Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(12)

“You are to wink once if you’re having a splendid time.”

Twelve-year-old Daisy had snorted. “And what if I’m having a deuced, awful time?”

He tweaked her nose. “Two winks.”

He’d not remembered, until this very moment.

Auric retrieved a glass of champagne from a liveried servant and carried it to the far corner of the ballroom. Or, to be more precise, the farthest corner away from the freckled, plump, young woman still staring openly at him. He glowered into the contents of his glass. Do not look. Do not look. Do not look.

He’d taken good care to relegate Lady Daisy Meadows and her floral name to the role of unaging child and yet at each ball, dinner, or soiree attended where she was present, he was jeered with the truth that she was no longer a child. All the innocence they’d once known, the ease in one another’s company had been shattered. No. To see her merely reminded him of his greatest failings toward a friend he’d loved like a brother.

The sight of her never ceased to riddle him with guilt and regret for all his sins, for all he’d not done. Too often she stood forgotten on the sidelines of the hall and he’d have to make his way through the crowd and offer her his arm, in an attempt to erase the frequent sadness that lined her face.

Auric growled and took a long swallow of his champagne, and shoved aside thoughts of Daisy. Instead, he focused on the purpose of his attendance this evening. Practical and long driven by logic, it was time to do his requisite duty by the title. He required a wife, an heir, and a spare. That lesson had been impressed upon him early on by his parents, tutors, and Society. With that purpose in mind, he surveyed the crowd, deliberately avoiding sight of a certain mischievous miss with her bow-shaped lips. The only lady in the whole of the crowded hall who dared frown at him. The rest of the marriage-minded misses wore practiced smiles and fluttered their lashes when he caught their eyes. All of them with one, single aspiration—to become his duchess. For all his practicality these many years later, he aspired to be seen as more than a duke. He took another sip of his champagne and frowned over the rim of his glass. And he’d set his sights upon his perfect duchess, the lady, Lady Anne Adamson, now the Countess of Stanhope. Blonde, trim, with ample hips and a lovely singing voice, and wholly unimpressed by his title, she would have made him a fine wife. She, however, had gone and foolishly accepted the Earl of Stanhope’s suit over his clearly superior, more advantageous offer. Which had thrust him back into the marriage mart, in search of an alternate duchess.

And there wasn’t a single lady who’d attracted his notice since. As a result, he’d resumed his search for a wife with a renewed vigor and very specific expectations. She would need to be at least passably pretty, refined, a proper, English miss. What he did not need was a troublesome vixen, in frequent need of rescuing with too many freckles and a constant frown for him. He’d long ago sworn off troublesome vixens with freckles. Though, she’d not always been frowning. Once upon a lifetime ago she’d always had a smile for Auric.

He knew what had killed the girlish innocence. Through his negligence and influence, he was to blame. The sight of her was always like a lash of guilt being applied to his skin. Auric downed the contents of his glass and cradled the empty glass. A servant rushed forward to relieve him of the crystal flute.

Unwittingly, Auric’s gaze wandered back over to the tall column Daisy hovered beside. He jerked his stare away. A frown formed on his lips. Furthermore, what was a young, unwed lady doing—alone, sans chaperone? Where was the lady’s notoriously proper mother? Then his intent stare landed upon the somber Marchioness of Roxbury. A close friend of his late parents, the once vivacious woman was now a mere shell of the person she’d been before the death of her son, the late marquess’ heir.

A loud humming filled his ears as Lionel’s grinning visage flitted to his mind. Auric grabbed another champagne flute and took a long swallow, trying to drive back the memory of his friend. He directed his attention to where it should reside—on finding his duchess because the thought of that didn’t suck the breath from his lungs and hammer his mind with guilt— “Your Grace.”

“Bloody hell.” The startled curse escaped him at the stealthy Daisy’s unexpected appearance.

She widened her eyes. “Did you just curse?”

“Did I curse?” he repeated blankly. He was nothing if not in control. In fact, he’d prided himself on his ability to not be roused to emotion since that night seven years ago. “I don’t know what you’re—” The twinkle in her brown eyes called him a liar when her words did not. A grin pulled his lips at the corners. “Lady Daisy Meadows.” The lady who refused to stay buried in the proper chambers of his mind. “I imagined you’d know it is improper to speak without introduction.”

She snorted. “I daresay cursing in Lady Harrison’s ball is a good deal more inappropriate.” Daisy waggled her eyebrows. “Even for a duke, I suspect.” Her smile widened. “And considering our families’ long connection, I’m permitted a mere hello.”

He really needn’t bait her. It merely encouraged her insolence. “There wasn’t one.” Alas, he’d always been hopeless where Daisy was concerned.

She tipped her head.

“A mere hello,” he pointed out. “You issued a simple ‘Your Grace’, devoid of a curtsy.” She’d been the only woman in the course of his life who’d been more put out with his title than impressed. His baiting words had the desired effect.