What the Duke Wants (8 page)

“Excellent. Keep me posted.”

And like that, Ambrose was preoccupied again, which was quite unusual to say the least.

Hmmm…This week might prove to be most interesting indeed
.

Chapter 6

The Drawing Room, Beckett House…

That evening before dinner…

“So, Stonebridge, where is the infamous cousin I’ve been dying to meet?” asked Cliff,
sotto voce
.

“She’s not here. Believe me, you’ll know she’s arrived when you hear the disturbance,” replied Ambrose, not willing to admit that he, too, had been looking for her dark head from the moment he walked into the drawing room to mingle before dinner. Self-preservation should not be underrated.

As if summoned by their conversation, Miss Radclyffe appeared in the doorway and it was as if the room had brightened with the addition of a hundred more candles. Ambrose was speechless. The word that came to mind was: lovely. She was just that. Lovely. Her hair was simply arranged in a small bun atop her head with a few wisps pulled down to grace her neck and frame her face. Her dress was unadorned and blue to match her eyes. It was modestly cut and perhaps a little outdated and worn, but it fitted her lithe form to perfection. She was one of those women who would look lovely in rags, and she quite unexpectedly took his breath away.

Damn, but I really need to get a hold of myself.

She caught his eye and smiled, and if the earth had opened up and swallowed them whole, he would not have noticed as long as she did not break the connection. He was halfway across the room to her before he realized he had moved. He checked himself before he looked the complete fool, drawing on the self-control he had spent the last seventeen years perfecting.

So smoothly no one could possibly have noticed with the possible exception of Cliff, he readjusted his stride and approached Lady Beatryce who, fortunately, had entered the room behind Miss Radclyffe. He mentally winced when he realized he hadn’t even noticed her arrival.

“Lady Beatryce, how beautiful you look this evening. I must say that color of green becomes you immensely.” Perhaps he laid it on a little too strongly in some bizarre attempt to apologize for his cheating mind.

“Oh, Your Grace, how kind of you to say so,” replied Beatryce with a small smile. She flashed a coquettish look through her lashes, one she probably practiced in front of a mirror on a daily basis. It likely brought lesser men to their knees. Unfortunately, he was unaffected by her wiles.

“Your Grace,” inserted Lady Beatryce’s mother, “I hope your stay has been comfortable and agreeable, thus far. Truly, it is an honor for you to grace us with your presence. Thank you so very much for attending our small but exclusive gathering.”

“Indeed, the honor is all mine,” he replied, in no way revealing his inner thoughts.

There was a slight, almost uncomfortable pause in conversation while he waited for the countess to introduce him to her niece as manners dictated. It took every ounce of his self-control to maintain an unconcerned air and pretend as if every cell in his body were not completely attuned to Grace’s presence nearby.

“Oh, Your Grace, I almost forgot; pray excuse my lapse in manners. May I present my niece, Miss Grace Radclyffe? Grace, may I introduce His Grace, the Duke of Stonebridge?”

“Miss Radclyffe, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He lifted her hand to his lips. If anything, his manners were impeccable. Inside, nothing existed but the two of them. The air was charged with an electric current reminding him of that feeling in the air just before a lightning strike. The charge blanked his mind completely, and he nearly forgot to let go of her hand. And she forgot to curtsey or even respond to his polite greeting at all. He might have been the only one to notice besides Grace. Beatryce and the countess were too focused on him to pay Grace any mind.

For an instant it seemed as if she, too, had noticed the charge in the air. He noticed her eyes flare with heat and untapped passion. He mentally shook himself and settled his mask of calm indifference firmly in place. He dropped her hand as if it would scald him. It certainly felt like it had.

A gong sounded, and for a minute, he wondered if it wasn’t his heart drumming loudly in his ears. Fortunately, that was not the case, and the sound of the gong meant dinner was ready. Ah, blessed relief. He was saved from trying to make small talk with someone who arrested his mind too completely at the moment. He just didn’t trust himself right now.

“Ladies, it has been a pleasure, but I believe as manners dictate, I must escort the Dowager Duchess of Lyme in to dinner. If you will excuse me?”

