so.
Lady Hardwick’s gaze snapped round, and she stared at Dax.
“So do I, Your Grace,” she whispered.
