Page 15 of The Taming of the Duke
He drew in a sharp breath and turned to see his hostess staring directly at him.
“N-no, Lady Hardwick.”
She gave a soft smile, then glanced across the table. “Do you not find it intriguing that the best matches are often the most unlikely?”
Dax followed her gaze to where her husband and Miss Parville were deep in conversation. His heart skittered in his chest as he saw Miss Parville’s lips curl into a smile.
Though he found himself longing to see the expression in her eyes, her gaze was directed at Hardwick.
Lucky bastard.
“Yes,” he breathed. “You’re right, Lady Hardwick. I wonder if the best matches occur between complete opposites.”
“I’m so glad you agree, Your Grace. Augustus and I are an unlikely match. He’s always been so sensible, whereas I…” she let out a sigh, “…I’ve always been a little young for my age, or so my cousin tells me. But the world would never evolve if we were only matched with those like us.”
“Oh—you and Lord Hardwick…” he hesitated, “…forgive me…I meant no offense. I wasn’t intending to refer to…”
“It’s quite all right,” she said, laughter in her voice. “I was only teasing.” She lifted her glass to her lips and took a sip, light dancing in her eyes. “But, I’msoglad you agree, Your Grace.”
She rose to her feet and the rest of the company followed suit.
“Time for a little dancing,mes amis,” Hardwick declared.
A ripple of murmurs threaded through the company, and Lady Hardwick giggled. “I’ve always despised the convention which dictates that the men must retire over cigars while the women are confined to drinking tea with each other. After all, the purpose of a party is to enjoy each other’s company, is it not? Of course, it gives me a reputation of being somewhat risqué, but better that than a dullard any day. Would you care to escort me to the ballroom, Your Grace?”
Unable to resist her youthful charm, he offered his arm, and she took it. The rest of the party followed suit, and when Dax glanced over his shoulder, he spotted Horton walking next to Bond, ogling Miss Blanche, his tongue almost hanging out. Their host brought up the rear, arm in arm with Miss Parville.
The ballroom was enormous—a high ceiling bearing murals decorated in gilt which shimmered in the candlelight, and tall mirrors which magnified the light. At the far end, a small group of musicians were tuning their instruments.
Their host bowed to Miss Parville, then led her toward a row of chairs on the edge of the ballroom. Shortly after, her sister joined her. Horton sauntered over toward Dax.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” Dax asked.
“You know jolly well what,” Horton said, irritation in his voice. “Now’s your chance. Lord Parville’s in the room. Persuade the shrew to dance while he’s watching, and Miss Blanche will be fair game.”
Dax glanced at Miss Parville, who was talking to her sister, and his heart ached at the expression of love in her eyes. However shrewish she might be, she clearly cared deeply for her sister.
“Be quick, man!” Horton hissed. “Thorpe looks like he’s going to ask her.”
“Thorpe’s no rival,” Dax said, “given that he’s married.”
“So?” came the reply. “You want to earn your hundred guineas, don’t you?”
“Hush!” Dax hissed. “I don’t want the whole room knowing I’m about to seduce a woman for a bet.”
“Who said anything aboutseduction?” Horton laughed. “You only need make a pretense at courting her. Though, if you’re able to part those icy thighs, I’ll throw in an extra hundred.”
“Good Lord, man—are you so smitten with her younger sister that you’ve lost all decorum?” Dax cried. “EvenIknow it’s not the done thing to boast about a conquest until it’s been achieved.”
“So, you’re going to ask her?”
Horton was worse than a nagging harpy.
“If only to rid myself of your persistence,” Dax replied. He strode across the ballroom, waving away a footman who approached him with a tray of glasses, until he stood before Miss Parville and her sister.
At this close quarter, he could see the resemblance. Though only slight, the two ladies possessed the same stubbornness about the chin. Other than that, they were strikingly different. Where Miss Blanche’s eyes were soft and pleasant, her elder sister’s eyes carried a fire deep within—a fire that threatened to engulf a man.
