Page 33 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

He was gazing at her, single-minded, demanding. And so very handsome in his austere evening clothes—his broad shoulders filling out the dark coat, his face a classical perfection, his dark hair an artfully tousled Brutus. Things had changed so quickly between them. She didn’t truly believe in it. She continually expected everything to fall back like Cinderella’s coach reverting to a pumpkin. And yet the reversal was delectable. She nearly laughed aloud with delight.

He began moving toward her—a slow process in the crowded room. He was stopped repeatedly to speak with acquaintances. She wouldn’t stand here like a mooncalf watching him. Cecelia turned away and joined her friends’ conversation. But she felt it when James came to her side a bit later, even before he said, “Miss Vainsmede.” The thread of connection that had long been established between them had shifted to a higher vibration recently.

His bow included them all. “Ladies.”

A chorus of murmured greetings answered him.

“We were talking of tonight’s tableaux,” said Charlotte.

“Tableaux?” He frowned over the word.

“Mrs. Landry’s daughters will be recreating famous scenes from ancient history,” said Sarah.

Briefly, James looked appalled. Cecelia saw it. She wasn’t certain whether the others did. She bit back her smile.

“You can see why they might choose to,” said Harriet. “Clio, Euterpe, Melpomene, and Calliope.” She ticked the names off on her fingers as she spoke.

Cecelia had rarely seen James at a loss. Even when much younger he’d been good at hiding ignorance. Now, he’d gone blank. She took pity on him. “Mrs. Landry’s daughters have classical Greek names,” she said.

“From the Muses,” said Sarah. “Some of them.”

“She took care to avoid the racier ones, like Erato,” added Charlotte.

“And I would have chosen Thalia over Melpomene,” said Sarah. Seeming to notice James’s confusion, she added, “Comedy over tragedy, you know.”

“It is also far easier to pronounce,” said Harriet dryly.

“No doubt you studied all nine muses at Eton,” Cecelia couldn’t help but add.

“Studied?” replied James. His tone implied that she’d mentioned some alien activity. “I don’t recall doing anything like that.”

“How very aristocratic of you,” said Harriet with dry disapproval.

She’d nonplussed him. James was not accustomed to being criticized. Cecelia nearly pitied him. But not quite. It should be a salutary process.

He turned to Sarah. “What part of England do you come from?” he asked her.

Cecelia blinked, surprised. This was not James’s sort of question. Nor was he prone to such sudden, awkward shifts of subject.

“I grew up in Cornwall,” replied Sarah. “Padstow. It’s very near Tintagel.”

“Tin…?”

“Where King Arthur’s mother lived and Uther Pendragon visited her disguised as her husband.”

Once again, James was clearly bewildered. He’d never been much of a reader. This was nearly as good as a play, Cecelia thought. What would he say? She had no intention of helping him.

“Disguised?” was the response he chose.

“Well, magically altered,” said Sarah. “By Merlin. So Igraine would think it was Gorlois. And, er…ah, welcome him. Uther, that is. Because their union was fated and…”

Ada cleared her throat audibly.

Sarah grimaced in response. “Once I begin on King Arthur, I talk too much,” she said.

James glanced at Cecelia. She gave him a sweet smile that said, no, she wouldn’t rescue him. Why should she? It was too amusing to watch him extricate himself. Or not. She rather hoped he would not.

“Are you enjoying the season, Miss Moran?” he asked.

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