Page 7 of The Taming of the Duke
And, as she knew from experience,thatwas the first step on the path to heartbreak.
She closed her eyes, counting to three as she inhaled, then exhaled, counting to five. When she opened her eyes again, Blanche had returned with two glasses of punch. Catherine took one and sipped it. Then, she summoned courage to look across the ballroom. The man was still there, but his attention was focused on Lord Horton.
Good. Perhaps, Horton would tell the man of her shrewish nature. Then, he’d avoid her like everyone else.
A voice whispered in her mind of what it might be like to be courted a man such as him. But she had already trodden on that path and had no wish to return.
Chapter Three
Daxton Hawke, fifthDuke of Petrush, leaned against the wall and surveyed the dance floor.
Excellent timing.
The final dance of the evening had already begun, sparing him the fawning attention of eager debutantes and desperate mamas. Though he’d resigned himself to the prospect of marriage, women, in his opinion, were better bedded than wedded.
And the company tonight was not the sort that preferred to be bedded.
The women in the ballroom carried an air of respectability about them—which simply meant a lack of enjoyment and an absence of pleasure. What man wanted to shackle himself to arespectablewoman for life—a biddable creature who nodded and smiled at every opportunity?
No—Dax wanted a woman with fire in her belly—a woman to challenge him and keep him wanting. After all, the chase was always more pleasurable.
Unfortunately, the sort of woman to challenge him with the promise of sweet victory after a bloody battle was unlikely to be found in Lady Wilton’s ballroom. A Cyprian’s ball was a better hunting ground. But, even then, the brightly painted, exotic creatures—delectable they might be—only did it for coin. To them, pleasure was a means to make a living rather than something to savor, and Dax always tired of them in the end. He wanted a woman whose screams of ecstasy weregenuine.
He continued to survey the room, and his gaze landed on Horatio Bond, an old friend from his Oxford days.
At last—some congenial company.
Bond’s grandfather had acquired his fortune through trade, but Dax wasn’t about to hold that against the grandson. Bond himself had excelled academically at Oxford, but he lacked the conceit of most intellectuals, and Dax wasn’t ashamed to call him friend.
At that moment, a sharp voice cut through the dull fog of inane chatter.
“If you wish to dance with a woman merely because you find her appearance appealing, I suggest you find yourself another partner.”
Heavens!Though Dax relished the prospect of a woman who challenged him, he drew the line at wanting to endure the tongue-lashing of a harpy. How else, other than an attraction to a young woman’s looks, was a man supposed to determine whether or not to ask her to dance?
He glanced toward the source of the voice and suppressed a laugh. That milksop Lord Horton was bowing before a young woman, hand outstretched in a gesture of exaggerated chivalry. The way he’d bent his legs to crouch before her, suggested he suffered from an ailment of a digestive nature.
The woman was pleasant enough, if a man liked that sort of thing—a pretty creature with blonde ringlets and eyes the color of cornflowers.
As for the woman sitting beside her, the one who’d spoken…
The expression on her face was as if she’d just stepped in something that had just come out of the arse end of a horse.
While her companion looked to be the epitome of ladylike grace,shewas anything but. Her hair was the color of fire—deep red with flashes of dark gold, as if she’d been forged in the pits of hell. Sharp green eyes glittered with contempt.
A veritable Medusa—had Horton turned to stone, Dax wouldn’t have been surprised. Perhaps, if he moved closer, he’d see serpents in her hair.
A pity. Had she seen fit to smile, she might have been quite pretty—striking, even. Her coloring stood out among the crowd, despite her gown being a plain white muslin compared to the eye-wateringly bright silks worn by the other ladies.
Eventually, Horton shrugged as if in defeat, then crossed the dance floor to join Bond. Dax sauntered toward them.
“Oh, I say, Petrush!” Bond cried. “A delight to see you, old chap. I noticed you turning all heads as you made your entrance—though you’ve arrived too late to dance, I’m afraid.”
“By design rather than misfortune,” Dax said.
Bond let out a laugh. “Your design is the ladies’ misfortune. I swear I heard a collective sigh the moment you arrived. I daresay you’d not be in want of a partner, even midway through the dance. Even if you cut in on a couple, the lady would, most likely, thank you for it.”
Bond gestured toward his companion. “You know Lord Horton, of course.”