He didn’t wait for any of the appropriate inane responses, but turned quickly on his heel to attend the Dowager. He was loath to admit it, but he was inexplicably glad to be away from the countess’s censure. He wouldn’t admit he was too discomfited by Grace’s nearness to keep his composure intact, but honestly, it was with welcome relief that he sought out the Dowager to escort into the dining room.

* * * *

Grace looked about to see if anyone else was aware of the turbulent atmosphere. Her eye caught on a smiling, elderly woman sitting sideways on a settee across the room. She was a handsome, wiry woman and obviously petite because her legs dangled girlishly over the side of the settee without even brushing the floor. The mystery lady leaned forward on the cane she had perched in front of her as she thoroughly inspected Grace from head to toe. The woman was colorful in a bright blue dress with a tangerine orange crocheted shawl, which emphasized her faded ginger hair peeking out beneath a wreath of feathers encompassing her head. But what struck Grace the most was the fact that the lady seemed to have a decidedly mischievous look about her. Especially when she caught Grace’s eye and winked. Grace blushed in return, unsure of how to respond.

As the guests lined up for the promenade into the dining room, Grace stood back to allow the nineteen other diners to line up ahead of her. Firstly, with her penchant for mishaps, it was best that she allow a room to clear before she attempted to cross it. Secondly, with her lowly status compared to the other guests, she would most likely be entering last anyway, and she had no idea who her escort was supposed to be. Thirdly, she wanted to remain as far away from the disturbing duke as possible.

As she watched the gentleman find their dinner partners amidst the crowd, she noticed a tall, blonde man with laughing brown eyes headed in her direction. Despite walking in the opposite direction from the majority of the crowd, he proceeded across the room with absolute ease. Everyone automatically made way for this man as if directed by an unseen hand. Oh, she was envious at how easily he maneuvered through the throng of guests. He had a friendly, open smile on his face, and for a moment, she had the silly thought that he might be making his way to her.

“Miss Radclyffe?” he queried as he neared.

She looked behind herself. She still couldn’t believe this man was actually seeking her out, but of course, no one else was on her side of the room and he had used her name. She looked at him with a hesitant smile.

“Yes?”

“Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Clifford Ross, the Marquess of Dansbury, at your service.”

“A pleasure, my lord,” she replied with a gracious smile. Unlike the duke, this man’s open and welcoming countenance put her immediately at ease, as if she had known him for years. Strange, but true.

“Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to dinner?”

“Is that proper, my lord? I mean I am…” her voice trailed off, unsure of what to say, really, without sounding gauche.

“Oh, I’ve known Stonebridge too long to care what he thinks about my manners and I certainly couldn’t care less about anyone else’s here with the exception of my aunt, but then she’s never been one to play by the rules herself and she knows me far too well. No. I am simply here to enjoy a week with my closest friend and it would be infinitely more enjoyable with the company of a beautiful lady, such as yourself, beside me at what is sure to be an otherwise tedious dinner. Besides, apart from my Aunt Harriett, the impish looking lady in the brightly colored shawl just rising from the settee over there, the remaining old biddies here can take a…”

She interrupted him with a laugh. She couldn’t help it. He truly did not seem to care about the rules and his pleasant demeanor was just what she needed at the moment. Clearly, the colorful lady with the wink was this man’s aunt, and they were obviously two of a kind.

“Not that my aunt is an old biddy,” he added.

“Oh? And what would your call her then?”

He looked across the room at his aunt as she rose from the settee with her escort in hand—as if giving the matter serious thought before saying, “A dragon. A rascally, harmless, colorful dragon. But a dragon, nonetheless. Now, how about our walk into dinner? Shall we rattle the duke’s cage and set the biddies’ tongues to wagging?”

“I’m sure I’m supposed to walk in with…”

“Oh, I already spoke to your escort and assured him that Lady Beatryce would be delighted if he would escort her to dinner.”

Grace nearly exploded with laughter. She could just imagine how Beatryce felt about that. And his mischievousness must be contagious for Grace surprised herself by saying, “Well, when you put it that way…why not, my lord?”

