Page 38 of Better Than a Duke
“You’ve already agreed to one dance this evening. For politeness’s sake, you are now obligated to accept every request given you. You know this.”
Iris shut her eyes for a moment. “I am a mother, Aunt Margaret. I am not some hip-swaying, dampened-muslin wearing, flirtatious debutante. What the duke has potentially offered me—a home, no more monetary concerns, the chance for a better future for Edmund—potentially interests me, but I am not going to strut about swishing my skirts to prove my… attractiveness to men. I don’t have the time, the inclination, or the patience for it.”
Before her aunt could respond to that, Iris set the chair off again, advancing at her best speed to the dessert table. Once there she handed her aunt a plate, took one for herself, and went directly to the sugar-coated strawberries.
“Oh, good God,” a low male voice came from beside her. “Not the strawberries again.”
She snorted, nearly choking on the one she’d popped into her mouth. At the same moment it occurred to her that Lord Hentrose was the reason she hadn’t wanted to give away her waltzes. And that was a bit dismaying, for several reasons. “Good evening, Beckett,” she intoned, swallowing.
He reached past her for a strawberry. “That was quite the smile you favored Michael Agnew with a moment ago. You’re not armed, are you?”
“I hope my… discontent with the evening isn’t that transparent,” she muttered under her breath, pretending to assess the desserts. “I used to be adept at navigating this sea.”
“I don’t think it was obvious. It’s only that I’ve seen you infuriated, so I recognize the signs. What did he want?”
“A waltz.”
The marquis stilled beside her. “Good God. And you didn’t murder him where he stood?”
“Evidently, word has gotten about that I’m on the Duke of Trent’s list of potential brides, so suddenly other men have decided to notice me. Men who two days ago wouldn’t even look at a widowed mother now believe that, surprisingly enough, I’m still pleasant to look upon.”
He took a second strawberry. “If it improves your mood to hear it, I’m being trailed by debutantes like a mother duck with her ducklings. Where I go, they follow.”
“I suppose it does make me feel a bit better to hear your trials and tribulations.”
“I’m not making them up. Look to my right. Don’t make it obvious, though, or you’ll cause a stampede and we’ll all be killed.”
She glanced past his shoulder to see a half dozen young ladies,all with empty plates, pretending to peruse the dessert table while jockeying to be the female nearest the marquis. Iris chuckled. “Oh, you poor dear.”
“Yes. Do you have a waltz to spare? It would save me from being accosted, beginning a fight, and possible tears.”
“Your tears, or theirs?”
“Both,” he answered.
“I have the second waltz available, though I’m hoping we’ll depart before then.”
“I’ll take it. It gives me an excuse not to take the floor if you leave.”
Pulling out her dance card, she wrote “Beckett” on the line for the second waltz. “Done. I happen to have several quadrilles, a cotillion, and two country dances also to let, if you’re interested.”
With a grin he popped the strawberry into his mouth. “I am, but I also have to save one or two for Lady Pauline and my mother—though I suspect if Lady Hentrose takes to the floor it will open beneath her, revealing the flames of hell.”
“Oh, ask her, then. A flaming dance floor would remove me from the obligation of dancing, and possibly provide a way for me to rid myself of any ungainly partners.”
“You dance well, you know.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “And kiss well.”
“Hush,” she hissed, her cheeks warming. “I was drunk.”
“As was I. And it was a damned fine kiss. You aren’t dead, you know.”
“I’m aware.”
“So am I.” He stayed where he was for another moment. “I’m taking Rebecca to see Madame Tussaud’s exhibit tomorrow. It’s been traveling the country and has landed back at the Lyceum for a handful of weeks. I think Edmund would enjoy it, as well. Would the two of you care to join us?”
“Yes.”
“That was quick.”
