“Then let’s ensure that they leave us alone.” His breath was a puff of white before him, his bright blue eyes sparkling with a sort of mocking resignation, right as he lowered his head and took her mouth with his.
Chapter 2
Brought to heel by a cup of punch, Donovan thought dryly. Then again, he was the one who initiated the kiss, so who was truly at fault here? Thus far, he’d done his best to avoid paying court to any one female, had even refrained from dancing for fear that offering his hand to one woman would be misconstrued as anything other than polite.
All night he’d had the sensation that his cravat was tied too tight, for he could imagine all those eyes boring into his back. He’d done his best to occupy himself with talk of politics and matters that had nothing at all to do with searching for a wife, but he knew it was inevitable. At some point, he would have to choose one of them. But just — not yet. Not until he’d gotten a chance to know a few of them better.
And then this raven-haired whirlwind had slammed into him and set his world on end. He knew Miss Pageant would be a force to be reckoned with the moment those delicious brown eyes met his, but he was smart enough to be waylaid by a pretty face.
Or so he’d thought.
He’d certainly allowed himself to be persuaded to kiss her with little provocation. He wasn’t sure if it was her sudden vulnerability at being caught that appealed to him, or how her lovely curves filled out her dress, but either way, he’d been unable to resist the temptation.
As his lips moved over hers, he felt a stirring in his loins that had been absent ever since he’d returned from France. The horror of that experience had gone far in allowing him to avoid his lesser desires, but with this single embrace, he was finding that the need for female companionship that had been dormant for so long yearned to break free. He suddenly wanted to pull her upstairs and remove more than just his stained shirt.
He blinked. What the hell was he thinking? Miss Pageant was an innocent, not some courtesan that he could pay off with a few pounds or an expensive bauble for a mutually satisfying night together.
When he heard a soft snicker behind him, followed by the click of a closing door, Donovan knew that the threat had passed. He abruptly broke the kiss and moved back a step. He ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes on a heavy breath. He was almost afraid to see the horrified expression that would likely be on Miss Pageant’s face after taking such liberties.
At the sound of a delicate noise, he feared she might be crying, so he reluctantly turned to her, only to feel his mouth fall open at the sight before him. The chit was laughing.
“Well done, Your Grace.” She had her hand over her mouth, but there was true merriment in those chocolate-colored eyes as her ebony curls danced about her face. “I commend you on your quick thinking to salvage such a delicate situation.”
“Yes, uh…” Donovan rubbed the back of his neck. He seldom found himself at a loss for words, but when a man kissed a woman only to have her find humor in the aftermath…“I do aim to please,” he muttered.
Once she had recovered from her mirth, Miss Pageant said, “I shall take my leave of you now. I think you can handle it from here.”
He blinked. The woman switched from one emotion to another with the flick of her delightful tongue. He had trouble following along. “What?”
She gestured to his shirt, her gaze dancing. “You were going to change before you saved us from that rather unsavory mishap, I believe?”
Donovan glanced down at the red stain on his shirt. He’d nearly forgotten the punch incident already. “Indeed.” He cleared his throat. “I will take the servant’s entrance.”
She smiled. “And I shall return to the ballroom.”
When she would have brushed past him, he found himself reluctant for her to leave, which was decidedly odd, to say the least. Hadn’t it been just a moment ago that he decided he wasn’t interested in her? “Miss Pageant?”
She turned back to him with an expectant look. “Yes?”
He opened his mouth, but then snapped it back shut as he shook his head. “Never mind.” Dear God, what is wrong with me?
He was still shaking his head as he walked away and descended the terrace steps.
Once the duke was out of sight, Emary collapsed against the side of the building and put a hand to her thudding heart. Oh, that couldn’t have gone any more perfectly!
Thank goodness she’d been thinking quickly enough to remember to act as though his kiss hadn’t affected her. It wouldn’t do to play her cards too quickly. First, she had to entice him, and by the confounded look upon his face when he’d left her, he was thoroughly intrigued. Rest assured, she had made certain that she hadn’t seen the last of the Duke of Windwood.
But how to keep him invested?
She tapped a thoughtful finger against her lips, pausing when she recalled the feeling of his lips on hers. For a first kiss, it had been absolutely delightful, but then she didn’t really have anything to compare the experience with. But just the memory of his brilliant, blue eyes and that golden hair illuminated by the glow of the ballroom, his scar standing out in stark contrast giving him a dangerous air, made her sigh. Even now, she wanted to hug herself in pure joy, but she must refrain. She had learned enough about men in her short experience to know that not only should their pride be catered to, but they wanted to feel as though they were the pursuant when it came to choosing a potential bride. If Windwood were ever under the impression that she intended to marry him, then he would be gone as quickly as a lightning streak in the sky.
