Only a Lady Will Do by Tamara Gill

Chapter 9

The opera was everything that Iris wished it to be, and it was over before she realized it. They were one of the first to leave, the ducal carriage rolling up before Theater Royal, Drury Lane. The duke helped his mother before turning and taking her hand, helping her step into the vehicle.

Her gown caught beneath her shoe, and she slipped, but before her leg scraped down the carriage step, the duke was there, his strong, warm arms wrapped about her waist, stopping her downward trajectory.

Her body burned at his touch, his warm breath grazing her cheek. She steadied herself with her hands against his chest, her mind screeching to a halt at the chiseled, hardened muscles beneath her palms.

She breathed in his sweet apple scent, moving away as fast as she could before anyone noticed that she thoroughly enjoyed being rescued by His Grace, and before his mother!

Worse, however was now that she had touched him once, it would not be enough, that she would crave the feel of him from this night on.

Iris met the dowager's concerned gaze, releasing a shaky breath that the duchess had not noticed Iris's reaction to her son.

Not that she would ever dare wish for more from the man. He was not for her. He would marry a lady far above her status, if not wealth. A woman who struggled to walk on the coldest of days, who did look as if she had been in a tavern brawl, was not his intended. His wife would be perfect, unblemished from life—a diamond among paste.

She was not that lady.

"Are you injured, my dear? Do take care. The steps can become slippery with a little dust upon them."

"I am quite well," she assured the dowager, trying once again to enter the equipage without causing injury to herself or anyone else.

The duke followed them and sat across from her, his gaze fixed on the outdoors before he thumped the roof, and they were off. His attention moved from the passing shop fronts and homes that lined the London streets and collided with hers.

Iris's heart thumped hard in her chest. His dark, hooded gaze did not shift, and she had the oddest feeling he was contemplating something. Was he debating now joining them at the ball? She supposed now that he had seen Lady Sophie again mayhap that had changed his mind.

Iris dismissed the thought as soon as she had it. She did not want to think of Lady Sophie or any other lady for that matter, so long as he kept looking at her as he now did. Like a man overrun with concupiscence. With wants and needs that she may be able to meet.

Not that she knew anything about such emotions, but she had caught glimpses of such looks from her betrothed before he passed.

What those looks meant, however, with Penworth, she could not say. Possibly, he could not either.

She sighed, breaking eye contact, and studied her hands in her lap instead. It wasn't very reasonable of her to believe he would contemplate anything with her. He was looking out for her. Helping her navigate the Season now that she was having another after so long away from London.

There was nothing to his look other than companionable friendship.

"I will attend McCalter's midnight ball with you after all."

The dowager looked at her son, clearly surprised by this turn of events. "How lovely, my dear. But I feel I must warn you there will be ladies present who will wish to dance."

He shrugged, his attention once more on the passing city outside the carriage windows. "It is too early to return to my lodgings, and I have no other commitment. Moore said he would also be in attendance with Isolde. We shall make a merry group."

Iris could not agree more. How lovely for the Worthinghams to have such a close family. The five siblings certainly seemed fond of each other. As an only child, she had longed for a sibling, but alas, her mama had never borne one. That her mother was also an only child, cousins were but a dream too.

"Will any of your other sisters attend this year?" she asked, wanting to feel at ease after the odd looks from the duke only minutes before. Her stomach fluttered still, which would never do. She would not allow herself to dream, to hope for anything more with the duke. His family having already been more than welcoming and helpful.

"We may see Elizabeth, but Victoria and Alice will not be in town. When the Season draws to a close, I'm traveling back to Scotland to spend time with my eldest daughter, Elizabeth."

The duke made a scoffing sound, and Iris looked at him curiously.

"Do not scoff, Your Grace. You are friends with Muir. No need for any animosity."

Curiouser and curiouser. Whatever happened between them, she couldn't help but wonder.

The duke raised his brow, attempting to look down his nose at his mother, and failing miserably with the steely gaze his parent shot back at him. "That is debatable. Friends may be too broad a term."

"You do not like him because he defended himself when you flew at him with your fists." The duchess turned to Iris. "My son, you see, is a little overprotective of his sisters, and Elizabeth had been hurt by Muir years before their marriage. His Grace could not forgive as easily as Elizabeth."

"They are happily married now?" Iris asked, looking forward to the day she may meet the duke's sister, all of them in fact.

"Oh yes, for many years now. Muir is a Scottish earl."

"I would like to travel to Scotland, although I have heard it is terribly cold."

"Your husband may treat you, Miss Cooper. When you find him, you shall have to ensure it is part of the marriage contracts."

Iris nodded, pinning a smile to her lips at the duke's words. His statement filled her with disappointment. The idea that he had meant anything by his heated gazes was a silly notion she would not allow herself to have again. His statement had put paid to such fanciful thoughts. While she may wish for more, he certainly was not reflecting in that way.

The carriage rolled to a stop before the McCalter's townhouse. The home was lit like a beacon of light, shining brightest in the dim street. Carriages lined both sides of the road, and people were everywhere as they made their way toward the entrance.

They, too, stepped down from the carriage, making their way toward the house. Iris was jostled and separated from the duchess, who moved forward, unaware of what had happened. She came up to the door, and a footman stepped in front of her, halting her progress.

"Do you have an invitation? All guests must be accounted for," he stated, glancing at her hands that were empty.

"I'm here with the Dowager Duchess of Penworth and her son the duke." Iris pointed to the duchess, who was now speaking to the hostess, unaware that Iris was not at her side.

The footman raised one mocking brow. "Her Grace does not seem to be missing her companion. Please move aside, and make way for the other invited guests."

He looked past her, dismissing her. Iris gasped, heat burning her cheeks. She stepped aside, unsure what she should do next. Should she try to track down the carriage or find a Hackney cab and return home?

"Miss Cooper is with me." A deep baritone sounded behind her.

Penworth placed her hand on his arm and walked past the gaping footman without a by your leave. Iris glanced over her shoulder and could not help the small laugh that bubbled up and out.

"You're my hero, Your Grace. Thank you," she teased, smiling.

He smiled back, his blue eyes alight with amusement. "I loathe uppity servants as much as I loathe uppity aristocrats."

A warm, fuzzy feeling settled in her belly at his words. It was not every day a handsome duke saved a lady, and she would enjoy the moment for what it was. His Grace merely being a friend, a gentleman. Now she needed to find one of her own.