The Unexpected Duchess (9 page)

“And what do you intend to win?” she replied.

He bowed again. “Why, the coveted dance with you, my lady.” This, he said loud enough for the entire audience to hear.

Lucy had to concentrate to keep from allowing her jaw to fall open. As if that rogue truly wanted a dance with her. It was ludicrous, of course, but not much of a threat. She had every intention of winning.

“Very well, Your Grace. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

The crowd seemed to lean forward collectively, eager to watch the proceedings. “This is almost better than the theater,” she heard Jane say from somewhere in the large mass of people.

“You sound confident that I will fail, Lady Lucy,” the duke said.

“I
am
confident, Your Grace.” Lucy couldn’t help the little thrill that shot through her at the prospect of the challenge. My, but it had been an age since anyone had asked her to dance and even longer since anyone had challenged her, truly challenged her. She was used to slicing potential suitors to bits with her tongue and continuing about her affairs. But this man—oh, not that he was
her
suitor, no, he was Cass’s suitor—at least he challenged her. Didn’t hang his head and slink away like a wounded animal. Oh, yes, she was looking forward to this, a bit too much actually.

The duke folded his hands behind his back and began to pace around the cleared circle. “I shall begin with the obvious. ‘Dancing with a man of your charm might make me swoon, my lord.’”

Lucy rolled her eyes.

“‘I could not in good conscience accept your offer to dance when there are so many other ladies here with dance cards just begging to be filled by someone as prestigious as yourself.’”

A little smirk popped to her lips. He circled around her.

“‘It would be rude of me to dance with you, knowing my skill would only serve to cast you in a less-than-flattering light.’”

“I like that one,” she admitted.

“‘I wouldn’t dare be so presumptuous as to accompany his lordship onto the dance floor knowing the color of my gown would clash with my lord’s dashing evening attire.’”

“Preposterous,” she said, pretending to study her slipper.

“‘I’m sorry, my lord, but my maid laced my stays too tightly to possibly consider the exertion.’”

“That one’s just silly,” she replied. “Besides, I wager you’ve heard all those and more.”

“A few,” he admitted with a grin.

“I confess myself disappointed,” she said. “I thought you had more imagination than that, Your Grace.” The crowd was watching her but instead of feeling self-conscious or shy, Lucy found she relished the attention. It had been an age since anyone in the
ton
took any notice of her. And here was the dashing Duke of Claringdon challenging her to a verbal duel. The best part was that it seemed to be
enhancing
her reputation instead of shredding it to bits as Cass had feared. Everyone’s gaze was trained on her with a mixture of awe and envy.

“I’m not done yet,” the duke continued. “‘I’m sorry, my lord, but I cannot possibly dance with you, as I’m having my wig washed.’”

She snorted at that. “I do
not
wear a wig.”

“Not the point,” he added with a grin. “Where was I?”

“Number six,” someone called helpfully from the crowd.

“Quite right. Let’s see. Political. ‘I’m sorry my lord, but I must decline as I’ve taken a vow of no dancing until the Importation Act is defeated.’”

“As if,” Lucy scoffed.

He didn’t stop to take a breath. “‘I’m sorry, my lord, but there isn’t time as I’m to be a stowaway on a ship bound for the Americas tonight.’”

“That one doesn’t even make sense.” But she couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes, but it’s interesting, is it not?” he asked with a roguish grin.

The crowd cheered in appreciation. Lucy shrugged.

“‘Being so close to a gentleman of your esteemed stature is likely to fluster me so much I shall tread upon your feet,’” he offered.

“Hardly,” she snorted.

“‘If I were to dance with you, my lord, I’d jeopardize my prestigious position as head wallflower.’”

Jane materialized from the crowd, pointing a finger in the air. “To be precise, Your Grace,
I
happen to be the current holder of the prestigious position as head wallflower.”

“Duly noted,” the duke said with a grin.

Lucy shook her head at her friend. Jane nodded and blended back into the crowd.

The duke was playing to the audience now, smiling outright and clearly enjoying himself. “‘I’d rather be shooting at Napoleon than dancing with you.’”

Lucy inclined her head. “I’m not a half bad shot.”

“‘I cannot dance because I have to look for my smelling salts.’”

