Page 45 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
She closed her eyes in a long blink.Stop it.She was not prone to melancholy and wouldn’t start now. She was seven-and-twenty, with a long life ahead of her. When Charles and Lilly married and had children, she’d be the best godmother in the world. She’d spoil and coddle their children, and when they were old enough, she’d find each of them their one true love.
That thought made her smile. See? There it was. Contentment. Happiness. She didn’t need men asking her to dance to feel it. She refused to be denigrated by those whispers of “impoverished spinster” and “pathetic old maid.” She refused to succumb to the idea that unmarried women of a certain age were worthless. She was neither useless nor was she lacking in providing anything of value to society. On the contrary, she facilitated the most important thing society could ever desire—love.
The dance ended, and Miss Islington and the duke made their way toward Jo and Harriet. Without a word, Harriet rose as they approached.
“Thank you so much for the lovely dance, Your Grace,” Miss Islington said.
“It was my pleasure,” the duke said. Was that warmth in his voice?Warmth?The man was chilly to his core.
At least, with Jo he had been. Until…
She pressed her lips together.
The four of them stood for a few minutes, talking about the heat of the ballroom compared to the relative coolness of the air outside, but then, Harriet’s and Miss Islington’s dance partners approached and drew them away, leaving Jo standing alone with the Duke of Crestmont for the second time that evening.
“How are you faring, Your Grace?” she asked. Then in a lower voice, “Tolerating this event, I hope.”
In fact, it rather looked like he was having as good a time as any of the other gentlemen here.
He nodded at her, a faint smile on his lips. His soft, delicious lips—
“I am tolerating it,” he said. “However, this talk of fresh air has me craving it. Would you like to take a turn around the grounds?”
She glanced at the dance floor, where the couples were starting a quadrille. “I can’t abandon my charge.”
“Nonsense. Your charge is busy dancing with John Gifford. This is the longest set of the evening. It’ll go on for three-quarters of an hour, at least.”
She hesitated for a moment, glancing over at Harriet, whose attention was completely focused on the young man dancing with her, her smile wide and pretty as she laughed at something he said.
“Do you know Mr. Gifford?”
“I do. He is a respectable man. Even if the dance were to end early, he would ensure she was safe.”
She watched Harriet and Mr. Gifford for a moment longer. They seemed truly enchanted by each other, and an arrow of worry shot through her. Had Harriet looked so enthralled when she’d danced with the duke? Had the duke appeared as enamored as Mr. Gifford did?
She brushed off the worry. Harriet might not have looked so enthralled, but she had certainly been engaged. And the duke was a reserved man. He was simply not as expressive as young Mr. Gifford was.
Everything was fine.
He leaned toward her, and his essence wafted over her, reminding her of his touch, his kiss. Prickles ran down her arms. “Fear not,” the duke said in a low voice. “I’ll have you back by the end of this dance. I promise.”
After an additional moment’s hesitation, Jo nodded. After all, she was curious if she’d judged the duke’s reactions to Harriet and Miss Islington properly.
At least, that was the excuse she gave herself for going outside with him.
Side by side, they slipped into Lady Campbell’s garden, which was softly lit with overhead lanterns and peppered with people enjoying the cooler night air. Instantly, Jo was glad they’d stepped outside—it felt like she could draw in a clean breath for the first time in hours. Awareness of the man beside her radiated through her, but she steadfastly ignored it.
When they were in a private enough corner of the garden, she murmured, “Well?”
He frowned at her. “Well, what?”
She grinned. There he was, her obtuse duke. Well, notherduke, but… She hummed low in her throat. “What do you think of Miss Cherrington and Miss Islington?”
“They are appropriate.”
It was her turn to raise a brow. Perhaps it was her turn to be obtuse, but what did he mean by that? “Appropriate?”
“Yes.”