“Please, call me Dansbury. When you say ‘my lord’, I have the sudden urge to look over my shoulder for my father.”

“Well, if you insist, my…er Dansbury,” she answered with a wide grin.

“Right, now that we have that sorted, let us proceed to dinner, shall we? I suspect we’re in for a marvelous time of it.”

And as she put her hand on his arm, Grace thought that perhaps this week might not be so bad after all.

* * * *

Grace was laughing at one of Dansbury’s jokes as they entered into the dining room, her hand on his arm. She stopped laughing when she realized everyone in the room, save for the duke and Beatryce, were seated, and all were watching her as if she were some obscene picture on display. Or perhaps some foul offal one picked off from under one’s shoe. No one uttered a word.

She dipped her head to hide her face from the curious stares and tried to ignore the tinge of heat she felt creeping up her neck and filling her cheeks. It wouldn’t do to faint from embarrassment. Not that she had ever fainted in her life. It bothered her that she was so prone to blushing and hadn’t mastered the skill of maintaining a calm, cool façade while under scrutiny. Papa had always said her blushing was a sign of innocence and a heart filled with love and passion. Besides her mother and Bessie, no one else ever appeared to return that sentiment.

Eventually, conversation resumed as the footman entered with the first course. Grace was delighted to find herself seated next to the marquess and far away from His Boorishness, the duke. Not that there was a chance in hell she would have been seated by him. In fact, the more she considered it, she realized it was odd that Dansbury was not nearer to his friend, or that he was even sitting by her at all.

She looked at Dansbury, noticed his amused grin, and gave him a questioning look.

“All right, I confess,” he replied, “I convinced your escort to change seats with me at the table as well as in the lineup. Alas, Stonebridge expects nothing less out of me, and it wouldn’t do for me to disappoint, right?”

“Besides,” he continued, “I expect the conversation here will be infinitely more interesting than what I would have endured in my previously assigned seat. You wouldn’t have wanted me to resort to drastic measures to break the monotony, would you?” He grinned a devilish grin as he unfolded his napkin and placed it in his lap.

“Perhaps not,” she said, “though my father always said laughter was good for the soul.”

“And, I thank you,” she added with a twinkle in her eye. She couldn’t believe the audacity of this man, but she was pleased with the results. Dinner was going to be a much more pleasant affair with the company of this charming man.

“Please, don’t mention it. I must say, I am delighted to enjoy your company for dinner this eve.” He said it with a wink and a smile. Such a charmer, that man.

Like a magnet seeking its other half, she looked down the table at the duke. He was watching Dansbury, and he looked both angry and confused.

* * * *

The first course of dinner proceeded nicely, and with the excellent company of the marquess, who kept up a steady flow of interesting conversation, Grace began to relax and enjoy herself. Alas, all good things do eventually come to an end, and for her, that especially held true when it came to moving about with refinement.

It started when she dropped her napkin near the end of the first course. The napkin fell—nothing shocking in that—however, Grace, who was quite used to retrieving fallen napkins with none being the wiser, was not prepared for an overly efficient footman, who being assigned to watch over her in light of her general clumsiness, readily moved forward with a replacement, only to be halted with a jab in a most awkward location by her elbow as she bent to retrieve said fallen cloth. To the footman’s credit, a slight sheen of perspiration across his forehead was the only outward indication of what had transpired.

She froze. What more could she do than that really? She glanced furtively about. As long as the others proceeded to talk and eat as usual, she could assume no one else had noticed, and then, she could focus on keeping the telling blush from stealing across her face. Not to mention actually eating her food.

She heard the duke choke down some water and couldn’t help but look down the table at him.

Why do I keep looking at him? Did he see my mishap? It would be just my luck. Wait. Was he trying to mask a smile?
Surely not. He’d be scowling at me if he had seen anything.

Right. Keep calm. Take a deep breath. This does not mean more accidents are destined to follow.

Sadly, her relief that the incident had passed unnoticed was short lived; as the second course was being delivered, she put her hand down to the table a little too forcefully such that her hand actually hit the tines of her fork…Just. So. How did it get turned around in that direction anyway?