Page 21 of Defending the Duke (The St. Clairs 4)

Chapter Seven

Anthony had beenright. He’d rather be surrounded on a battlefield by a thousand French soldiers rather than in the midst of atonball. He’d danced with Hannah and then forced himself to do the same with three other young ladies making their come-out. He could remember nothing about them, from their names to what they wore. Their conversations had been stilted and his time wasted. Retreating to the card room, he indulged in a couple of brandies as he skirted the edge of the room.

Thinking to find a bride on the Marriage Mart was a mistake. In the future, he would escort Hannah and his aunt to whatever event they decided to attend and then he’d either make himself scarce or leave and return for them later. He wasn’t ready for a wife. Or a family. Already, he was bored. Perhaps he could wait till the end of the Season and see which debutantes hadn’t formed an attachment. He’d simply pick one of them and make an offer. That way he’d still have accomplished Aunt Constance’s goal. A leftover wallflower would fit the bill. She would be bland. Amenable. Her parents would be thrilled that a duke offered for her. That way, he would get a wife without having to take the time to woo one. A wallflower would be forever grateful and adhere to any rules he put forth. He would continue to live his own life and never need be challenged at home.

Leaving the card room, he lurked in the hall outside the ballroom, not ready to go inside again. He knew the supper dance drew near and had made a commitment to Hannah’s new friend, though he couldn’t remember her name. She was a St. Clair, though. It was obvious from her height to her hair and eye color. Jeremy St. Clair had been ahead of him in school, while Luke St. Clair had been behind Anthony. He knew neither well but did respect the new duke. Jeremy had a reputation of defending younger boys from bullies. Bullying younger students was the way of English schoolboys but Jeremy had wanted no part in it. Anthony was certain that St. Clair had a hand in keeping the older boys from harassing Eric Saunders, whom he’d learned was now Lord Morefield.

He supposed he should return to the ballroom and look for the St. Clair girl. Then he saw her trailing two women, their heads bent together. From the look on her face, the women were up to no good. They came to stand near him and he shrank behind a tall, potted plant, curious as to their conversation.

What he overheard appalled him.

Then before he could step forth and put an end to their wickedness, the object of their gossip did so herself. She reprimanded them quietly and swiftly, looking as brave and bold as Queen Boadicea as she rebelled against the Romans. Anthony had never been one to be easily impressed but her courage bowled him over. If what these women said was true, the young woman was a bastard of the previous Duke of Everton, though it seemed the current one didn’t care and accepted her as a full member of the family.

Though this St. Clair didn’t need saving, he stepped in. “There you are, Lady Laurel. It’s time for our dance.”

He took her arm and steered her toward the ballroom. They reached it just as the strains of the supper dance began and he led her onto the floor. As they danced, he noticed how anger only added to her good looks. Her emerald eyes were stormy and the splash of color on her cheeks made her even more attractive.

“I must thank you, Your Grace,” she finally said halfway through the dance. “I have a temper and I let it get the better of me. Jeremy and Catherine warned me that others would belittle me. I told myself I wouldn’t let it affect me if I heard any gossip.”

“But they spoke ill of your mother,” he said. “You needed to defend her.”

“I did.” She gazed into his eyes. “You must have heard what they said, Your Grace. While it was kind of you to keep to our dance, I will understand if you wish to avoid my company and sup with someone else.”

His gaze met hers. “I can think of no better person to share the midnight buffet, my lady. You showed both poise and mettle as you addressed those rumormongers.”

Anthony still couldn’t remember her name but he was fascinated by her.

“They weren’t rumors, Your Grace. I am a bastard. A half-sister to Everton. In fact, I’ve only known him a few weeks. My mother was quite ill and recently passed away. I discovered among her things the true origin of mine and my brother’s birth.”

“You’re a twin?” he asked, his interest growing.

“Yes. My brother is not present tonight. He is preparing to enter university.”

“I knew Everton in school. He is a fine man.”

“His Grace has proven himself to be most kind to Hudson and me, considering the circumstances. I apologize again for you having to hear me confront those women but my mother told me to always stand up for myself—even if my legs were shaking.”

He chuckled. “That’s how I felt most of the time when fighting the French.”

The music ended and he found himself reluctant to release her. Suddenly, the evening had proved far more interesting than he ever thought it would be as he led the St. Clair girl in to supper. He spied Hannah and saw a gentleman in his mid-twenties seating her with several others. Relief filled him that she had found someone to spend this meal with.

Because Anthony didn’t want anything interrupting his time with the woman on his arm.

“May we join my family?” she asked. “I see Catherine has saved us a place.”

He would have preferred to sit only with her but saw the arrangement of the room had no tables for two.

“Of course. It is your very first ball,” he noted. “I’m sure the Evertons are anxious to hear how things are progressing.”

“Progressing?” she asked, a slight frown on her face.

As he guided her across the room, he said, “It’s no secret that a come-out is simply another name for placing young ladies on the Marriage Mart.”

He felt her stiffen and regretted his words.

“I am not for sale, Your Grace. My family has assured me that I don’t have to select any man as a husband this Season. Or any other. Who knows? I may simply choose to remain unwed. After all, what man wants a duke’s bastard as the mother of his children?”

Her tone was light but Anthony knew the gossip of the previous encounter had wounded her. He thought it interesting, though, that Everton had said this illegitimate half-sister needn’t wed. Perhaps he was just being kind, knowing that most men of thetonwould not be interested in taking on a woman with a certain reputation and background, even if she were the daughter of a duke.

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