Page 16 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
“Oh, come now. You didn’t tell me you required a woman of physical substance. Would you turn down someone merely because they possessed a form that society considers ideal?”
He raised an imperious brow. “I suppose not. As long as it is within the bounds of acceptable size in society’s eyes.”
This man was far too rigid when it came to the aristocracy and what it considered proper. It was quite annoying, actually.
“Dance with her, then,” she ground out.
“Very well. I will ask.”
“She won’t say no.”
He sighed and said in a glum voice, “I know.”
Because he was a duke. No one would say no to a dance with a duke. Even Jo. Even though he might be the most vexing man she’d ever met, she still wouldn’t hesitate if he asked her to dance.
Yet…she didn’t think she’d jump to dance with him merely because he was a duke. There were other reasons, like how their verbal sparring made her heart race. Not to mention that dark hair, the muscles in his upper arms pushing against the fabric of that tight-fitting coat—
Focus, Jo!
She needed to stop filling her head with thoughts of the Duke of Crestmont. He was a client, and she wasn’t here for him tonight. She was here to speak with Charles Cherrington.For Lilly.
She and the duke stood in silence—except for the constant stream of admirers who approached Crestmont, giggling and fluttering their lashes at him while he responded in monosyllables and gave bows that looked like they made his bones creak—until the dance ended.
As soon as the couples began to move off the dance floor, Crestmont strode toward the diamond-clad woman with purpose and presumably asked her to dance, his face and body as stiff as if they had been coated with shellac. The sparkling young lady nodded eagerly and took his arm.Of courseshe hadn’t said no.
Lilly had been making her way toward Jo but was intercepted by another man—this one a young officer she had danced with at an assembly last month and who, earlier in the evening, had asked Lilly to partner with him for the quadrille. Lilly took the man’s arm, and they walked back out onto the dance floor to line up next to the duke and the diamond dazzler.
But where had Charles Cherrington gone? He wasn’t in the row of dancers lining up in the center of the room. Jo turned to scan the room and found him pouring himself some punch at the refreshments table. She marched toward him, reaching him just as he guzzled down his drink. When he looked up from it and met her eyes, his eyes widened, and he gulped.
Good. She smiled sweetly, hoping he spit up all that punch right over the snow-white of his cravat.
He managed to keep it all down—unfortunately—then produced a tight smile. “Good evening, Miss Porter.”
“Is it?” she asked with forced pleasantry. Her fingers quivered with the urge to punch him in the jaw.
“Uh…er…” He swallowed again, his eyes flicking around as if hoping someone would magically appear to rescue him from her. No one did.
“I should like to have a word, if you would be so kind, Mr. Cherrington.”
He looked surreptitiously this way and that, the panic in his eyes as palpable as if she’d touched the point of a sword to his neck. She supposed she had, metaphorically speaking. “Um…all right.”
“Follow me.”
She spun on her heel and walked toward the doors leading out onto the terrace, glancing back once to ensure he was following. She’d checked the terrace earlier. It was abandoned, perhaps due to the chill in the night air. It was a lovely area overlooking a pretty courtyard, and if it were a more temperate evening, it would be crowded with revelers. But the weather was cooperating with her tonight, offering her a private-though-not-scandalous place for her to have a brief chat with Charles Cherrington.
She pushed open the French doors and walked outside. Lamps blazed at the railing corners, so if she and Charles were caught conversing out here no one would give it a second thought. They were in plain sight of the ballroom, after all.
Jo walked straight out to the far edge of the railing and put her hands on it, looking out over the courtyard. A frigid breeze whipped the loose strands of curls that framed her face. She’d be cold if not for the hot stream of anger coursing through her.
Charles stopped a few feet behind her.
Jo closed her eyes, listening to the lively strains of the music behind the glass doors, the sounds of laughter and conversation. Finally, she took a deep breath. “Why?” She turned toward him.
He stood there looking hopeless, shoulders slumped. “I’m…sorry.”
“Why?”she repeated.
“Because…” His dark curls bobbed to his shoulders as he looked down, scuffing his highly polished shoe over the tile like a repentant schoolboy.