Lucy afforded him a long-suffering stare. “Not likely.”

“‘I’d rather be eating army rations,’” he added. And then, “‘I’d rather be buying a turban.’”

“A turban?” She gave him an incredulous look.

“‘It’s far too warm to dance,’” he continued.

She sighed. “That one’s probably true.”

He tugged at his lapels. “‘Dancing is against my morals.’”

She giggled at that.

“‘Aww, I would dance with you but I don’t want to make you look inept.’”

“Far too similar to an earlier reply,” she scoffed.

“That was number eighteen!” someone called from the sidelines. Lucy could have sworn it was Garrett.

She gave the duke a challenging stare. “Only two more. Can you manage, Your Grace?”

He straightened his already straight cravat. “‘I would not care to fend off the hordes of other ladies vying for a dance with you this evening.’”

“Number nineteen!” the crowd shouted.

Lucy drew in a deep breath. One more. Only one more. He was going to do it. He was going to win. And that meant … she would have to dance with him.

The duke cleared his throat. “I’ve saved the best for last.” He gave her a wicked smile. “‘I’m afraid, my lord, that if I were to dance with you, I’d be entirely too charmed and end up falling hopelessly, madly in love with you.’”

“Number twenty!” someone shouted. Cheers went up just before the crowd became silent. Tension filled the room. Lucy held her breath. Everyone was watching her. By God, the man had done it. He’d come up with twenty things to say that were better than her simple “No, thank you.” He’d shown her up. She should be embarrassed. Humiliated. Instead all she could think of was the fact that she’d promised him a dance.

The duke took his time. He strolled to the end of the open space and strolled back. He gave her an arch grin. “I have one more. An extra reply, if you will. One to replace the questionable number eighteen.”

More cheers from the crowd. Lucy eyed him carefully. “One more?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“I’m on tenterhooks.” She tried to sound bored and hoped her voice didn’t shake.

He cleared his throat. “‘Why, Your Grace, I’d be delighted to be your partner for the next dance.’”

She smothered her smile behind her glove.

“Don’t you think that’s infinitely better than, ‘No, thank you’?” he asked. “I do.”

The crowd erupted into cheers once again.

Lucy pushed up her head and swallowed. She had to give it to him. He had won. As if on cue, a waltz began to play.

He strolled over to her and offered her his hand. “My lady, I believe you owe me this dance.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Lucy tried to quell the riotous nerves swirling around in her belly the moment the duke offered her his hand. Never let it be said that she was anything but a gracious loser. She curtsied to him and placed her gloved hand on his.

The crowd melted away as others paired up for the waltz, but a steady buzz of whispers kept up and Lucy had no doubts they were all talking about them. She should muster some sort of outrage, but she had to be fair. “No. thank you.” It hadn’t been her most shining example of wit. He’d seen his opening and taken it. Well done of him, actually.

He may have won, but she didn’t have to enjoy dancing with him. When she thought about it reasonably, the waltz wasn’t the bad part. No, Lucy was more upset that he hadn’t failed because it meant he wouldn’t stop pursuing Cass. But even as Lucy told herself that, she knew it wasn’t why she was disappointed. There had been little hope that he would stop trying to court Cass. The wager had been lost before it had begun. She’d told herself she’d really only hoped he’d make a fool of himself, but the truth was that the reason she was truly disappointed was because she knew the duke
would
still be pursuing Cass. He might be dancing with her at the moment—and he was a lovely dancer—but he would be back at Cass’s side sooner rather than later. Why did the thought make Lucy so melancholy?

“You’re angry,” he said as he spun her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy spotted Garrett, Jane, and Cass watching them. “No.” She shook her head. “I’m not, actually.”

“Why am I not convinced?” he replied.

She shrugged. “You won. I lost. It’s simple.”

His grin was devilish. “Do you regret having to dance with me?”

She smiled at that. “Reluctantly, I must admit, you’re an accomplished dancer, Your Grace.”

He laughed. “Does that surprise you?”

She pursed her lips. “I pictured you more of a skilled soldier.”

“Believe me, I’m much better on a battlefield than in a ballroom.”

“Then you must be quite good on the battlefield.” Ooh, she shouldn’t have said that. Her cheeks heated.

His eyes were hooded. “You’re quite pretty when you blush.”

