To Pleasure a Duke (The Husband Hunters Club 3)

“The Most Noble Duke of Somerton and Lady Annabelle St. John!” declared the doorman—the village constable—in his loudest and most official voice.

Sinclair bowed as he was introduced to the gathering and Annabelle curtseyed prettily. A crush of The Acorn’s elite surged toward them, but already the duke’s gaze was surveying the room over their heads, darting from face to face in the crowded room. Eugenie felt that familiar drummer boy begin his tattoo on her heart. She suspected that Sinclair was looking for her. Who else would he be searching for among this motley lot? With a smile she couldn’t quite contain, she made her way toward him.

As soon as he caught sight of her, something sparked in his dark eyes, despite his face remaining cool and aloof. Annabelle, suddenly noticing her, clasped her arm to draw her into their intimate circle.

“Miss Belmont, how nice to see you again!” she declared, and then half turned aside to avoid her brother’s watchful eyes and whispered, “Where is Terry?”

“I am certain he will find you,” Eugenie whispered back. She wondered if she should offer a warning, but decided against it. This was her night, too, and she wanted to enjoy herself.

“So this is the famous village ball,” Sinclair said, with that sneering curl to his lip she found so extremely irritating. When they were married, Eugenie told herself, she would insist he stop doing that.

When they were married. . .

A giggle escaped her at the sheer madness of the idea.

Sinclair gave her a baleful look. “Is it customary for one to dance or does one watch, Miss Belmont?”

“Well I prefer to dance,” she said cheerfully. “There will be supper, too, later on. But do not expect a late night, Your Grace. The ball finishes promptly at midnight so that the farmers can rise to till their crops and milk their cows.”

He gave her a sharp look but didn’t seem to know how to answer her, or perhaps he was thinking up a suitable put-down.

“Will we stroll about?” Eugenie suggested, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. “Then I can introduce you to some of the people present. Although I expect some of them are already known to you, Your Grace.” She added, when he gave her a blank look, “Your tenants.”

He looked down at her gloved fingers, resting so intimately upon his sleeve, and his mouth twitched. “Miss Belmont,” he drawled, bending his head so that only she could hear. “I think you know very well I haven’t come here to play polite with my tenants or eat what passes for supper at The Acorn. I’m here because of you.”

Eugenie felt herself drawn into his dark gaze, like a small bird into a thunderstorm. She might have stepped away, to compose herself, but he’d placed his warm hand over hers to hold her exactly where she was. This was happening too quickly and she didn’t know what to do, how to behave.

“Because of me, Your Grace?” she said, breathless, smiling to make a joke of it. “What could I possibly have to do with your attendance at our village ball?”

His eyes narrowed. Suddenly he looked very formidable and rather flustered. “I am no good at word games, Miss Belmont. Never have been.”

“I’m not playing a game, Your Grace.”

He frowned at her, looked away, but she saw the hint of doubt, of shyness in his eyes. Could the grand duke of Somerton be as uncertain of his next move as she? His vulnerability touched her as his arrogance never could.

“You asked me on the last occasion we met whether I’d ever done anything reckless . . . dangerous. I had the feeling you thought me a poor sort of chap when I denied it and I’ve been considering the matter ever since.”

“I did not mean—”

“Of course you did!” he retorted.

Several heads lifted and he lowered his voice again.

“I have decided, Miss Belmont, that I would very much like to do something reckless and dangerous, but I need your help.”

“M-my goodness, Your Grace.”

He glanced about him and now she could see his frustration in every pore. “This is impossible. We should find somewhere private so that I can explain more fully.”

She tucked an unruly curl behind her ear, giving herself time to think. “Your Grace, I am fully conscious of the honor you do me—”

“That is—”

Eugenie put up a finger, as if to lay it against his mouth to hush him, but stopped herself in time. She tucked the same curl behind her ear, blushing. His eyebrows rose. He was smiling at her.

“As—as much as I would like to speak with you in private, Your Grace, I don’t think it would be appropriate so soon. You’ve only just arrived. Tongues would wag—they are probably already wagging over the time you have spent with me—and although you may think the manners of our villagers quite antiquated I do have to live with them.”

Had she reproved him?