Page 4 of The Taming of the Duke
Whatever Catherine may think of society—and the ladies therein—her beloved sister, in her purity, shone like a beacon among the dull debutantes.
Blanche had the sweetest disposition, her innocence only enhancing her wide-eyed beauty. She was the prettiest creature in the room tonight. Her fortune was almost non-existent—too small to attract fortune hunters, but that left her exposed to a different kind of predator.
Men such ashim…
But, in her innocence, Blanche had no notion of the world—a world she still viewed with the eyes of a child—and Catherine had no wish for Blanche to lose her innocence.
“Cat!” Blanche cried as she approached. “Did you see me dancing? I didn’t put a foot wrong.”
“Of course, you didn’t, Blanche dear,” Catherine said. “You’ve been practicing all week.”
“I almost stumbled, but Lord Gremshaw was kind enough to set me right.”
“Nonsense, my dear child,” Gremshaw said. “You dance beautifully.” He steered Blanche to the seat beside Catherine. “You must be thirsty, Miss Blanche—and Miss Parville—may I fetch you each a glass of punch?”
“Not for me,” Catherine said. Blanche glanced at her, then shook her head.
“Nor me, Lord Gremshaw,” Blanche said, “but thank you for the dance.”
“Then I shall leave you in your sister’s capable hands and return to Lady Gremshaw.” He clicked his heels together and issued a bow, then disappeared into the crowd.
The musicians began to tune their instruments, and a number of couples lined up on the dance floor.
“Last dance,” Blanche said. “Are you sure there’s nobody you wish to dance with, Cat?”
Catherine shook her head. “I have no desire to dance.”
“Would you mind if I…”
“There’s no one suitable to partner you,” Catherine said.
At that moment, a gentleman approached. Dressed in a dark green jacket, embroidered waistcoat and highly polished boots, he cut a fine figure. Handsome enough to be considered dangerous, he stared at Catherine’s sister, overt admiration in his eyes. Then he shifted his gaze to Catherine. A flicker of contempt shone on his face, and she could almost hear the voice in his mind.
There she is—the Spinster Shrew.
He resumed his attention on Blanche and bowed.
“Miss Blanche, what a pleasure to see you here tonight!” he said. “I was just saying to my friend how much I longed to see you. The company is all the better for your presence, and I will regret it for the rest of my life if I miss this opportunity to ask you to partner me for the final dance of the evening.”
Ugh.
Catherine shuddered inwardly at the insincerity in his tone, which had been lowered to enhance the appearance of masculinity.
“Why is that, Lord Horton?” she asked.
His gaze reverted to her, and a spark of panic flickered in his expression.
Yes, you fool, I can see through your ruse.
“Because your sister is the most beautiful woman in the room.”
“Have you nothing to say of her character?” Catherine asked.
“I’m certain that, with the face of an angel, your sister must be the most delightful of creatures.”
“Is that certainty or speculation?” she asked. “You have, I believe, spoken to my sister once, when we were introduced at Lady Gray’s soiree last month. Or, have you ignored the rules of propriety and visited her unchaperoned?”
He shifted from one foot to the other, and when he spoke again, the deep tone of his voice had disappeared.
