Page 9 of The Taming of the Duke
“Leave us alone!”
Bloody hell—Medusa or tigress, she was an unpleasant prospect for a courtship, even a fake one.
“Perhaps fifty isn’t enough,” Bond suggested with a laugh.
“I’ll pay anything to have a chance with Miss Blanche,” Horton sighed.
Dear God—the man was smitten!
“You haven’t told me why courting her sister helps you achieve your aim,” Dax said.
“Oh, that’s simple,” Horton replied. “Their father has made it plain that he’ll not permit any man to court Miss Blanche until a man has begun to court Miss Catherine.”
Catherine…
At that moment, she looked up and met his gaze. Her eyes which had, at first, reminded him of a cup of poison, had a richness of color like the purest emeralds—an intense, dark green, which drew him in like a deep ocean. She blinked and parted her lips—full, red lips made for kissing. He let his gaze drift across her body and settle on her neckline, where the skin of her décolletage was the color of smooth, rich cream, and the valley between her breasts promised a softness beneath the neckline of her gown. Though her dress was unremarkable in every aspect, his manhood stirred with longing at the promise of treasures concealed beneath.
Then, she lifted her hand and placed it over her chest, as if to protect her modesty.
When he lifted his gaze to her face once more, her cheeks were flushed a delicate color of rose. Her eyes had brightened, until they almost shimmered in the candlelight. But they no longer bore the sharp, shrewish look he’d seen directed at Horton. Instead, he detected something else entirely.
Vulnerability.
“What say you, old boy?” Horton asked. “I’ll raise it to a hundred as soon as I’m courting Miss Blanche.”
“Oh, very well,” Dax replied. “A hundred would be compensation enough for having to endure the company of a disagreeable shrew.”
The woman’s eyes widened, and a flicker of pain shone in her expression.
Surely, she couldn’t have heard what he’d just said?
Then, she hardened her expression and looked away.
Dax resumed his attention on Horton, and when he next glanced in her direction, she was striding across the dance floor, toward the terrace doors. A man grasped her arm as she passed him, and Dax recognized Lord Francis—evidently deeply in his cups. She wrinkled her nose, then drew out her fan, and swatted Francis smartly across the wrist.
“How dare you, madam!” he cried.
“Oh,doforgive me,” she drawled. “Perhaps I should have removed the offending item with a knife.” She closed her fan with a snap and disappeared onto the terrace, leaving Lord Francis nursing his wrist.
Dax couldn’t help smiling in admiration. Lord Francis was a lecher at the best of times and had a reputation for forcing his attention on women when in his cups.
“Bloody hell!” Bond cried, laughing. “What a hellcat! No wonder her father’s desperate to rid himself of her.”
“I suppose you’ll be wantingtwohundred guineas now,” Horton said.
“No,” Dax said. “One hundred will suffice.”
He found himself intrigued. There was no doubting that the Honorable Miss Parville was an unpleasant creature. But the flash of pain in her expression intrigued him.
Not only did he wonder what she might look like if she smiled—but he wanted to be the man who gave her cause to smile.
Chapter Four
Sweet heaven!Wasshe to be plagued by every drunkard in the place? Lord Francis had a reputation for priding himself on the number of young ladies he’d compromised while avoiding the need to do the honorable thing—though, in Catherine’s opinion, being compromised by him andnothaving to wed him was the lesser of the two evils.
Do you seriously think I’d even contemplate the unpalatable prospect of wedding you?
Shaking her head to dispel the memory, she made her way toward the terrace doors. Having left Blanche in Lady Wilton’s care, Catherine craved a moment to herself, away from the buzz of inane chatter and false compliments.
