Madcap Miss

He said as he stopped and took her hand, “You know, you must have every advantage. It is my duty as your guardian to present you to the haute ton and allow you to meet eligible bachelors … as many and as varied as possible, so that when you decide on one, it will be because you had a choice.”

She eyed him. He was ready to let her go. Very well, so be it, she thought as her heart took a pounding. She would not break. The night she had spent with him had been at her instigation. She had known full well that she might never win his heart. Apparently, she had not.

“A choice, you say. How very exciting. Well, I suppose it all starts tonight.” She started forward, but the next thing she knew, he had her spun around and back into his arms.

His mouth on hers was desperate, and she responded with a heat that surely must show him how she felt about him?

His tongue melted hers. His hand swept over her breast, and then he groaned and stepped away, holding her shoulders apart from himself. “I am the worst scoundrel imaginable. I have to get control. You are an innocent. You came to me an innocent, and I took you knowing you were vulnerable. I will not do so again.” He took her hand and pulled her along. “This was very wrong of me … bringing you here, like this … we must get back.”

He saw her situated within his coach, and the short ride back to Waverly House was made in silence. He saw her to the door, turned on his heel, and she bucked herself up as she went inside. She had used every ounce of strength not to call him back and not look after him.

She went indoors and took the stairs, only mildly aware that Lady Daphne peeked out of the morning room and watched her.

Throwing herself onto her bed, she couldn’t stop the wrenching sobs that escaped her lips. He did not love her. He was about to watch her being launched and perhaps engaged to someone else.

Could she give herself to anyone else? No … oh, no …

~ Twenty-Two ~

THE DUKE PREPARED to enter the Dyson Rout and watch his sprite of a woman swept off her feet by any number of eligible bachelors.

Pain filled his chest, and he wondered why it felt so tight. He had to back away from her; only a complete scoundrel would stand in her way.

She was, as Becky had dubbed her, a madcap of a woman. Lively and beautiful, dear, gentle of heart, and wild to a fault. She had kept him in a busy dance from the time he had met her, and he couldn’t remember a moment he hadn’t been glad she was in it.

What then?

He was her guardian. It was his duty to see her well established. There was nothing for it but to keep himself at arm’s length and allow her to meet and review an array of suitors. He had no doubt that one of them would steal her away and that his life would forever be empty without her in it.

After all, she had come to him only because he had rescued her and been there during a vulnerable time in her life. He had no right, none whatsoever, to want her the way that he did.

She was, in spite of their burning and erotic night together, an innocent.

He walked into the ballroom and stood a moment, watching the festivities as his name was announced.

Heads turned … but the only person he saw was her, and he saw her at once.

She was a ravishing young woman in a gown of pale cream velvet. Her cascading black curls bounced as she took a step towards him. Her piquant face was upturned to him … just for him.

And at her side was the young Earl of Corlumby.

He was a tall and handsome young man. He had fortune and title, and from the little the duke knew of him, he was a nice enough fellow. From the way the young earl was staring at Felicia’s profile, he obviously was much taken.

Felicia hurried towards him, her young earl following her like a puppy. She put out both her gloved hands, and the duke sucked in air so that he could breathe and then speak. “Felicia,” he said softly.

“I have been waiting for you,” Felicia said breathlessly, seemingly heedless of whatever her young earl might think. She turned to him and said, “Willy, this is my …” She hesitated and inclined her head, her green eyes twinkling at him. “… guardian, the Duke of Somerset.”

‘Willy’ put out his hand. “We are acquainted already … in a way, as I have seen you in passing at White’s.”

The duke allowed him a friendly enough smile. “Indeed, I am also a friend of your uncle’s.”

“Uncle Roland? Yes, yes, grand ol’ fellow.”

The duke suddenly felt very aged indeed. Here was this chap who couldn’t be more than three and twenty beside his twenty-year-old ward … and he approaching thirty. His heart suddenly gave him a twinge in his chest.

Felicia’s eyes narrowed as she met his, and she said, “’Tis a waltz, Your Grace … and though it is unorthodox for me to ask you, would you lead me out for my first one of this season?”

His breath hitched in his throat. He saw ‘Willy’ stand back respectfully, and he offered his arm to his ward. He had to keep telling himself: she was his ward. “I am honored—how could it be otherwise?”