The Unexpected Duchess (Playful Brides #1)(22)

“And what do you intend to win?” she replied.

He bowed again. “Why, the coveted dance with you, my lady.” This, he said loud enough for the entire audience to hear.

Lucy had to concentrate to keep from allowing her jaw to fall open. As if that rogue truly wanted a dance with her. It was ludicrous, of course, but not much of a threat. She had every intention of winning.

“Very well, Your Grace. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

The crowd seemed to lean forward collectively, eager to watch the proceedings. “This is almost better than the theater,” she heard Jane say from somewhere in the large mass of people.

“You sound confident that I will fail, Lady Lucy,” the duke said.

“I am confident, Your Grace.” Lucy couldn’t help the little thrill that shot through her at the prospect of the challenge. My, but it had been an age since anyone had asked her to dance and even longer since anyone had challenged her, truly challenged her. She was used to slicing potential suitors to bits with her tongue and continuing about her affairs. But this man—oh, not that he was her suitor, no, he was Cass’s suitor—at least he challenged her. Didn’t hang his head and slink away like a wounded animal. Oh, yes, she was looking forward to this, a bit too much actually.

The duke folded his hands behind his back and began to pace around the cleared circle. “I shall begin with the obvious. ‘Dancing with a man of your charm might make me swoon, my lord.’”

Lucy rolled her eyes.

“‘I could not in good conscience accept your offer to dance when there are so many other ladies here with dance cards just begging to be filled by someone as prestigious as yourself.’”

A little smirk popped to her lips. He circled around her.

“‘It would be rude of me to dance with you, knowing my skill would only serve to cast you in a less-than-flattering light.’”

“I like that one,” she admitted.

“‘I wouldn’t dare be so presumptuous as to accompany his lordship onto the dance floor knowing the color of my gown would clash with my lord’s dashing evening attire.’”

“Preposterous,” she said, pretending to study her slipper.

“‘I’m sorry, my lord, but my maid laced my stays too tightly to possibly consider the exertion.’”

“That one’s just silly,” she replied. “Besides, I wager you’ve heard all those and more.”

“A few,” he admitted with a grin.

“I confess myself disappointed,” she said. “I thought you had more imagination than that, Your Grace.” The crowd was watching her but instead of feeling self-conscious or shy, Lucy found she relished the attention. It had been an age since anyone in the ton took any notice of her. And here was the dashing Duke of Claringdon challenging her to a verbal duel. The best part was that it seemed to be enhancing her reputation instead of shredding it to bits as Cass had feared. Everyone’s gaze was trained on her with a mixture of awe and envy.

“I’m not done yet,” the duke continued. “‘I’m sorry, my lord, but I cannot possibly dance with you, as I’m having my wig washed.’”

She snorted at that. “I do not wear a wig.”

“Not the point,” he added with a grin. “Where was I?”

“Number six,” someone called helpfully from the crowd.

“Quite right. Let’s see. Political. ‘I’m sorry my lord, but I must decline as I’ve taken a vow of no dancing until the Importation Act is defeated.’”

“As if,” Lucy scoffed.

He didn’t stop to take a breath. “‘I’m sorry, my lord, but there isn’t time as I’m to be a stowaway on a ship bound for the Americas tonight.’”

“That one doesn’t even make sense.” But she couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes, but it’s interesting, is it not?” he asked with a roguish grin.

The crowd cheered in appreciation. Lucy shrugged.

“‘Being so close to a gentleman of your esteemed stature is likely to fluster me so much I shall tread upon your feet,’” he offered.

“Hardly,” she snorted.

“‘If I were to dance with you, my lord, I’d jeopardize my prestigious position as head wallflower.’”

Jane materialized from the crowd, pointing a finger in the air. “To be precise, Your Grace, I happen to be the current holder of the prestigious position as head wallflower.”

“Duly noted,” the duke said with a grin.

Lucy shook her head at her friend. Jane nodded and blended back into the crowd.

The duke was playing to the audience now, smiling outright and clearly enjoying himself. “‘I’d rather be shooting at Napoleon than dancing with you.’”

Lucy inclined her head. “I’m not a half bad shot.”

“‘I cannot dance because I have to look for my smelling salts.’”

Lucy afforded him a long-suffering stare. “Not likely.”

“‘I’d rather be eating army rations,’” he added. And then, “‘I’d rather be buying a turban.’”

“A turban?” She gave him an incredulous look.

“‘It’s far too warm to dance,’” he continued.