Can’t Buy Me a Duke by Bianca Blythe
CHAPTER TWO
Most places were improvementson Almack’s, but Sir Seymour’s ball was one of the few exceptions. Harrison James, Duke of Sturbridge, cast a disgruntled look around the murky green ballroom. A few older women huddled by the fireplace while some other guests lingered near the punch table.
Everyone gawked at him. Harrison favored not being the center of attention. Unfortunately, that was exactly what he was.
He forced a smile on his face, even though the violin arrangement was hardly smile-inducing. “Do you want to stay?”
Benedict’s eyes shimmered and shone, as if he’d entered a cathedral after a lengthy days-long pilgrimage on his knees. “Yes.”
Harrison’s stomach fell with a rapidity suited for a desire to disappear beneath the polished floorboards. He knew that look. That look had appeared on the faces of his best friends before they’d announced an inclination to marry and move to the countryside. When he’d seen his friends again, they’d been accompanied by spouses at whom they gazed cow-eyed. The other portion of the time had been spent loudly proclaiming their spouses’ virtues and unparalleled beauty.
A dull ache slithered through Harrison’s chest. “Who’s the woman?”
“Miss Banks,” Benedict said dreamily. His lengthy lashes fluttered, actually fluttered, and his cheeks were rosier than before.
Harrison blinked. “Miss Banks?”
He knew Miss Banks.
Other men had spoken about Miss Banks in his presence, but the discussion had hardly been flattering.
Harrison’s nose wrinkled, and his eyebrows coursed up. “She’s the target of your amorous impulses?”
Benedict’s always amiable face stiffened. “You needn’t contort your face so vilely. Miss Banks is an angel. A goddess. A—” Benedict stopped, perhaps flummoxed by what could surpass a goddess and valiantly sucked in a deep breath of air. “A most magnificent creature. No poet could conjure a more lovely being.”
“Miss Banks?” Harrison repeated, and his eyebrows scrambled toward each other, as if to confer over the conundrum. “She’s cantankerous.”
Understanding flitted over Benedict’s face, and he gave a compassionate smile. “You haven’t met her.”
“I have!” Harrison insisted. “The experience was . . . memorable.”
The last statement was the politest thing he could say about Miss Banks. Most women didn’t have bright red hair and American accents. They also didn’t spend their time huffing and rolling their eyes.
“I am referring to Miss Isabella Banks.” Benedict’s eyes had that dreadful dewy sheen again.
Oh.
Evidently, that was the woman’s sister.
“I haven’t made her acquaintance,” Harrison admitted.
Still, he doubted a younger version of Miss Banks would be an improvement. A younger version would simply have more energy. He didn’t want to contemplate her powers of scowling.
“I’ll introduce you,” Benedict said with a beatific smile. He then sobered. “Though you mustn’t steal her from me.”
“I won’t,” Harrison said. “I have no intention of ever marrying.”
Benedict snorted. “That is a most uncharacteristic statement from a duke.”
Harrison chuckled, but the laughter was forced. “Let’s meet your Miss Banks. I’ll be a perfect gentleman, I promise.”
An uneasy look drifted over Benedict’s face. “You needn’t be too perfect.”
Harrison raised his eyebrows.
“I want her for myself,” Benedict explained.
“Any woman would adore you,” Harrison said, even though it felt odd to remind his friend of his advantages. Insecurity was not a common affliction for Benedict.
After all, Benedict was Lord Brooke. He was a viscount. And unlike most viscounts, he was young and handsome. He didn’t even spend his time installing opera singers in expensive apartments and gambling at gaming hells.
No, Harrison was certain any woman would leap at the chance to become Lady Brooke and mistress of Elm Manor.
“You’re besotted,” Harrison said.
Benedict didn’t attempt to deny Harrison’s words. Instead, he batted his lashes again, and Harrison had the horrible sense his best friend had just moaned.
“When is the wedding?” Harrison teased.
Benedict’s face sobered. “Miss Isabella Banks is not allowed to marry.”
Harrison’s lips twitched. “I’m certain an exception could be made for you.”
“No.” Benedict averted his eyes, and a mournful expression, suitable to reading the more serious sections of broadsheets, crossed over his face.
Blast.
Benedict was actually upset. Miss Isabella Banks wasn’t allowed to marry.
Harrison furrowed his brow. “Isn’t the whole point of bringing young ladies to this ball to have men propose to them? So, they’ll be taken care of the rest of their lives?”
“Her parents insist her oldest sister becomes engaged first.” Benedict’s expression resembled that of a distraught peasant eying an invading army.
Harrison’s chest tightened. They were waiting for Lucy Banks to marry? No man would ever do that. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, old chap.”
“It is a hopeless desire.”
“Perhaps her parents can be persuaded . . .”
Benedict shook his head.