She shook her head and glanced away. “I forget myself. I mustn’t add to your legendary arrogance by complimenting you.”

He squeezed her hands and a little thrill shot through Lucy’s body. “I think I can take a few compliments.”

She had to laugh at that. Why, was he trying to charm her? If she didn’t know any better she’d think so. And it had been an age since anyone other than her father’s old friends who had gout and felt sorry for her had asked her to dance. Well, her father’s old friends or Garrett. Either way they were pity dances. But to take to the floor with this handsome, dashing young partner, to feel pretty, to feel as if she were actually being courted. Oh, it was too much. It made her long for things she knew weren’t for her. And she wasn’t being courted. She wasn’t. She must remember that. This man was Cass’s beau, whether Cass wanted him or not. Lucy had to remember that. Had to. She and Cass and Jane had agreed. First they’d see Cass free of the duke, then they’d concentrate on convincing Jane’s mother to leave her alone to be a bluestocking, and
then
they’d concentrate on finding a husband for Lucy. Not a love, certainly, but a husband. A good man who wouldn’t be scared of her and who would treat her decently. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask. Cass would help her. Cass was so good at charming people.

And speaking of Cass, Lucy would do well to at least attempt to convince the duke of the futility of his efforts there … for the umpteenth time. It was a more industrious use of her time than indulging in useless fantasies.

She took a deep breath. “I know I didn’t win the bet, but I do have to say I think you should really listen to me when I tell you that your courting Cass is a waste of time.”

He shook his head. A bit of the shine faded from his eyes. His voice was solemn. “Lucy, that’s not going to happen.”

The use of her Christian name made Lucy suck in her breath sharply. “I don’t think you understand how committed she is to the man she loves.”

“The man who refuses to offer for her?”

“It’s complicated.”

“No doubt. But the fact is that I made a promise, and I—”

Lucy shook her head. “Promise? What are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve made up my mind. And when I make up my mind, I don’t change it. They don’t call me the Duke of Decisive for nothing.”

Lucy wanted to jerk herself out of his arms. There it was again, his insane arrogance. “We’re talking about a woman’s life here. Not a move made in battle.”

“I know exactly what we’re talking about. It’s my life, too. If Lady Cassandra had told me she was betrothed to another, or even that she intends to be, I’d be more inclined to stop my pursuit of her. But she’s told me herself on more than one occasion that that is not the case.”

Lucy gritted her teeth. “But she hopes to be betrothed. She
wishes
to be.”

“Wishes and hopes are quite different from reality,” he said simply.

Lucy stopped dancing. She tugged her hands out of his grasp. “You think I don’t know that?” Then she turned in a swirl of green skirts and strode away.

*   *   *

Derek watched her go. He supposed he deserved to be left alone on the floor after he’d won the wager and embarrassed her in front of the occupants of the ballroom. He’d been astonished actually when she hadn’t seemed incensed at the beginning of their dance. It was as if she admired him for his little show. No doubt she found it brave of any man to take her on. She was different tonight. As if something had changed between them. In fact, if he didn’t know any better, he’d swear he’d seen tears in her eyes just before she’d walked away.

God, Lucy Upton was a conundrum. He had to grudgingly admit that he’d been surprised that she hadn’t acted petulant and angry after he’d won the bet. She’d taken her defeat quite easily, actually. Why had he expected less of her? She was a worthy opponent, Lady Lucy. Not one to act anything other than gracious when fairly defeated. He couldn’t help but admire that about her.

“You won. I lost. It’s simple.” She’d said it so matter-of-factly, without the hint of trying to garner sympathy or a shred of self-pity. He liked that about her. Liked it a lot.

Dancing with her, talking with her, verbally sparring with her even, had been the most enjoyment he’d had since he’d come back to London. She was challenging and interesting. He looked forward to spending time in her company if he was being honest. But it didn’t change the fact that he intended to marry Lady Cassandra. He’d spent his life making the right decisions, the first time. He wasn’t about to second-guess this one. It had actually dimmed his enthusiasm for the conversation with Lucy when she had changed the subject and brought up Lady Cassandra. Cassandra was an entirely different issue. It was like discussing one’s landholdings versus one’s moves on the battlefield. It was almost as if the two shouldn’t meet.