Page 1 of A Highly Unlikely Duchess
CHAPTER ONE
“Are you quite all right, Your Grace?”
Theodore didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned his head slightly, pressed two fingers briefly to his mouth, and cleared his throat with as much dignity as the situation would allow. Which was, admittedly, not a great deal. The champagne had caught in the back of his throat the moment Lady Beatrice uttered that ridiculous statement. He swallowed hard, his lungs burning as he fought to remain elegant while his body staged a minor coup.
He straightened his waistcoat, the broad line of his shoulders shifting as he forced his breath to level out.
“My apologies, Lady Beatrice,” he said, his voice a fraction rougher than it had been a moment ago. He took a slow breath, and his gaze narrowed as he looked down at her. “The bubbles in this vintage are surprisingly aggressive tonight. Now, I must have misheard you. You were saying something about... a list?”
Beatrice offered a small, knowing smile, seemingly charmed by his momentary lapse in poise. She leaned in a fraction closer, the scent of her lavender water brushing past him.
“The list Lady Julia Birks’ is keeping,” she said, her voice dropping slightly. “For you.”
Theodore looked at her. Then he looked at his champagne glass.
He had consumed precisely one and a half glasses that evening, which was nowhere near enough to be hearing things. Yet... he wasn’t entirely sure he... wasn’t hearing things.
“A list?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“For me?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” She smiled, tilting her head slightly.
The night had been going so well.
That was the thing. That was precisely the thing that made it so jarring. Theodore had spent the better part of an hour cultivating what he considered to be a rather masterful evening with Lady Beatrice Hartwell, and it had been going beautifully. She had laughed at exactly the right moments. She had held his gaze a beat longer than propriety strictly allowed. She hadeven, at one delicious point, touched his arm while making a point about something he had already forgotten, which in his considerable experience meant he had her.
Not in any improper sense, naturally. Simply in the way that mattered at a ball. She was charmed. He had charmed her. It was what he did, and he did it well. The evening had been unfolding with the smooth inevitability of a situation that was always going to go his way...
...Until it didn’t.
“What sort of list?” he asked with a sigh.
“A list of suitable candidates, Your Grace.”
“Candidates,” he said slowly, testing the word as one might test thin ice. “For what, precisely?”
She smiled. It was a very patient smile. “For marriage.”
Theodore’s smile remained perfectly in place, though it felt suddenly heavy on his face. He stared at her, the silence between them stretching long enough to become awkward. To him, marriage was a word that belonged in dusty ledgers and funeral sermons, not in a ballroom filled with the scent of expensive perfume and the promise of a light, meaningless evening.
“Marriage,” he repeated. He let a small, breathless laugh escape. “I was under the impression that I was already wedded to mybachelorhood. It is a very happy union, I assure you. We never argue about the draperies.”
Beatrice giggled lightly. “Well, Lady Birks mentioned that you were finally ready to take your place. She is vetting a selection of ladies to ensure only the most suitable are presented for your consideration. She spoke to Lady Marriot about it only an hour ago.”
Theodore looked across the room, his mind racing. He was the man who lived for the thrill of the chase, the maverick who treated the Season like a playground. He was not a prize livestock to be groomed for market.
“I take it you,” he began, his eyes narrowing. “...you have joined this... registry?”
“I spoke to her myself,” Lady Cecily admitted, her cheeks coloring a delicate pink. “I mean, you are exceptionally handsome, Your Grace. Charming, titled, wealthy.” She gestured vaguely, as though the full inventory of his appeal was too extensive to list standing up. “Who in their right mind would not want to be on the list?”
“I see,” he said, his voice now a masterpiece of smooth, deceptive calm. He leaned in just a fraction, enough to make Beatrice’s breath hitch. “Did Lady Birks happen to mention the qualifications for this 'perfect bride'? Does one need to be proficient in the harp, or is a simple willingness to be bored to death by me sufficient?”
“Bored?” Beatrice laughed, the sound bright and a little breathless as she leaned instinctively toward him. “Your Grace, I truly doubt there is a woman in all of London, or the whole of England for that matter, who could ever find you boring. You are far too...energetic for such a thing.”
Theodore tilted his head, his blonde hair catching the light as he offered her a conspiratorial wink. It was a reflexive move, the kind of easy magnetism that had made him the most hunted bachelor of the Season. “Energy can be exhausting, Lady Beatrice. Don’t you think? I have been told my company is akin to a very long, very loud thunderstorm. Exciting at first, perhaps, but eventually one just wants to go inside and find a dry towel.”
