Page 26 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

James saw red. Cecelia belonged to him! That is, she didn’t yet. He hadn’t had the chance to persuade her. But he would! They’d worked side by side for years. They’d talked of intimate, private matters. They’d struggled to solve problems together. Obviously she would never prefer some foreigner to him.

But this foreigner was a prince, commented a dry inner voice. Romantic tales were full of princes. Rescuing damsels, breaking curses, vanquishing monsters. They were the heroes of all the stories. Where were the dukes? He recalled several who played rather ambiguous roles in Shakespeare. Had Bluebeard been a duke? No! What the deuce was he thinking? Cecelia was too sensible to be swayed by a title from some insignificant little country, held by a sneaking, self-satisfied…buffoon.

Princess, whispered that inner voice. Could any woman spurn that title?

James watched her, standing beside Prince Karl, talking to a younger lady near the pianoforte. Cecelia was smiling, animated, lovely in her rose-colored gown. James had never seen her look more desirable. Had she done something new with her hair or style of dress recently? Perhaps. Very likely. Something had certainly drawn his notice.

The prince glanced over at him with another brief, sly grin. The wretch was enjoying himself at James’s expense. Apparently, he was one of those men who had to contend, to win. And he obviously thought that he was.

This meant war.

James turned and found that Cecelia’s four young friends, and Henry Deeping, were all gazing at him. For an instant, he felt exposed. Which was silly. They couldn’t know his thoughts. He might have frowned, but they didn’t know why. He returned their looks, appraising now. A war went better with allies. Might these be his?

Henry would be on his side, should it come to…anything. The young ladies’ loyalties were less certain. Cecelia liked them; she’d said so. That meant they must have some redeeming qualities. She didn’t befriend just anyone. It also meant that she would care about their opinions. He should enlist them to his cause. If only he could remember their names.

James had never bothered to learn how to converse with debutantes. His chief aim in life up to now had been to avoid doing so, to discourage any false hopes. Was it possible to make friends with quite young ladies while not rousing wrongheaded expectations? How would one go about that?

“What do you make of Prince Karl?” asked the dark, spiky one.

Henry’s sister, James knew her last name at least. And he’d been assured that she was not romantically interested in him. Her satirical tone seemed to confirm this. “Make of him, Miss Deeping?”

“Think, judge, evaluate.”

“Charlotte,” said the one with the ferocious eyebrows. She really was a fierce-looking girl. But she’d provided one name, which James appreciated.

“Well, it wasn’t a difficult question,” replied Miss Charlotte Deeping. “There is no arcane philosophy involved tonight.” The glance she shot James suggested that she remembered his remarks at Lady Tate’s.

“You’ll never attract a beau if you snap at people, Char,” said Henry Deeping.

Precisely what James had been thinking.

“Isn’t it fortunate, then, that I had no such intention? There is no one here I wish to attract.”

The red-haired girl choked on a laugh. Her name was lost to James.

Henry’s sister frowned. “It is just…if he is to be pursuing Cecelia, I think we should investigate him.”

Pursuing—the word vibrated in James’s brain, making him think of hares and hounds, deer and thundering hooves. He had never disliked a word before. Now suddenly he despised one.

“He does seem to be,” said the short, sandy-haired one. “Don’t you think so, my lord duke?”

These were unlike any young ladies James had encountered in society up to now. He threw Henry Deeping an imperative look. Clearly amused, his friend said, “Is that your view,Miss Moran?”

“I just said it was,” she replied, puzzled.

“We shouldn’t talk about such things in present company,” said the redhead.

“Oh, don’t mind us, Miss Finch,” said Henry. “I am only a brother, and Tereford has been acquainted with Miss Vainsmede for half his life.”

“Half his life,” repeated the girl with the fearsome eyebrows.

“Yes indeed, Miss Grandison,” replied Henry.

His sister wrinkled her nose at him. James suspected that she knew Henry had been identifying the ladies for him. This time, he committed their names to memory.

“I wish Peter had come tonight,” said Miss Grandison.

“Peter is Miss Grandison’s intended, the Duke of Compton,” Henry explained to James.

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