The Unexpected Duchess (Playful Brides #1)(4)

“But Cass is not interested,” Lady Lucy continued. “I thought I’d made myself clear.”

“You did make yourself clear, my lady, and I’m sorry,” he said, staring down his nose at her again.

Looking a bit mollified, she pushed up her chin and plucked an errant leaf from a curl near her forehead. “Sorry for bothering Lady Cassandra?”

He widened his grin. “No, sorry you’ve mistaken me for someone who gives a toss what you think, Miss Upton.”





CHAPTER THREE


Two hours earlier


Derek Hunt scanned the crowded ballroom brimming with sparkling ladies wearing the latest fashions and their gallant escorts wearing high-necked cravats. Laughter, champagne, dancing, and revelry filled the large room. Derek straightened his own cravat and slid a hand into his pocket. He swallowed hard. Had it really only been a fortnight since he’d laid his hand on his dying friend’s shoulder on a blood-soaked battlefield outside Brussels? Swift hadn’t died. Not yet. But he expected the news at any moment. And here Derek was. He’d returned to London, been granted a dukedom by the Crown, and was even now in the market for a proper wife. The future mother of his future son. Swift had insisted he go. And Derek had had no choice. He’d had his orders from the War Office, but still, he disgusted himself.

A fortnight ago, Derek hadn’t known whether he’d be alive tonight. Now he was lifting a champagne flute from the gleaming silver tray of a footman bedecked in the finest livery. As if Derek had never stepped foot on the battlefield, never watched as his countrymen were sliced down in front of him, never heard the agonizing screams of his dying friends. In London, the parades and parties given in honor of Napoleon’s defeat were all the rage. And here he was tonight, the celebrated hero, enjoying the victory along with everyone else. As if he’d never seen the real horror of war.

And he was a duke? A bloody duke? It still didn’t feel real to him. Why had he been made a duke above all the other officers? They’d all risked their lives, done their duty, fought honorably. Many had died.

Derek had cut around the outer defense of Napoleon’s ranks. Seeing the opportunity, he’d made the decision in an instant and ordered his soldiers to take the opening. That decision had been a fortuitous one, a turning point in the battle. The Duke of Decisive they were calling him as soon as the reports of the battle floated back to London. Decisive, he was. He’d been made that way, after all.

Derek drew the champagne flute to his lips and took a long swallow. Good stuff, that. French. He smiled at the irony just before narrowing his eyes and scanning the room again. He was no longer in battle, but he still had a goal.

There she was. Lady Cassandra Monroe. Derek’s investiture was dependent on him choosing a wife of whom the Crown approved, and Lady Cassandra Monroe’s reputation and connections were impeccable. She also just happened to be tall, blond, and beautiful. And quiet and demure if Captain Swift had been correct about her temperament. The perfect wife for a man who’d just spent his last years in the upheaval of battlefields. Lady Cassandra Monroe was exactly the type of woman who would ensure that Derek lived his remaining days in peace and quiet. Precisely what he wanted.

But most important, he’d promised Swift. As he’d watched his friend grit his teeth and writhe in pain on the packed earth outside Waterloo, Derek had promised he would find Lady Cassandra and marry her.

And Derek Hunt, whether lieutenant general or duke, never went back on a promise to a friend.

*

Lady Lucy Upton stood on the sidelines of the ballroom tapping her slipper in time to the music. It wasn’t as much of a lark as being at the theater—few things were—but she did love music and she adored dancing. She sighed. She hadn’t been asked to dance in an age, but that didn’t keep her from enjoying the tune.

“Why do you think he’s staring at me that way?” Cass glanced skittishly in the direction of the newly minted Duke of Claringdon.

Lucy stopped tapping her foot and followed her friend’s gaze. “I’m not certain, exactly. But he does seem to be pinning you with his eyes. Not exactly a gentleman, the duke.”

Cass dared another glance. “I must admit he is handsome. But he doesn’t have Julian’s blond hair.” She sighed.

Lucy glanced over at the duke. He was standing by the Grecian column in the middle of the crowded ballroom. She narrowed her eyes. Very well. Cass was right. The Duke of Claringdon was handsome. More than handsome, actually. Spectacularly handsome. He was also huge. Soaring and muscled, he looked like the god of war come down from Olympus. He was well over six feet tall, had midnight-black hair and jade-green eyes, wide shoulders that tapered to a flat abdomen, and muscles from top to toe. A war hero to boot. A lieutenant general known for his decisiveness. He’d won a variety of battles over the last few years and had been sent to meet Wellington in Brussels just before Waterloo. The Duke of Decisive, they called him now.

He was also arrogant and commanding, they said. Which, Lucy was certain, was quite an asset on the field of war, but his way, at the moment, involved making her friend nervous.

And for that, Lucy would not stand. Lucy, bold, blunt, completely without a demure bone in her body, had only two friends in this world—well, three if you counted Garrett—and Cass was one of them. Elegant, modest Cass who was too friendly and kind to rebuff anyone. Yes, Cass had always been quietly loyal to Lucy, and Lucy was nothing if not loyal back. If Cass wanted to avoid the attentions of the Duke of Claringdon, well, Lucy would assist her in any way she was able.