Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(49)

“Lady Daisy,” Auric sketched a quick bow and then reached for her dance card and froze. He took in the filled program and then his head shot up. By God, how quickly had the vultures swooped in and claimed all but…he looked down at the card once more. A quadrille.

“A bit late,” Rutland said mockingly. The orchestra thrummed the beginning strands of a waltz. He held a hand out to Daisy.

Fury tightened Auric’s belly. By God, he’d sooner deliver Rutland to the devil than allow him to put his filthy hands upon her person. With fury coursing through his being, Auric stepped between them. “I am claiming this set.”

“Are you?” Rutland drew those two syllables out in a mocking fashion. He held a hand out to Daisy once more. “I believe you aren’t, Crawford.”



Daisy stared bewildered between the gentlemen. The mottled flush on Auric’s cheeks, the muscle ticking at the corner of his right eye, uncharacteristic for one so composed, so austere, and so perfectly ducal. And yet, the icy fury emanating from his frame hinted at a man about to come to blows with the marquess. She cleared her throat. “My lord,” she said, calling the marquess’ attention. “I had forgotten my promise to reserve this set for the duke,” she lied. A chill raced along her spine, at the dark glint in the man’s eyes.

Auric took a step closer and extended his elbow. She placed her fingertips upon his coat sleeve and allowed him to guide her onto the dance floor where the dancers were assembling for the next set. Daisy raised her hand to his shoulder and a thrill shot through her as he settled his large, warm palm at her waist.

The haunting, slightly discordant hum of a waltz filled the ballroom Auric and Daisy moved in a strained, tense silence. They, who through the years had never been without words or jests or even insults, now had no words. When her mother had proposed assembling a new wardrobe, Daisy had recognized the futility of the woman’s goals. Even as the ice blue satin creation was by far the grandest, most luxuriant, if daring, piece she’d ever donned. Yet, she’d not roused anything more than a dark glower from Auric.

He’d say nothing to her?

“I don’t want you near Rutland.”

She looked at him through the thin slits of her eyes. That is what he’d say? “I beg your pardon?” He’d order her about as though he were nothing more than a protective brother. Jagged pain ripped through her at the remembrance of Lionel.

Auric angled her closer, dipping his head lower. “This is not a game, Daisy.” Her breath caught at the nearness of his lips, remembering his mouth upon hers and shamefully longing for the heady passion she’d known in that all too brief embrace. “Rutland is a dark, vile reprobate.” His mouth hardened. “And he is assuredly not the devoted, caring, and resolute gentleman you spoke of.”

She jerked. Did he dare throw her longings back in her face? Daisy spoke in hushed tones. “You’ve spent so many years being the Duke of Crawford, ordering others about and coming to expect blind subservience, that you’ve forgotten how to speak to a friend,” she chided. His frown deepened. “You took it upon yourself, Your Grace, to decide I required a husband and even were so bold as to drum up a suitor.” With each word, the implications of his actions these past days filled her with a hot rage. She continued, speaking through gritted teeth. “You would find me a husband. For what end, Auric?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she spoke over him. “To absolve yourself of a guilt for Lionel’s death.”

He went white and a momentary wave of remorse slapped her for throwing that charge at him in this public manner. If only, perhaps, had he truly seen her and heard her through the years, he’d have heard her need for more from him. “I would see you happy, Daisy.”

“Why?” she demanded.

Auric hesitated. Tell me it is because you care for me in the way a man cares for a woman. Tell me because you’ve at last looked within your heart and realized it’s complete because of me. “You are my friend,” he spoke in flat, empty tones somehow more painful than any of that icy ducal annoyance she’d come to expect of him.

I don’t want to be your friend. That was no longer enough. “You always saw me as a sister, didn’t you?” she whispered the question more to herself.

An almost wistful smile hovered on his lips. “You always dogged our footsteps, didn’t you?” he said in a reflective manner of the past, not hearing the pained words truly spoken to him. “At one point I found you underfoot, and that changed. Do you know when that was?”

A bond of their past tugged at her, where even in this moment, that was enough. The link to the times they’d once shared. “When I put ink in your tea?”

His grin widened. It was the real, uncomplicated smile of a man who did, in fact, remember that simple expression of mirth. “Ink intended for Lionel.”

She giggled at the remembrance of the young marquess and his ink-stained teeth. “Yes, yes it was. I was quite put out from being excluded from your fishing excursion.” And with this memory there was no agony at the loss of her brother, but rather the joy to be found in those too short memories of him.

“It was not the tea incident.”

Daisy winked up at him. “There really are surely too many incidents to recall, aren’t there? Was it when I snipped up the fabric of your and Lionel’s jackets to be turned into garments for my doll?”