Going forward, she had to be careful in the extreme.
A smile tugged at her lips. It was time to enact Plan B.
Donovan returned to the ballroom nearly thirty minutes later, much to the chagrin of his valet who saw the shape of his previous shirt. He pulled the cuffs of his jacket into place as he walked down the steps into the grand room decorated with bits of greenery for the upcoming holiday season. He had never really thought much of Christmas, for it had never been full of the merry abandonment that some aristocratic families enjoyed. As the only son of the former Duke of Windwood, Donovan had always been raised with a firm hand. Frivolities weren’t tolerated for the heir to such a wealthy and vast estate. In fact, the only gift that Donovan could remember receiving that was remotely enjoyable was a book, although it was a selection of treatises rather than a fictional novel which would have “rotted the mind,” according to his sire.
It wasn’t until after the big upset with his father that had Donovan charging off to France in a fit of temper and youthful exuberance, that things had changed. By then, it was too late. His father had died while he was away, and while his mother had tried to soften the blow upon his return, Donovan still considered such festivities to be exuberant and without purpose. He had relented this evening only to placate his mother and because he knew it would help to ease his way back into society so that he might choose a bride and fulfill his duty to his father. It was the least he could do. The previous duke might have been strict, but Donovan now knew it was so he might teach his son what was important in life — his title.
He quickly sought out the group of men he’d been discussing politics with most of the evening. Unfortunately, his mind wasn’t on the topic at hand as it had been before. Miss Pageant was still flitting about through his thoughts like an annoying insect buzzing around in his brain. It was aggravating that a kiss that should have withered away shortly after it had happened had only intensified. Of course, the exuberance that had followed the embrace had been nothing short of vexing, enough so that he found himself scanning the room in search of that head of sable curls.
He found her quickly enough, surrounded by a group of eager men and women. As he observed the scene, they appeared to hang on her every word, as if she was some sort of Biblical prophet who might lead them to the Holy Land. He snorted at the very idea.
“Is the proposed bill not to your liking, Your Grace?”
Donovan gritted his teeth as Miss Pageant strolled onto the dance floor without an apparent care in the world. Forcing himself to look away from her, he turned to the older gentleman who had addressed him, who also served in the House of Lords. “I doubt my opinion gives much weight on the matter. It’s not as if I alone retain the ear of Prinny,” he returned noncommittally. In truth, he had no idea what the other four men had been blathering about.
A few chuckles resounded about the group, giving Donovan the smooth exit that he’d apparently required. He went in search of his mother, but winced when he spied her speaking to a handful of matrons. There was no way he was going to brave so many hopeful mamas. He wasn’t nearly that bold. Or stupid.
Once again, he found his gaze drifting to Miss Pageant, where she was currently being escorted back to her entourage at the end of a set.
Then again…
Adjusting his cravat, he reluctantly headed in that direction.
Emary sensed the instant that the Duke of Windwood paused before her group. Even if the sudden hush around her hadn’t given it away, she could feel his presence there. She waited a moment, and then slowly turned her head to acknowledge him. His bright blue gaze instantly clashed with hers. “Miss Pageant.” He inclined his head.
She dropped into an elegant curtsy and made sure to take note of his new white shirt with a slight curve of her lips. “Your Grace.”
He paused, as if the next words he spoke caused him a great deal of difficulty. “Might I have the pleasure of the next dance?”
Emary glanced down at her dance card where all the spots were filled. Except one. That had been done on purpose with the hope that a certain gentleman might claim her hand. She barely kept her mouth from twitching in delight, but no doubt her eyes shone when she replied, “I fear that the only set I have available is the waltz.”
He appeared to weigh something in his mind. “Fine,” he said rather curtly as he scribbled his name on the blank line. “Until then.” He turned on his heel and walked away from her for the second time that evening.
Emary couldn’t help preening a bit at the duke’s departure, especially when Miss Parkhurst, one of her rivals, looked at her aghast. “Lord Timberton and I had just made a wager that Windwood wouldn’t stand up with anyone this evening! However did you manage such a feat?”
Emary shrugged in a delicate fashion. “I am Emary Pageant.” As if that said it all. A collective murmur of praise went up, and Emary grinned outwardly, careful to keep up appearances.
Inside, she was a perfect mess.
With the very real recollection of the duke’s mouth on hers, she was finding the thought of being held in his arms to be rather enticing. The butterflies in her stomach were so demanding that she decided a brief reprieve to the ladies’ retiring room might be in order.
