Page 8 of Devoted to the Duke (The St. Clairs 1)

“Then I suppose I should steer my papa in your papa’s direction. Maybe he can learn something from Lord Statham. On my eighteenth birthday, I received a new hat.” She sniffed. “Mama is pleased we’re friends, you know.”

“Why so?” Catherine thought Charlotte’s mother a bit pushy, though she realized she had her daughter’s best interests at heart.

“You are so popular with the men and your dance card fills so quickly. When a gentleman asks you to dance and I’m standing beside you, they often turn to me and request the same. That pleases Mama greatly. I, on the other hand, simply enjoy your company and believe we’ll always be friends,” Charlotte declared. “You know, if we both wed at the end of the Season, we might have our first child around the same time. Why, by next Season, you and I could be old married ladies—and mothers.”

The thought of her life changing so rapidly frightened Catherine. No man had truly caught her eye, so she asked, “Have you formed any special attachment?”

“Not yet. I have my eye on a few prospects,” her friend said mysteriously. “Oh, look. Here comes the horde.” Charlotte moistened her lips and smiled prettily.

Catherine looked up and saw a group of eligible suitors headed their way. She raised a gloved hand to hide her mouth, stifling the giggle that threatened to erupt. The men looked like a pack of animals as they approached. A few fanned out in other directions, letting the alpha males of the pack have first dibs.

She watched as her programme began to fill with names. A blond man hovered nearby as she finished speaking with a viscount who had bucked teeth and a lisp. As the viscount moved toward Charlotte, Catherine recognized the waiting gentleman since they’d danced together previously but she couldn’t recall his name. That was the problem with the Season. So many social events. Dozens of introductions. Far too many dances with men who then disappeared to dance with another debutante. The evenings, with all the faces and names, became a blur.

“Good evening, Lady Catherine,” the man said. “I’m hoping you would do me the great honor of dancing with me again this evening. I so enjoyed your company when we danced together before.” His smile revealed white, even teeth as his blue eyes sparkled.

At least this one showed some potential. She needed to at least think about getting to know some of these men beyond casual comments regarding the weather. She offered her programme to him.

“You may claim the supper dance if you wish, my lord.”

His eyes lit up, knowing they would not only dance together but spend an extended time in conversation as they dined.

“I’d be most delighted.” He wrote his name and returned the card to her.

Glancing down, she said, “I look forward to our dance, Lord Morefield.”

After that, Catherine turned down several suitors, apologizing for having no more room on her card, heeding her mother’s recent advice before they’d disembarked from the carriage.

As she turned away another disappointed gentleman, Charlotte hissed,” How could you have no vacancies left? Most of the men who’ve asked you to dance have also signed my card. I still have five openings.”

“Mama begged me to leave two slots open tonight,” Catherine explained. “She instructed me to leave the supper dance and the final dance of the evening free. That way, if I found someone to my liking, I might offer a second opportunity and spend additional time with him. I allowed Lord Morefield to have the supper dance since he somewhat intrigues me. Instead, I left the one after supper and the last of the night vacant.”

“Oh, my word! Your mother is a genius, no doubt about it. I shall do the same from now on.”

As a few others approached them to ask for a dance and she shook her head, Catherine’s gaze scanned the room. She recognized many of the faces as everyone waited for the music to begin. None of them excited her, in particular. If she didn’t find anyone else interesting tonight, she would skip the final dance and go find her parents so they could depart before the rush of carriages clogged the road.

Then her eyes fell upon someone she didn’t know and her breath caught in her throat. This man hadn’t attended any event of the Season. She was certain of that for he would stand out in any crowd.

He was taller and broader of shoulders than the companion he conversed with. His hair was as black as midnight, matching his fitted trousers and coat. His shirt was snow white against his tanned face. She wished she could see what color his eyes were. As he gestured, it was with a fluid grace.

Who was this very handsome stranger—and how could she persuade him to dance with her?

---