Page 10 of Caught by the Forbidden Duke
“Lady Rosenhall. Lady Annabelle. Miss Thrupton.” He nodded to Lady Rosenhall, who received it with the graciousness of a woman who had not yet decided what to make of him.
“Cousin Edith!” Helena’s head turned toward the far end of the room, where a woman in yellow was waving with considerable energy. She touched her mother’s arm. “Mama, it’s Cousin Edith…she said she might come tonight?—”
Lady Rosenhall followed her daughter’s gaze, and her expression softened by a fraction. “Do excuse us,” she said, to no one in particular, and steered Helena away.
Which left Annabelle to face the Duke, and she narrowed her eyes at him.
“What exactly did you say to him?” Annabelle asked.
“I asked after his business.”
“He looked like a man caught cheating at cards.”
“Fenwick,” Dominic said, “has had the notable achievement of being refused entry to two separate establishments in the same week. It is not a commonplace distinction.”
She paused. “What sort of establishments?”
He looked at her. “Not the sort you are thinking.”
She absorbed this with a slight flush in her cheeks. “I see.” She glanced at Lady Rosenhall, who had drawn Miss Thrupton into conversation with a passing acquaintance. “Then I suppose I should thank you.”
“You should choose more carefully, my lady.”
Her chin went up a fraction. “I spoke to him for four minutes.”
“Four minutes during which he was calculating your dowry, your brother’s influence, and what an alliance with the Stanton name might offset. In that order.”
She looked at him steadily. “Do you always assume the worst of everyone, Your Grace?”
“I assume accurately. There is a difference.” He accepted a fresh glass from a passing footman. “You intend to find a match this season, do you not? If that is your genuine intention, youshould know that a significant portion of the men who will approach you tonight have histories your brother would find objectionable.”
“Every man in the ton has secrets,” She huffed, as if she were pointing out that the sun rose in the east.
“Yes. But not all secrets are equally objectionable.” He let his gaze travel the room. “Lord Hartfield, at two o’clock, was engaged once before. The engagement was broken. He has never said why. His previous intended is now married to someone else, lives in the country, and does not come to London.”
Annabelle followed his gaze and looked back with a frown. “That could have several explanations.”
“It could.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You are not going to tell me which one you believe.”
“I don’t need to.” He watched her register this. “I am not saying that you must find a perfect man. I am saying that a good man and a respectable man are not always the same thing. You believe you can tell the difference; I am saying that requires information.”
“I don’t want a perfect man,” she said, with a directness that cut through the room’s ambient noise rather effectively. “I want a good one. Decent character. Someone who treats people wellwhen there is nothing to be gained from it.” She held his gaze without wavering. “That is the only measure I need.”
He considered this for a moment. “That is a simpler test than most women apply.”
“Most women have been told to measure in other ways.” She tilted her head. “Can you point me toward anyone who passes it, Your Grace?”
He scanned the room. “Give me the evening.”
She held his gaze for a beat. Then Lady Rosenhall returned with Miss Thrupton, and the moment dissolved into the usual social machinery.
He spent the next hour moving through the room, and occasionally found himself watching Lady Annabelle rather than anyone else. He told himself it was because she was his best friend’s sister, and it was his duty to ensure she was not being snared by anyone disreputable.
This was a serviceable enough reason. He kept to it.
The piano was playing when Annabelle came through the door.
