Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(128)

And then it hit her. Bliss turned and stared at her friend. Angela had been bursting with happiness when she’d first spoken. “You received one also, didn’t you, Angel?”

Silence.

Angela’s voice dropped. “Yes, I think I may have been the first. I didn’t want to tell you until you received yours. I was so sure you were going to. You are always part of everything.”

That was because she always demanded to be part of everything, and who would refuse the daughter of the Duke of Mirth? People might laugh behind her father’s back, but never to his face. Nobody would refuse him, and so nobody would refuse her.

Raising her head, Bliss glanced across the room to where Lady Perse stood surrounded by cronies, her eagle eyes picking out each lady who had received one of her invites. Lady Perse’s gaze fell upon Angela, a soft smile lifted the thin lips, and the gray eyes warmed beneath the white fluff of hair that resembled a cat asleep upon her head—and then her gaze landed upon Bliss.

For a moment she smiled—she had always been kind to Bliss—but then her lips thinned as if an unpleasant taste had filled her mouth.

Bliss could feel Lady Perse consider her deep rose gown, much too deep in color for one so young, the skirts forming a bell far more exaggerated than any other in the room. Bliss knew the dress was extreme, but it was so perfect for twirling, the skirts skimming about like a flower, but never rising above her ankles no matter how fast the dance. That was one mistake Bliss never intended to make again.

Lady Perse clearly did not see the sense of the design. Her eyes glided up Bliss’s body until their eyes met.

Lady Perse gave one sharp shake of her head, her rejection clear.

Evidently there was one person who could refuse Bliss.

The boulder crashed down, almost bringing Bliss to her knees.

And then she stiffened. She’d never let public opinion bring her down before; she would not allow the opinion of one old woman to sway her, even if that woman was Lady Perse.

“I need to dance,” she said turning back to Angela. “Fast and then faster. I want to spin until I cannot stand.”

“Bliss …”

She ignored the concern in her friend’s tone and turned into the crowd. She would find a man, any man, and flirt and dance until her feet ached.



She was looking for trouble. From the moment he’d arrived at the ball and discovered she was here, Duldon’s attention had focused on Bliss. He hadn’t yet even greeted his aunt.

He smiled as he observed Bliss. He knew that furrow of brow far too well. He’d first seen it when Bliss was six and her father had told her she couldn’t have a cat because he wanted to raise rabbits and was afraid the cat might eat them. Bliss had nodded her agreement and come home with a puppy, a puppy that grew to be the size of a small cow. She’d stared up at her father with just that narrowing of lips and glare of eyes, daring anybody to put the pup out.

The duke had merely shrugged. Swanston might have sent the pup away if he’d been at home, but he’d been in London. Duldon, feeling the man at the grand age of fourteen, had considered removing the pup himself, but he’d never been able to resist that stubborn vulnerability, that look that dared the world while begging for affection.

He hadn’t been able to resist it then, and he doubted he could now.

Only he had to.

He intended to marry the girl and nothing was going to stand in his way. Nothing—not even Bliss herself.

Not even overhearing the minx call him Dull-Don. He’d heard it from her before and it always brought a smile to his lips. He wondered what she’d say if she knew the truth of how he spent the earlier portion of the evening.

Society might say many things if his full life, his full interests, were ever revealed, but he doubted dull would be among them.

He allowed his eyes to follow Bliss as she slipped through the crowd. Her dress was dreadful, but then most often they were. He’d heard her give expert advice to others on fashion, so why did the chit insist on choosing the worst patterns for herself, dresses that hid every hint of her feminine shape? The dark rose monstrosity looked as if she’d stepped into the middle of a molded aspic, the slick silk glistening like gelatin. And it moved the same way, disguising the graceful motion of her body.

Watching, he saw her approach a young man, stopping a few feet from him and shooting him a glance with her deep blue eyes. The man, Lord Paul, he thought, blushed, and then as if moving under a spell held out his arm and led her toward the dance floor.

Bliss took a step forward, standing several inches too close to Lord Paul and peering up at him from beneath lowered lashes.

Duldon felt his palms begin to tingle.

Yes, the girl was looking for trouble, and if she wasn’t careful she just might find it.

She might not be ready to admit it, but she would soon.

She’d given herself to his care when she’d asked him to marry her and he’d never forgotten it. She might have been twelve at the time and convinced that marriage would gain her his best racer, but from that moment on she’d been his, his to protect, his to care for, his to …

When she’d been twelve and he twenty the feelings had been protective and brotherly.

They might still be protective, but there was nothing brotherly about them now.

Bliss reached out and brushed something from Lord Paul’s cheek as the dance began.