Page 14 of The Duke Meets His Match

“It’ll be dry in no time, I’m sure,” Miss Jennings added, continuing to dab at her gown. The dampness had soaked in, making the front of her drab gown a splotchy pink-tinged mess. George doubted it would dry as swiftly as Miss Jennings hoped.

“It doesn’t look as bad as all that,” Jennings said. “If you behave as if nothing has happened, I doubt anyone will notice.”

Miss Jennings ignored her brother’s words of encouragement and kepton dabbing. George gathered she didn’t believe her brother’s words any morethan George did. Additionally, Miss Jennings’s unfortunate mishap verylikely would have gone unnoticed had he and Jennings not arrived at her side precisely when they had, for she was standing next tohim—the Duke of Aylesham, who drew attention wherever he went. He could already feel the eyes of the crowd surrounding them burning into his back.

As much as he disliked Miss Jennings, it would be bad form to allow his friend’s sister—regardless of his personal feelings toward her—to suffer from the additional exposure his presence on the scene had unintentionally created. A sinking feeling of doom hit his stomach. “Miss Jennings,” he said with great reluctance, “would you care to dance?”

The harpy actually winced. She glanced at her brother.

“The movement will help air out the fabric so it may dry more quickly,” Jennings said, nodding encouragingly.

George had no intention of begging the harpy to dance with him; he had no trouble getting dancing partners, despite his reluctance. This was tedious. “You are under no compulsion to dance with me, Miss Jennings,” George said, barely moving his lips to utter the words. “It is completely up to you.”

“I accept, Your Grace,” she said. With no discernible enthusiasm, George noted with no surprise.

She held out his soiled handkerchief to him. “Thank you for the use of your handkerchief,” she said.

“You may keep it,” George said. The last thing he wanted in his pocket was a damp, used handkerchief that had blotted her bosom. She could burn it, for all he cared.

“Thank you,” she said again. She folded it and tucked it into her reticule.

He offered her his hand.

She laid her hand on his—barely. If he hadn’t been able to see it atop his own, he wouldn’t have known it was there.

He escorted her out onto the ballroom floor and turned to face her, which helped shield her splotchy, damp bodice. The music had come to an end, and people were waiting for the next dance to begin. Miss Jennings dropped her hand from his.

She said nothing. He said nothing.

Her hair, he noted, was dark and thick and was styled as though she’d been attempting to cage a wild beast. Her features, now that he was close enough to observe them better, were fine enough—her brows were dark, like her hair, her eyes a light gray in contrast. He expected to see freckles along the bridge of her nose, owing to the color of her hair, and he was correct—there was the slightest spray of them as to be unique but not so many as to be distracting. Her mouthwas set; he did not take the time to consider that particular feature further,and he kept his gaze averted from her bodice. It wouldn’t do for the Duke of Aylesham to appear to be ogling a lady’s bosom, regardless of the reason.

She wasn’t looking at him at all. He’d half expected her to be glaring at him, but instead, she was looking about the room at the other guests. He wondered ifshe was looking for someone in particular—or simply avoiding looking at him.He couldn’t recollect ever having seen her out in society before, except for the one occasion last year. He knew nothing about her other than that she was Jennings’s sister—and that she eavesdropped on private conversations and had a sharp tongue.

The music began ... and George realized with horror that it was a waltz. Awaltz, during which they must be in each other’s arms for the entire duration. Lifewas ironic at times, so he should have expected something like this to happen.

She looked at him now as though she were preparing to muck out a stable. Obviously,she’djust realized it was a waltz also and was as displeased about it as he was.

He raised his arms into position. “I presume you waltz.”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” she said.

Touché, harpy, he thought.

He waited, his arms still in position. After a brief moment, she placed her right hand in his left and her left hand on his shoulder. He hoped he wouldn’t end up with sticky punch residue on his clothes from her gloves. Evans would not be pleased. He then placed his hand on her waist and began the first steps ...

She immediately stumbled over his feet, requiring that he catch her in order to keep her upright. “Apparently, youdon’twaltz,” he said, feeling a touch smug while she regained her bearing.

“I know how to waltz,” she said. “I’m just a bit out of practice, and you took rather large steps.”

They began again, and George made an effort to shorten his steps. They would both look like fools if she were to stumble repeatedly. Soon, fortunately, she found the flow of the music, and her feet successfully followed, which was a relief to George.

They danced, not speaking ... but eventually the silence between them became deafening.

“Perhaps your expression could reflect something more positive than a death march,” he said. Blast it all, but this particular waltz was lasting interminably.

Miss Jennings raised the corners of her lips slightly. It was more of a smirk than a smile.

“Ah, now that issuchan improvement,” he drawled. “I doubt I have ever seen such a lovely visage on a lady before. I want to weep with ecstasy.”

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