Page 25 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

“You endure it, James. With varying degrees of… One can’t really call it patience. Grim toleration rather.”

“That is not true. I appreciate a fine performance. But so often at these occasions we are subjected to a troop of amateur warblers. Or females pounding the pianoforte like half-trained apes.”

“You are a font of complaints,” Cecelia replied. “I would add ‘tonight,’ but your grumbling is habitual.”

“What? No, it is not.”

“Really? Make a statement of unalloyed praise. About anything you wish.”

“I…” The most curious expression came over his face. “I am fond of a good claret.”

“Oh dear, is that the best you can manage? Fi, James. Paltry. Not praise at all, in fact.” Cecelia wanted to laugh at him, but the bewilderment in his blue eyes stopped her. And then she remembered that he had offered no warmth for her when he proposed, and levity dissolved.

“I should be going,” he said.

And he went, leaving Cecelia thoroughly unsettled.

Five

James could see that Mrs. Yelverton was surprised when he arrived in good time at her musical evening. He’d been invited, of course. He was invited everywhere. But it was not the sort of party he usually attended. “How very good to see you, Your Grace,” she said.

As he made his bow, he remembered that she had a hopeful daughter.

“I do hope you will enjoy Beatrice’s performance,” she added, confirming his recollection.

He couldn’t call the girl to mind. Which suggested that he probably would not. But as he moved on into the drawing room, he murmured, “A pleasure.” And wished Cecelia might have heard. He’d been brooding over her accusation since he’d left her at the philosophical evening. She was quite wrong. He did not complain. The very word was distasteful; it smacked of whining brats or fussy old women. He discriminated. He appreciated wit and cleverness. But that was entirely different. And he was full of praise for many things. He’d thought of a whole list. Too late. But tonight he would show her.

James scanned the crowd, searching for her golden hair. He spotted her at the far side of the room in a group that included her four new friends and Prince Karl. James set his jaw. The fellow was leaning over Cecelia as if she belonged to him, or at least as if she was his for the taking. And she was smiling up at him and laughing. A startling surge of anger ran through James. He’d seen men flirt with Cecelia, of course, and he knew she’d had offers of marriage. But none of those had seemed serious, and none had occurred after he’d made up his mind to marry her. The playing field had altered. Hewouldtriumph.

“Of course the best music is Teutonic,” the prince was saying when James joined the group. “There is no one to match us in that area—Bach, Handel, Telemann, Beethoven, Mozart.”

“Wasn’t Mozart Austrian?” James asked.

“A similar sensibility,” replied the other man smoothly.

“It is good that you think so, since Austria is the head of your German Confederation.”

The prince stiffened. He started to speak, paused, then said, “I do not care to discuss politics. My tour is a pleasure trip only.” He looked at Cecelia, smiled. “And it is becoming a greater pleasure each day.”

James refrained from gritting his teeth, barely. “Didn’t Handel spend most of his life in London?” he said. “He was practically an Englishman.”

“But actually from Saxony,” replied the prince. His hazel eyes were those of a wily fencer. With word or blade, James concluded.

“We English have Purcell,” said one of the young ladies—the smallest one, with the sandy hair.

“Indeed,” said James, though he’d never heard the name. He held Prince Karl’s gaze, putting a wealth of resolve into the look. Silently, a challenge was proffered and accepted.

“Oh, there’s Henry,” said another of the young ladies. She waved.

Henry Deeping came to join them. He shot James a quizzical look when he made his bow, as if to ask what he was doing here. The greeting he exchanged with the prince showed they’d already met.

“Miss Vainsmede,” said Prince Karl. “May I ask you a favor? Would you present me to Miss Yelverton? I should like to ask what she means to play. I am most interested.”

“Oh. Certainly.”

The prince offered his arm and walked off with Cecelia.

James was violently irritated. He didn’t believe the man cared one whit about the music. He’d simply wanted to snatch Cecelia from under James’s nose. At that moment, Prince Karl looked back over his shoulder, caught James’s angry look, and smiled—a provocative display of strong white teeth that confirmed every suspicion.

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