“What manner of visit?”
“One that extracted a promise from him to stay in Cornwall for the period of at least one year. He will also be writing a hearty endorsement of your Clovercote novel, should it be published.”
“Warburton. What did you do?”
“Never mind. Suffice to know that he won’t be here. Now then. It’s time.”
Halfway down the stairs she nearly tripped on her skirts but he expertly righted her. She leaned into his solid strength, his commanding presence.
The throng parted for them, everyone staring intently, the whispers swelling after they passed:Warburton has a ward? Who is she? Haven’t seen the duke in years. Those scars of his... she must be frightened half to death, poor wee thing. He’ll dower her handsomely, no doubt.
“Why is everyone so fascinated by us?” Ana asked the duke in a low voice.
“They’re fascinated by you. Wondering who you are... and how you came to be my ward.”
“Or perhaps they’re wondering if you attended the ball not for me, but because you’ve finally decided to take a bride.”
He snorted. “Highly unlikely.”
Lady Glynis poked her in the back with her fan and Ana straightened her shoulders.
“They’re whispering about your beauty,” he said.
“Ha!” The loud cackle exploded from her mouth before she could retrieve it. Lady Glynis rapped her on the shoulder with a disapproving glance. “That’s preposterous,” Ana whispered.
“It’s not. You look beautiful tonight. Your father would have been very proud.”
A lump formed in her throat. Her dear father, adoration beaming from his eyes. She would have given anything to see his gentle smile again, to feel as special as he always made her feel. But he was gone, and any illusions she’d held about her own worth had departed with him. “It’s only a mirage of beauty, created by this obscenely expensive gown and these borrowed emeralds. They wouldn’t give me a second glance if they’d seen me on the street a mere fortnight ago.”
He stopped walking abruptly and Lady Glynis nearly bumped into them. He turned to Ana, lifted her hand to his lips, staring into her eyes. “It’s not the gown or the jewels.” His eyes were the color of rain falling on weathered stone. “It’s you, Analise.”
The room went quiet, everything faded away. All she saw were his eyes, the steel of them, the certainty. The heavy, sweet scent of dew-drenched roses filled the air. The music swelled and it sounded like the song had been composed especially for them.
Beautiful, the strings sang,he thinks you’re beautiful.
“Pardon me, Your Grace, Lady Glynis.”
A man’s voice destroyed the intimate moment. Ana turned to find a handsome, fair-haired young lord in an almost overwhelmingly abundant ivory cravat addressing them.
“Lord Darbyshire, is it not?” Warburton asked.
The man bowed. “At your service. I was wondering if I might beg the privilege of adding my name to Miss Crewe’s dance card?”
The duke’s eyes narrowed. “Darbyshire. You’re Cavendish’s firstborn?”
“I am.”
“I hear you frequent the gaming hells.”
“Er...” Lord Darbyshire ran a thumb under his tall collar, as if the air in the room had grown too warm. “No more than any young man does, that is I’ve visited the establishments but don’t make a habit of it.”
“If I visited Old Crocky’s right now and asked how often you’re there of an evening, and whether your bets are reckless and your cups deep, what manner of report would they give me?”
“Ah...” Another pluck at his collar, his cheeks turning pink now. “I might have made a mistake here or there, but that’s all behind me now.”
The duke’s eyes were cold and hard. “Are you willing to sign a contract stating you will never gamble again?”
“I beg your pardon?”