Page 16 of The Taming of the Duke
Dax found himself wanting to be engulfed.
He clicked his heels together and bowed. “Miss Parville—would you do me the honor of partnering me for the first dance?”
The two women exchanged glances. His quarry raised her eyebrows. Her younger sister’s eyes widened, then she shook her head and lowered her gaze, and her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of rose.
“You must forgive my sister, Mr. Hawke,” Miss Parville said. “She’s…”
“And you must forgive me, Miss Parville,” he interrupted. “It’syouI wish to dance with, not your sister, charming as she might be.”
“Me?” Her eyes widened in astonishment, then he caught a flash of the fear he’d noticed at the Wilton’s ball. “I’m afraid, I…”
“I insist,” he said, taking her hand.
“I’m disinclined to dance with a man to whom I’ve not been properly introduced,” she said. “Such an offer shows a distinct lack of propriety.”
“I beg to disagree,” he said. “We were introduced at Lady Wilton’s ball—at least, I introduced myself. Perhaps I did not follow propriety as I ought. If it pleases you, Miss Parville, permit me to rectify the insult now.”
“Perhaps you’re unused to the rules of society?” She continued, “In which case, you must be forgiven. Our charming hostess has a reputation of befriending all manner of individuals. I quite understand her concession in receiving you through the front door rather than the tradesman’s entrance.”
“Cat!” the young woman next to her let out a squeal of horror. But Miss Parville, aware—almost proud—of the insult she’d leveled at Dax, ignored her sister’s exclamation, and met his gaze with defiance, challenge in her expression.
Challenge accepted, my dear Little Miss Shrew.
Still holding her hand, he bowed over it and brushed his lips against her skin. Then he looked up and fixed his gaze on her. Her expression betrayed confusion. She had, perhaps, expected him to retreat like a coward or flounce off like an adolescent nursing his ego.
“Miss Parville, I humbly beseech you to do me the great honor of partnering me for this dance. But before I lead you to the dance floor, may I introduce myself in a manner which befits your station? My name is Daxton Hawke…”
“I already know that,” she said.
“…Daxton Hawke, fifth Duke of Petrush, at your service.”
Her sister let out another squeal. Miss Parville remained silent, but the color drained from her face. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.
Seizing the opportunity, he grasped her hands. She made no attempt to resist, and he pulled her upright and led her onto the dance floor. As they approached the line of couples, she stumbled and fell against him. She curled her fingers round his, and his breath caught as a crackle of desire fizzed through his body.
She drew in a sharp breath, and he glanced down to see her staring up at him, an expression of shock and bewilderment in her gaze…
…and a spark of desire to match his own.
Maybe the notion of seducing her was not so unpalatable after all.
Chapter Six
What was shedoing? How the devil had she ended up in the arms of a man—a dangerous man at that?
And aduke.
By the time Catherine collected her wits, the dance had already begun, and though insulting him was not something to fear, she had no desire to embarrass Lady Hardwick—a woman who’d welcomed her warmly into her home and treated her with genuine affection. Not to mention Lord Hardwick, who’d proved a most interesting dinner companion, regaling her with tales of his travels around Italy. Most men spoke of their exploits as a method of declaring their prowess to the world. But Lord Hardwick took a genuine delight in describing the architecture and history of Rome.
Catherine had enjoyed a conversation in a social setting with a man who treated her as an intellectual equal.
She glanced up at her partner and found herself in a situation she’d not experienced before. She fought the urge to apologize for her earlier rudeness, though a wicked demon on her shoulder giggled at the notion of a duke using the tradesman’s entrance.
He seemed unaffected by her faux pas—which, if anything, disconcerted her even more. He must have some purpose for wishing to dance with her, even after her having insulted him, and she found herself wondering to what lengths she could go.
“Are you enjoying the dance, Miss Parville?” he asked.
“Not particularly, Your Grace.”
