How to Marry a Duke (A Cinderella Society 2)

Actually, she could.

Best not dwell on that right now.

He was entirely too handsome with his thick brown hair and lean muscles. She’d paint him as a warrior-king. Arthur, or Perseus, holding the head of Medusa. Actually, she quite liked Medusa. Make it Jason, then.

In short, he didn’t look like a duke.

Mind you, she wasn’t exactly acting like a viscount’s daughter, either.

It served her right for getting overly confident. Still, even if he accused her, no one would believe that Meg Swift, quiet artist with a dab hand in the genteel arts of embroidery, watercolors, and flower arrangement, would steal. She had cultivated an impression of refined politeness for years now. No one knew that she could also scrub an oven clean, polish silver, and make a passable stew. Not even the other Cinderellas knew that.

On the other hand, he was a duke.

And she had a reticule filled with gold almonds.

Double blast.

Pendleton would never begrudge her sweets, even if he didn’t know what she did with them. But she would hate to embarrass him, and any rumors would enrage her uncle. Not to mention shred the thin veil of secrets she’d spent so long stitching together.

“He’s rather delicious, wouldn’t you say?” Tamsin asked.

“I suppose.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as strange as it did inside her own head. She needed to redirect Tamsin’s attention. Now. “Is that the waltz?” she asked when the music changed.

“Already?” Tamsin shoved her cup of melted grapefruit ice at Meg, who barely caught it before it toppled to the floor. “Have you seen Henry? He promised to waltz with me to save me from Eaton the Lecher.”

Lord Eaton was notorious for his wandering hands on the dance floor and what she could only assume was much worse behavior in private. He was tall and blonde with a blindingly white smile which distracted from his misdeeds. And he was convinced that as a duke’s daughter, Tamsin was the best catch of the season. Despite her obvious objections. Or perhaps because of them.

And he was coming this way.

“Do you think I can hide under the table?” Tamsin hissed.

“He’s already seen you,” Meg hissed back.

“Who has?” Henry asked.

Meg and Tamsin both jumped at his abrupt apparition. As Persephone’s oldest friend, they had known him since they were in leading strings. He was sturdy and kind, with brown hair and brown eyes and a new gauntness he’d never had before. And he was a hero now, much written about in the papers after nearly being scapegoated for treason.

“Oh, thank God,” Tamsin grabbed his hand. “We’re dancing.”

“We are?”

“Now, Captain Talbot.” She tugged on his hand.

“What’s the rush? I thought you were saving me from waltzing with debutantes looking to snag themselves a husband. And they seem otherwise engaged at present.”

“Bah. As if that’s anything. Try dancing with Eaton and fighting his hands off your backside.”

“What?” For such a friendly, calm gentleman, even after his return from war on the Continent, he certainly had a commendable grasp of the cold, deadly tone. Meg half wondered icicles didn’t shiver into being around them.

“I’ll explain when I’m safe,” Tamsin said as he followed her.

“You’re safe now,” he said darkly. There was a promise in it.

But Eaton’s next target was not safe.

Meg watched his expression as Tamsin took to the floor with Henry: annoyed, surly under that smile. And then he noticed the debutante just a few feet away from Meg: eighteen if she was a day, excited to be at a ball, diamonds glittering in her hair. Her chaperone, her mother most likely, was just as eager, especially when she spotted Eaton. Which meant she’d clearly never met him and did not know to avoid him like the plague he was.

Waltzes were dangerous and not just because the more old-fashioned set was convinced it would make ladies dizzy and delirious. And not because it required partners to stand close enough to whisper secret remarks to each other or that it was often the only chance to touch a member of the opposite sex, beyond a hand offered at the carriage step. You could feel your partner’s muscles under his sleeves, the warmth of him, his breath on your cheek if he was very daring.