Page 30 of An Unwanted Bride for the Duke
Damien nearly rolled his eyes. “How inspiring.”
“It can,” Caspian said with a grin.
“It can also make him an idiot.”
Caspian barked a laugh. “That too.”
“Excellent.” Damien lifted his glass in mock salute. “Then my argument remains intact.”
The other Duke merely shook his head and ignored him.
“As someone who once believed much the same, I can assure you that some things are worth the risk.”
Damien took a long drink from his brandy before lowering the glass and glancing sideways at Caspian. “Marriage suits you,” he remarked dryly.
“It does,” Caspian replied without hesitation, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Damien grimaced. “You are becoming unbearably optimistic.”
A laugh escaped Caspian as he lifted his own glass. “It is a symptom of happiness.”
“Horrifying,” Damien muttered, earning another chuckle from his brother-in-law.
As the conversation drifted, his thoughts wandered despite himself, settling upon a certain dark-haired lady with an ease that had become increasingly irritating of late. He had upheldhis promise to Seraphine. Three candidates had been found and thoroughly investigated.
Lord Shelding, Lord Cunningham, and Lord Everend were all respectable options. Each possessed a title, substantial wealth, and a reputation that had thus far survived scrutiny. They were of suitable age, maintained orderly households, and had managed to avoid producing bastards or attracting scandal. None drank to excess, none gambled away fortunes, and none inspired fear in servants, relatives, or Society at large.
In short, they were precisely the sort of men a sensible young lady ought to consider marrying.
Damien should have been satisfied with his work. Instead, he found himself cataloguing their flaws.
Shelding spoke too much and seemed incapable of allowing silence to exist naturally. Cunningham possessed all the excitement of a well-made ledger. Everend smiled far too often, as though life had never presented him with a genuine inconvenience.
The objections were absurd. He knew they were absurd. Yet they persisted all the same.
More troubling was the realization that he would rather endure Seraphine's fury and accusations of dishonor than watch her genuinely favor any one of them. The thought lodged itself beneath his ribs like a thorn. It annoyed him deeply, not least because he could find no rational explanation for it.
Beside him, Caspian suddenly straightened and glanced toward the staircase. “Ah,” he said, a knowing smile appearing on his face. “There are the beauties.”
Damien followed his gaze and looked up.
And forgot every coherent thought in his head. Seraphine descended the staircase beside Thalia. The blue gown she wore seemed designed specifically to torment him.
The rich color transformed her eyes into warm pools of chocolate beneath the glow of the chandeliers. Her dark hair had been swept upwards, exposing the graceful curve of her neck, except for one long curl that rested on her bosom which was exposed by the plunging neckline, the fashion of the day that he cursed at this moment.
The freckles dusting her pale skin somehow made her more beautiful rather than less.
Good God.
His breath caught, only briefly, but long enough for Caspian to notice. Beside him, his brother-in-law smirked into his brandy, and Damien pretended not to see it. The effort was entirely unsuccessful.
As Seraphine descended another step, her gaze swept across the crowded ballroom. For one fleeting moment their eyes met. A smile curved her lips. It was not meant for him, she was sayingsomething to Thalia, but the sight of it tightened something unpleasantly vulnerable in his chest all the same.
Annoying. Very annoying.
Then he noticed Lord Whickham making a determined approach toward the staircase.
Absolutely not.
