Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(19)

His coolly detached gaze took in her graceless movement, Marcus’ quick rescue, and then he glanced back out across the floor, promptly dismissing her.

He’d not always been so ducal. Not to her. Never with her. She wanted him the way she remembered him to be, and she was prepared to fight for that man. Whether he wanted her to, or not.





Chapter 4

For the better part of the evening, Daisy had been seated at that ignoble place at the back, central portion of the vast ballroom relegated to the fate of wallflower. What hostess set up a neat, little row of chairs in that area for all those to see, gawking and gaping at the poor, partnerless creatures? Of which, there happened to be but one for the better part of the evening. One he cared very much about. He’d spent the night studying her, fuming with the realization that Daisy was, in fact, one of those poor, partnerless creatures. How had he failed to realize as much? Perhaps because he didn’t see her as a young lady in the market of a husband but rather the small girl sprinting through the grounds of her family’s country estate.

Now, he studied her for altogether different reasons.

He took in the sight of her graceful, elegant steps as the Viscount Wessex—his sole remaining friend in the world—led her through the movements of the quadrille. At that moment, Wessex touched his hand to the curve of Daisy’s lower back and said something close to her ear. A crimson blush stained her cheeks and she faltered. Auric narrowed his eyes. A dark haze of red descended over his vision. He blinked it back. Wessex wouldn’t dare betray Lionel’s memory by turning his roguish charm upon Daisy. Not that his annoyance with Marcus mattered for any reason other than to honor Lionel’s memory. This seething rage had absolutely nothing to do with the lady herself. Nothing, at all.

Auric continued to study her and Wessex as they stepped a deliberate circle about one another. Did the other man have to clasp her waist in that manner? She was not one of the viscount’s many lightskirts. His fingers twitched with the sudden urge to plant a facer on the other man, and to keep from doing as much, Auric drummed his fingertips on the edge of his thigh while eyeing her objectively, seeing her as the foolish young swains who’d relegated her to the role of wallflower, saw her. There were her brown curls and the shock of freckles. Then, it was hard to see the lady and not see those very unique features that set her apart from the other ladies. Now, however, he forced himself to peer past the curls and the freckles—and then he widened his eyes, swallowing back a curse.

Daisy Meadows had grown from troublesome child to voluptuous woman. Vastly different than the lean, delicate, golden creatures he generally preferred, she possessed rich, brown tresses that gleamed in the candlelight. Her heart-shaped face would never be considered characteristically beautiful like that of a delicate, English lady and yet, her large, brown eyes and bow-shaped lips were enough to make a man dream of all manner of wicked thoughts involving those lips. A surge of awareness coursed through him.

Thunder rumbled outside, shaking the walls of the ballroom. The earth’s way of telling him he would be spending the end of his days in hell for lusting after Daisy Meadows. Not that he was lusting after her per se, because he had sense enough, honor enough, to not ogle Daisy. Any more than he already had, that was. He’d merely noted her lush form the way any other gentleman might. Such as Wessex. He jerked his attention back to the charming viscount.

His friend, on the other hand, was less than discreet in his appreciation. Auric glowered as Wessex’s gaze dipped overly long to the generous swell of her bosom. By God, surely the man had sense enough to not long after Lionel’s sister. Auric finished the contents of his champagne and placed the glass down on a passing tray.

This mind-numbing, black rage that clouded his vision stemmed from a desire to protect Daisy from hurt. That was all. A mere obligatory reaction. Regardless, she would never harbor romantic sentiments for Wessex. Why, the idea was as ludicrous as the lady developing a tendre for Auric’s miserable self. He fixed his gaze on the pair. Just then the other man, who could charm the proper out of matrons and young misses alike, said something Daisy seemed to find of extreme hilarity. Her laughter earned disapproving stares from nearby matrons.

Auric sucked in a breath, as Daisy was temporarily transformed from someone unremarkable into someone really quite captivating. Her hips were generous, her waist well curved, her breasts… He winked. Twice. The one-two wink that, had she been looking, would have suggested immediate help was needed. And perhaps it was. For he had no place appreciating Daisy Meadows’ lush breasts.

Egads, she’d become a woman in need of a husband. With the same methodical precision he applied to all aspects of life, Auric turned his attention to the crowded ballroom, taking in the gentlemen assembled. By her admission that morning, the lady sought…he shuddered, romance. He resisted the urge to tug at his suddenly too tight cravat, not at all welcoming the idea of thinking of Daisy as a romantic lady, seeking love.

Who of the lot here would Lionel have approved of? With the man’s devotion to his younger sister, the obvious answer was, in fact, no one. Daisy’s greatest defender, her most ardent champion, Lionel would have scoffed at the prospect of nearly any one of these gentlemen present courting or wedding his sister.

Restiveness stirred to life in his breast. He didn’t want this responsibility. The task was too great. The risk of failure not to be contemplated. He registered the orchestra concluding the lively quadrille.