Page 112 of A Scandalous Kind of Duke

Juno was searching the crowd. She stilled when she saw him. Their eyes met. He waited, desperately, for her crooked grin to spread over her beloved face. It never came. Her expression went remote. She lifted her chin haughtily. She looked at him right down her nose.

But even from this distance, he saw the smile and love in her eyes.

* * *

Even across the room,Juno saw the smile and love in Leo’s eyes. It warmed her so thoroughly, she had to remember to maintain her appearance of aristocratic aloofness and not shove aside this pestilent crowd and hurl herself into his arms. He eased toward her; she drifted away. A heady new confidence rushed through her.

Just as well, for she’d not gone far when a lady claimed her attention.

“You are an artist, are you not? I remember you from Mrs. Prescott’s garden party,” the lady said, and fired a glance at another pair of ladies who were watching, their lips tight with suppressed giggles. Juno suspected she had become the subject of a dare.

The lady waved her list of paintings like a fan. “My friends and I are so intolerably ignorant,” she said, as her friends crept closer. “We know many of the artists listed here, but we’ve never heard of this Leyster chap. That’s an English name surely? But you must know him.”

Juno managed a smile. “Judith Leyster was neither a chap nor English. She was Dutch and was born nearly two centuries ago. Many notable women artists were working during the Dutch Golden Age.”

This stunning fact invited gasps from the ladies.

An older gentleman joined their conversation. “Manyof them?” he repeated. “How interesting. Why did Holland produce so many talented women artists, do you think, given there are so few elsewhere?”

Or maybe she was the butt of a joke, Juno amended. But she must remain polite and gracious. A duchess was always gracious and polite, even when asked questions like that.

“Because of the tulips, of course,” she said.

“The tulips?”

Her new friends looked at her expectantly, as if desperate for her next pearl of wisdom. Yet before she could feed them another scrap of nonsense, their attention shifted to someone behind her.

She felt Leo’s presence at her side even before she heard him say, “Yes, the tulips. When Dutch children play among the tulips, the beauty awakens artistic sentiments in boys and girls alike.” He paused. “Scientific fact.”

As they exclaimed on this marvel of nature, he slid his fingers around her elbow and gently drew her away.

“The tulips?” he said, one eyebrow raised.

She laughed, then hastily covered her mouth. Fine ladies did not laugh. “It was the first thing to come out of my mouth. I had no idea how to answer his question without being rude.” She faced him. “I am trying very hard to be polite and gracious, and to behave like a—”

She stopped, lacking the courage to say “duchess,” when she did not know what Leo wanted, or if anything had changed.

“Proper lady,” she finished weakly. She took a deep, steadying breath.

His hand slid down her arm to curl around hers. Even through two layers of gloves, she could feel his warmth, his strength. His very essence of Leo.

And it was a heady delight to see him in evening clothes, too. His coat was black and his cravat white, but his waistcoat was magenta silk, upon which were embroidered plump carnations, roses, and tulips within golden foliage scrolls.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured.

“So do you. And it is most peculiar, but no one has snubbed me. Even though my career as an artist in London is irrevocably ruined.”

“I am very sorry you lost your career. But perhaps being a duchess might prove a tolerable alternative?”

Her heart stopped. “You are at liberty to speak, then?”

“Yes. Miss Macey has been so kind as to release me. Forgive me for departing so abruptly earlier. It felt only right to speak to her first.” He huffed out ruefully. “It is rather difficult, juggling all these women.”

Her chin jerked back. “Allthese women?”

“Well, only two. But that is twice as many entanglements as I have ever dealt with before. I am not a libertine, I am sorry to say.”

“I am not at all sorry to hear it.”

---