Lady Bridget's Diary (Keeping Up with the Cavendishes #1)(19)

“Would you like to dance?”

“Of course I’d like to, but my dance partner is missing.”

He exhaled shortly, frustrated. She misunderstood him. He ground out the words, “Would you like to dance with me?”

“It’s not that I wish to dance for the exercise or because I am bored standing on the sidelines,” she explained, while scanning the room for her desired dance partner. “It’s just that I wish to dance with Rupert.”

“Right.”

Darcy gritted his jaw. He had just been rejected. By Lady Bridget, of the American Cavendishes. The only thing more mortifying was that he had, for a brief, shining moment, looked forward to the prospect of holding her with something like anticipation. This was exactly why feelings of all sorts were to be ruthlessly ignored.

And he had been rejected in favor of Rupert, who was off doing God knew what with God only knew whom.

Maddening, that.

“But it’s very good and honorable of you to offer to stand up in his stead.” She smiled sweetly at him and patted his arm, as if he were a small child. It was so bloody ladylike of her, and that saddened him. They were changing her, from an exuberant creature into one who was polished and refined, and who lauded honorable behavior. It was the same thing they’d done to him. “You are such a gentleman, Lord Darcy.”

Except right now, he didn’t want to be a gentleman. In fact, if he dared to examine the state of his emotions, he would find that what he wanted was to pull her against him, claim her mouth for a deep kiss, sink his hands into her hair. He wanted to thoroughly and utterly ravish her until she would say, breathlessly, Rupert who?

Of course that was completely unacceptable and exactly why he made a point of avoiding her or at the very least avoiding anything that wasn’t a reasoned and rational thought.

And then he spoke in haste, words spoken from a place of hurt and words he regretted the second he gave voice to them.

“I would think that even you are aware that young ladies are not supposed to refuse a gentleman’s offer to dance.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. He might as well have said, Or you would know that if you weren’t raised on a horse farm.

Her cheeks reddened considerably.

“I am very well aware, thank you,” she said so sharply, he almost felt as if he’d been stabbed. “As I am also aware that a lady must honor what is written on her dance card. So you see, I am in an impossible position due to your stupid rules.”

“They are not my rules.”

She gave him an utterly disparaging look.

“The only thing keeping me from storming off is that ladies are not supposed to stroll around the ballroom unaccompanied,” she said. “Actually, no. The only thing keeping me from storming off is that you might then have even more reason to chastise me.”

“I didn’t mean—-”

And then the unimaginable happened. She turned away from him, steadfastly refusing to look in his direction. He, Lord Darcy, received the cut direct from Lady Bridget, of the American Cavendishes.





Chapter 7


Kisses from Rupert: 0

Moments for possible kisses with minimal risk of discovery: 4

Hours spent wondering why he hasn’t: embarrassing

Lady Bridget’s Diary

Lady Millicent Winterbourne’s garden party was not to be missed by “her dearest nephews,” even though, to Darcy’s knowledge, they were not in fact blood relations. She had been quite good friends with their dearly departed mother, and apparently that was sufficient basis to claim them as her own family . . . with all the obligations and nagging that entailed.

She bustled over to the brothers upon their arrival.

“There you are, Darcy. I knew you wouldn’t refuse me. Hello, Rupert, I don’t mind if you cause a scandal or are caught kissing behind a hedge.” She patted his cheek affectionately.

“Good afternoon, Lady Winterbourne.”

“Don’t Lady Winterbourne me, Darcy. I held you on my lap when you were just born. Call me auntie.”

He was a grown man and as such would lose his bollocks if he called anyone auntie.

“Aunt Winterbourne,” he offered as a compromise.

“Auntie Millie,” she countered.

“Lady Millicent,” he offered as a compromise.

“Lord, but your father wrecked you.” She sighed.

There was only one possible response to that.

“The weather is very fine today,” he said stiffly.

“Makes me wish I could take off this jacket and jump in the lake,” Rupert added. To be honest, Darcy had half a mind to do the same thing. The sun was actually shining, which meant he felt exceedingly warm under this fitted, dark wool jacket. Between that and the length of starch wrapped around his neck, he felt like he was being strangled.

“As I said, I do not mind if you cause a scandal, so long as it’s at my party.”

“Hostessing is as competitive as ever, I see,” Darcy remarked.

“You have no idea,” she said dramatically. “Look, there is the Duchess of Durham with her new charges. I thank God they are in attendance.”

Do not look. Do not look.

He looked. His gaze strayed immediately to Lady Bridget. Like every other unmarried lady, she was all done up in a bonnet and gloves and a white dress with frills, and ruffles and bits of lace.