Page 8 of The Taming of the Duke
“A little,” Dax said. “I’ve seen him at White’s. Aren’t you dancing, Horton?”
“There’s only one woman in the room that Horton wishes to partner,” Bond said. “The Honorable Blanche Parville. But he’s failed in his endeavors.”
“The pretty creature in the white muslin?” Dax asked.
“Yes,” Horton said, his tone sulky. “The one sitting next to the shrew.”
Dax smiled to himself at the petulance in Horton’s voice. In a world where men ruled, particularly those of their class—a viscount would be unused to rejection from a female—particularly a rejection delivered with a sting. He glanced toward the two women, who now appeared to be arguing.
“Are you going to ask him?” Dax caught Horton’s whisper and turned toward his companions.
“Ask me what?”
Horton had the grace to flush, and Bond cleared his throat. “Horton here was wondering if you could assist him on a rather delicate matter.”
“Is he not man enough to ask me himself?”
“I’d make it worth your while,” Horton said. “What say you to fifty guineas?”
Dax let out a laugh. “You think I’m short of cash?”
Horton’s embarrassment deepened. “It’s for a bet, nothing more,” he said, “and it’d be the easiest fifty guineas you’ll ever earn.”
“If it’s such an easy task, I wonder why you’re at pains to pay another to undertake it,” Dax said. “I don’t like the sound of it.”
“All you need do is court a woman,” Horton said.
“Good Lord!” Dax laughed. “Are you out of your wits? I’ve no intention ofcourtinganyone. The fawning misses of London hold no attraction for me.”
“Not for real, you dunderhead!” Bond laughed. “Just long enough convince the lady’s father. And, if you’re seen courting a woman, the rest of thefawning misseswill leave you be.”
“Nowthat, is the only advantage I can think of,” Dax said. “I take it, you require me to court the pretty little creature in the white muslin? And, I suppose, once I’ve engaged her affections, I must seek a way to transfer them onto Horton, here?” he shook his head. “If you want the Honorable Blanche, why don’t you just take her?”
“No, not her,” Horton said. “You’re to court her sister.”
“Good grief,” Dax cried. “You’re saying that the woman next to her is hersister? She looks more like an aunt—and an unpleasant one, at that.”
Horton laughed, “I daresay she’s old enough to be her aunt.”
“They don’t look alike,” Dax said. “One’s a ray of spring sunshine, whereas the other’s like a sharp frost.”
“They’rehalf-sisters.” Horton said. “Different mothers. It was something of a scandal at the time.”
“Really?”
“Their father, Lord Parville, is rumored to be most put out that he’s yet to be furnished with a male heir,” Horton continued. “Miss Parville’s mother died giving birth to a son, and a month later, Lord Parville led her successor down the aisle. Which means,” he lowered his voice, “the banns must have been read within days of him having buried his first wife.”
“And the second wife?”
“She died giving birth to the delectable Blanche,” Horton said. “Lord Parville was rumored to be so angry at being left a widower with two daughters that he refused, at first, to acknowledge Blanche’s existence.”
Dax glanced toward the two women. Perhaps the Medusa had reason to be angry at the world if she’d suffered her father’s disappointment—though it didn’t explain her sister’s sunny disposition.
Unless, perhaps, she protected her sister from their father’s disappointment. With an absent, disinterested father, it would have been left to the elder sister to take on the role of a mother.
Perhaps rather than being a Medusa, she was a tigress, using her claws to protect her cub.
Another young man approached the two women, hand outstretched. But the Medusa slapped it away.
