The Unexpected Duchess (Playful Brides #1)(23)

She sighed. “That one’s probably true.”

He tugged at his lapels. “‘Dancing is against my morals.’”

She giggled at that.

“‘Aww, I would dance with you but I don’t want to make you look inept.’”

“Far too similar to an earlier reply,” she scoffed.

“That was number eighteen!” someone called from the sidelines. Lucy could have sworn it was Garrett.

She gave the duke a challenging stare. “Only two more. Can you manage, Your Grace?”

He straightened his already straight cravat. “‘I would not care to fend off the hordes of other ladies vying for a dance with you this evening.’”

“Number nineteen!” the crowd shouted.

Lucy drew in a deep breath. One more. Only one more. He was going to do it. He was going to win. And that meant … she would have to dance with him.

The duke cleared his throat. “I’ve saved the best for last.” He gave her a wicked smile. “‘I’m afraid, my lord, that if I were to dance with you, I’d be entirely too charmed and end up falling hopelessly, madly in love with you.’”

“Number twenty!” someone shouted. Cheers went up just before the crowd became silent. Tension filled the room. Lucy held her breath. Everyone was watching her. By God, the man had done it. He’d come up with twenty things to say that were better than her simple “No, thank you.” He’d shown her up. She should be embarrassed. Humiliated. Instead all she could think of was the fact that she’d promised him a dance.

The duke took his time. He strolled to the end of the open space and strolled back. He gave her an arch grin. “I have one more. An extra reply, if you will. One to replace the questionable number eighteen.”

More cheers from the crowd. Lucy eyed him carefully. “One more?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“I’m on tenterhooks.” She tried to sound bored and hoped her voice didn’t shake.

He cleared his throat. “‘Why, Your Grace, I’d be delighted to be your partner for the next dance.’”

She smothered her smile behind her glove.

“Don’t you think that’s infinitely better than, ‘No, thank you’?” he asked. “I do.”

The crowd erupted into cheers once again.

Lucy pushed up her head and swallowed. She had to give it to him. He had won. As if on cue, a waltz began to play.

He strolled over to her and offered her his hand. “My lady, I believe you owe me this dance.”





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


Lucy tried to quell the riotous nerves swirling around in her belly the moment the duke offered her his hand. Never let it be said that she was anything but a gracious loser. She curtsied to him and placed her gloved hand on his.

The crowd melted away as others paired up for the waltz, but a steady buzz of whispers kept up and Lucy had no doubts they were all talking about them. She should muster some sort of outrage, but she had to be fair. “No. thank you.” It hadn’t been her most shining example of wit. He’d seen his opening and taken it. Well done of him, actually.

He may have won, but she didn’t have to enjoy dancing with him. When she thought about it reasonably, the waltz wasn’t the bad part. No, Lucy was more upset that he hadn’t failed because it meant he wouldn’t stop pursuing Cass. But even as Lucy told herself that, she knew it wasn’t why she was disappointed. There had been little hope that he would stop trying to court Cass. The wager had been lost before it had begun. She’d told herself she’d really only hoped he’d make a fool of himself, but the truth was that the reason she was truly disappointed was because she knew the duke would still be pursuing Cass. He might be dancing with her at the moment—and he was a lovely dancer—but he would be back at Cass’s side sooner rather than later. Why did the thought make Lucy so melancholy?

“You’re angry,” he said as he spun her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy spotted Garrett, Jane, and Cass watching them. “No.” She shook her head. “I’m not, actually.”

“Why am I not convinced?” he replied.

She shrugged. “You won. I lost. It’s simple.”

His grin was devilish. “Do you regret having to dance with me?”

She smiled at that. “Reluctantly, I must admit, you’re an accomplished dancer, Your Grace.”

He laughed. “Does that surprise you?”

She pursed her lips. “I pictured you more of a skilled soldier.”

“Believe me, I’m much better on a battlefield than in a ballroom.”

“Then you must be quite good on the battlefield.” Ooh, she shouldn’t have said that. Her cheeks heated.

His eyes were hooded. “You’re quite pretty when you blush.”

She shook her head and glanced away. “I forget myself. I mustn’t add to your legendary arrogance by complimenting you.”

He squeezed her hands and a little thrill shot through Lucy’s body. “I think I can take a few compliments.”

She had to laugh at that. Why, was he trying to charm her? If she didn’t know any better she’d think so. And it had been an age since anyone other than her father’s old friends who had gout and felt sorry for her had asked her to dance. Well, her father’s old friends or Garrett. Either way they were pity dances. But to take to the floor with this handsome, dashing young partner, to feel pretty, to feel as if she were actually being courted. Oh, it was too much. It made her long for things she knew weren’t for her. And she wasn’t being courted. She wasn’t. She must remember that. This man was Cass’s beau, whether Cass wanted him or not. Lucy had to remember that. Had to. She and Cass and Jane had agreed. First they’d see Cass free of the duke, then they’d concentrate on convincing Jane’s mother to leave her alone to be a bluestocking, and then they’d concentrate on finding a husband for Lucy. Not a love, certainly, but a husband. A good man who wouldn’t be scared of her and who would treat her decently. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask. Cass would help her. Cass was so good at charming people.