Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(35)

A flurry of excited whispers cut into their exchange, saving her from responding.

Her heart quickened as Auric’s tall, imposing frame filled the doorway. Lord and Lady Windermere rushed over to greet him even as Auric surveyed the room, as though searching for someone. Most likely one of the golden-tressed trio clustered together on the sofa, sighing and ahhing in his general direction.

“It is moments such as this that I’m glad to be a mere viscount.”

An unexpected laugh spilled past her lips at Marcus’ teasing words, grateful that he was no longer the stern, disapproving brotherly type. That Marcus was foreign. This man she was accustomed to and comfortable with.

She sought out Auric once again. He stood conversing with her mother. Whatever he said remained lost to the size of the room. The marchioness, every so often, nodded. How devoted Auric was to her family. Through the gossip and the sorrow and the whispers, he’d been there. He’d been there, yet all the while failed to truly see her—just as the rest of Society.

Just then, Daisy’s skin pricked with the familiar stares. She stiffened and looked up in time. Two of Lady Windermere’s guests stared blatantly at her and gave their heads pitying shakes. Her gut tightened and she wrenched her stare away.

There they were. Those pitying, sympathetic stares reserved for her and the Marchioness of Roxbury. Daisy bit the inside of her cheek, as that potent desire coursed through her—a desire to be noticed, not for the tragedy surrounding her family, or for her relationship to Lionel, but because someone noticed that there was a young woman by the name of Daisy Meadows…a woman worthy of notice and love. Her gaze strayed once more to Auric. He remained engrossed in conversation, unaware as he invariably was that Daisy stood in wait.

“You’re quieter than I remember, Daisy.”

Marcus’ observation pulled her to the present. She forced her attention away from Auric. “It’s as you’ve said. I’ve grown up.”

The viscount opened his mouth to say something, but then he looked to a point beyond her shoulder.

“Wessex,” a bored, familiar voice drawled.

A thrill of awareness coursed through her and Daisy straightened, turning to greet Auric. Goodness, with his long-legged stride he moved quickly.

Marcus bowed, returning the greeting and then froze. “What in blazes happened to your eye, Crawford?”

A mottled flush marred Auric’s cheeks. “Nothing,” he bit out.

Amusement flecked in Marcus’ eyes that could only come from a familiarity shared these many years that defied Auric’s lofty title. “It certainly does not appear as though noth—”

“Shove off,” Auric snapped in an entirely un-dukelike way. Not for the first time, a wave of remorse slapped at her for his injured face. The heated intensity of his gaze never left her and she swallowed. “Your Grace.” She dropped a curtsy. “I hope you are well.”



She hoped he was well? By God, would she offer him tea and biscuits, next? She’d reserve a carefree smile for Wessex and to him, dip an insolent curtsy and a two-word utterance in the form of his title?

“Undoubtedly,” he said in his most clipped, ducal tone that a frown came to her lips. Yet, he was not undoubtedly well. He was… He didn’t know what he was. Annoyed, perhaps. Outraged? Furious? Perhaps a combination of the three. For some, unknown reason her familiarity with Wessex rankled. Which really made little sense. Drawing on the years of polished, ducal politeness drilled into him, he managed to bite out, “You’re well, Wessex?”

“Was that a question or a statement, Crawford?” Droll humor underscored the viscount’s question.

“Oh, it was undoubtedly a statement,” Daisy said with entirely too much amusement in her words.

At their amusement at his expense, Auric gritted his teeth so tight, pain shot up his jawline. Alas, the two appeared either unaware of or unfazed by his displeasure. By the mischievous look that passed between Daisy and Wessex, it was likely the latter.

Then Marcus lifted his head. “I, too, am well.” Then a half-grin formed on his lips. “We’ve now ascertained we are all three,” he waggled his eyebrows, “well.”

A sharp bark of laughter escaped Daisy and Wessex joined in. Auric wanted to bury his fist in the other man’s belly for being so blasted entertaining and charming and a blasted paragon to make Daisy smile. Which shouldn’t matter. He should just be bloody happy that the lady was smiling. But he wasn’t. He was enraged and seething with a lifelike fury.

He was never more grateful for the interruption of the servant who entered the room to announce dinner. With respect for the commitment to rank, the hostess, Lady Windermere, came over. With a final look at Daisy, he held his arm out, damning the silly pomposity of a mere meal. Hating that she placed her arm upon her partner, Wessex’s, sleeve and filed along behind Auric.

As the couples took their respective seats at the vast table that was covered in a stark, white tablecloth and awash in the soft glow from the four evenly distributed, silver candelabras, Auric stole a sideways glance at Daisy seated to his left. Wessex engaged the young lady at his right in conversation. The host and hostess’ daughter, Lady Leticia, blushed and tittered at the attention. Daisy, however, sat in silence, staring at the silver candelabra and he was brought back to a different table, to a different time, he’d not remembered until this very moment. A Daisy of ten or eleven years with her elbows propped forlornly on the tabletop.