Page 20 of An Unwanted Bride for the Duke
Seraphine watched him retreat with remarkable speed before slowly turning her gaze toward the Duke. He merely took another sip of coffee as though he had not just chased away one of her most promising prospects.
The brute.
Beside her, Mr. Hawthorne appeared to sense danger approaching. He devoted himself to his eggs with the concentration of a man attempting to avoid execution.
Unfortunately for him, the Duke had already selected a new victim.
“Hawthorne,” he said pleasantly.
The poor man visibly winced before looking up. “Your Grace,” he replied with obvious caution.
The Duke folded his hands before him. “How are your finances these days?”
Mr. Hawthorne nearly choked. After coughing into his napkin, he stared across the table. “My finances?”
“Yes,” the Duke replied, his tone remaining perfectly conversational. “I heard rumors regarding your… gambling debts.”
The gentleman nearly dropped his fork. Seraphine could only stare across the table in disbelief.
Good heavens. The Duke is hunting them.
“There were no debts,” Mr. Hawthorne said quickly, straightening in his chair as though confidence alone might save him.
“Excellent,” the Duke replied smoothly, setting down his coffee cup.
“There were merely... temporary difficulties,” the man amended, shifting uncomfortably beneath the scrutiny.
“I see,” the Duke said with a thoughtful nod.
“Entirely temporary,” Mr. Hawthorne added.
The Duke’s expression remained maddeningly pleasant as he tilted his head and asked, “And the creditors?”
Mr. Hawthorne closed his eyes briefly, looking like a man praying for divine intervention. “What about them?”
“Were they temporary as well?” he enquired.
Several guests immediately choked on laughter, while others bent their heads over their plates in a futile attempt to hide their amusement. Mr. Hawthorne looked ready to throw himself from the nearest window.
“The matter has been resolved,” he said stiffly.
“Splendid,” the Duke replied.
The poor man glanced around desperately, clearly searching for an escape route. Finding none, he abruptly pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.
“I believe I would like a walk,” he announced.
“You do?” the Duke asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“I do now,” Mr. Hawthorne declared before making a hasty retreat from the room.
Seraphine watched him flee, then slowly lowered her gaze to the two empty chairs flanking her. A moment later she looked across the table at the Duke, who appeared entirely pleased with himself.
Her annoyance flared instantly. Without thinking, she stretched out her foot beneath the table and kicked his shin. Not hard. Just enough.
The Duke paused in the act of refilling his coffee. Slowly, very slowly, he lifted his gaze to hers.
An infuriating smirk appeared.
