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.
“I should probably go powder my nose to prepare for such an unprecedented event,” she purred. She was about to make her escape when Lord Hallwood’s face fell.
“But this is our dance,” the young heir nearly whined.
Emary sighed inwardly. She had no choice but to remain. She knew the man well enough to know that if she refused him he would likely kick up a terrible fuss at being ignored and then she would be forced to sit out the rest of the sets, and that just wouldn’t do with the duke due to return.
At times she grew weary of such young, immature men of the aristocracy who believed that they were entitled. But mature men like Windwood who carried more experience and battle-weary scars…
She offered Hallwood a brilliant smile. “Of course. I shouldn’t dare miss the opportunity to stand up with you.”
He was satisfied when she took his arm, his expression one of a whelp who’d been handed a particular treat. It made Emary nauseous, but she laughed and flirted and did everything that a young lady in society ought to do because it was expected of her.
It wasn’t until she found herself standing in front of Windwood yet again that she felt her carefully rehearsed bravado slip slightly. His eyes seemed to caress her as he held out a hand. “Are you ready?”
As she drank in his appearance, a shiver to ran up and down her body so fast that she trembled. She didn’t dare trust herself to speak, so she merely nodded and placed her gloved hand in his.
He led her to the floor where they got into position, his right hand placed on the small of her back while she settled her fingers on his broad right shoulder. She took a deep, steadying breath as she glanced up, only to see him staring down at her as if she was a dessert that he fully intended to devour. She felt her heart skip a beat — and then the music started.
Chapter 3
Donovan realized, in that moment, that he was an idiot.
He had faced adversaries on the battlefields in France, faced down the enemy with nary a blink, and yet one pretty debutante fluttered her lashes at him and he found himself practically falling at her feet. No, he corrected himself. In truth, it was worse than that. He wanted to slowly strip the clothes from Miss Pageant’s body and drink his fill of her form before he sank himself into her, giving them both the pleasure that their bodies craved.
And like it or not, he knew that she wasn’t immune to him. He wasn’t so much of a war weary soldier that he couldn’t recognize the signs.
He admitted that she’d had him fooled at first, but the hitch in her breathing, the slight flush on her face, and the sparkle in those deep brown eyes told the truth. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. But the trouble with debutantes was that he couldn’t satisfy his lust without being leg shackled at the altar. And while he might be attracted to Miss Pageant, he couldn’t say that she was the one he wished to spend his life with. It wasn’t something he could deduce in the matter of a few hours, which was the extent of how long he’d known her.
“Emary is a rather unique name,” he noted abruptly.
Instead of appearing insulted, she merely smiled. “It’s a combination of my parents’ names, Edward and Mary.”
“Ah.” Interesting. “Tell me about your family.”
With her charming grin firmly in place, she replied, “I’m here with my parents this evening, Viscount and Viscountess Armenton.”
He raised a brow. “Any siblings?”
She shook her head. “I fear that, like you, I am an only child.”
“I suppose that someday you wish for a large family to make up for what you didn’t have,” he guessed.
“On the contrary,” she returned. “I don’t particularly wish to marry.”
His second brow joined the first. What game was she playing at now? “I find that rather hard to believe, considering your many admirers, not to mention that you’re a well-bred woman.”
She tilted her head slightly, sending her dark curls bouncing around her shoulders. “I rather enjoy the attention that I receive, so why should I wish to rid myself of it? Besides, what does my sex have to do with anything? Times are progressing and changing all the time, Your Grace. Personally, I prefer to apply a more forward approach when it comes to my future.”
He laughed. “While I appreciate your candor, Miss Pageant, surely you don’t expect to become a spinster?” He found this idea terribly intolerant. “Ladies are expected to marry. If they didn’t, what a sad lack of people we would have.” He stilled. “Unless you plan to conceive out of wedlock?”
She shook her head. “I would never subject a child of mine to such ridicule and ostracizing. I was thinking more along the lines of self-support.”
While what she spoke of was quite unheard of for a woman, he found that his interest was piqued nonetheless. “Such as?”
Her lips twitched becomingly, the action making him urge to sample them again. “I was rather thinking of becoming a novelist.”
He snorted. “It’s perfectly normal to have aspirations, Miss Pageant, but surely you can see the folly of taking such imaginings to these extremes.”
“Am I?” She tilted her head to the side, her gaze shrewd. “What about Ann Radcliffe and her successes?”