“How terrible.” Perhaps Harrison had no desire to marry, but he couldn’t imagine being in love and thwarted.
Benedict lifted his chin in a brave manner. “Perhaps someone will marry Isabella’s sister.”
“Perhaps,” Harrison said. “There’s always hope.”
Personally, he felt sorry for whichever poor sod ended up with Miss Lucy Banks.
Benedict nodded solemnly, but his face seemed stiffer than normal, and his eyes had a distinct dewy glint. “Indeed.”
Damnation.
Benedict was upset.
“Well, why don’t you at least introduce us?” Harrison suggested.
“Very well,” Benedict said, and Harrison followed his friend to the other side of the ballroom.
Miss Lucy Banks’s presence was immediately evident. Her red hair might as well be a beacon. She looked no more fashionable than she in the past. In fact, even her dress was wrinkled tonight, and red and orange splotches marred the yellow fabric. Clearly, she noticed him, for she glared.
“Are you certain Miss Isabella Banks is different from her sister?” Harrison asked.
“Most different,” Benedict said in that same dreamy, awestruck voice.
Mr. and Mrs. Banks parted, and a blonde woman who could only be Miss Isabella Banks appeared. Benedict was right. She looked nothing like her older sister. Her hair was a pale flaxen color, and her large, wide-set eyes were a bright blue that no doubt compelled suitors to immediately rhapsodize about the wonders of the ocean. Her figure was slim, though not to such a degree that she could be labeled skinny. She simply resembled a Greek goddess.
Her eyes lit up immediately when she saw Benedict, and Harrison’s heart warmed. Even though he grumbled about his friends marrying, given the fact he would never partake in that particular institution, he enjoyed seeing his friend so happy.
“Your Grace!” Mrs. Banks sank into a deep curtsy.
Her husband looked at her askance, as if wondering whether he should assist her up.
“Bow, Mr. Banks,” Mrs. Banks ordered in a loud whisper. “Bow.”
With obvious reluctance, Mr. Banks bowed. “Your Grace.”
Harrison and Benedict also bowed, murmuring various pleasantries.
“You remember my daughter?” Mrs. Banks pointed at Lucy.
Lucy observed him sullenly from half-closed eyes.
“Yes,” Harrison said promptly. “She is unforgettable.”
Mr. Banks smiled, but Lucy seemed to be experimenting to see whether she could transform her eyes into daggers. No one had ever glowered at him with such intensity.
He turned to Mrs. Banks. “I—er—have not met your other daughter, though.”
“I suppose I can introduce you,” Mrs. Banks said reluctantly.
Harrison exchanged glances with Benedict. Clearly, Mrs. Banks was as protective of her younger daughter as people said.
“Your Grace, this is Miss Isabella Banks.” Mrs. Banks gestured to the blonde woman beside her. “Isabella, this is the Duke of Sturbridge.”
Harrison lowered his torso. “A great pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Miss Isabella Banks smiled, and even though Harrison’s heart didn’t adopt a dangerous pace, he understood why people would be taken with her. She resembled a real-life doll. In addition to her wide-set eyes, she had rosebud lips, and her blonde hair was arranged in perfect ringlets. She wouldn’t look out of place in a toy shop.
“You probably want to dance with my sister,” Lucy said grouchily.
Her mother shot her a horrified glance. “You mustn’t say that.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Lucy asked stubbornly.
The corners of Harrison’s lips twitched. He shot a glance at Benedict. His friend’s face had turned white, and tension emanated from him. The man was smitten.
“Actually, Miss Banks,” Harrison said, “I had hoped to dance with you.”
“Me?” Lucy’s eyes widened. He’d never noticed they were emerald before, but now it seemed impossible to ignore. Pity such pretty eyes had been wasted on such a person of such disagreeableness.
“Indeed,” Harrison said, conscious of Benedict’s shoulders lowering.
“And I would like to dance with you,” Benedict said hastily to Lucy’s sister.
She gave a pretty smile and accompanied the viscount onto the dance floor.
“Miss Banks?” Harrison repeated.
“She says yes!” her mother squealed. “She says yes.”
Harrison gazed warily about the ballroom. That volume of voice was normally reserved for when daughters received proposals from their suitors.
Most of the ballroom stared, evidently more intrigued by his exchange with the Banks family than the prospect of bouncing up and down to the imperfectly played violin.
“She’s going to dance with me,” he mouthed to the biggest gossip. “Nothing more.”
People gave an understanding nod.
Reluctantly, Miss Lucy Banks took his hand. An odd shiver moved through him as if something momentous had happened.
But then, of course, something momentous had happened. He was going to dance with the most undesirable woman in the room. She had a miserable look on her face.
“I promise not to step on your toes,” he said.
“I’ll throttle you if you do.”
He chuckled despite himself. After all, he didn’t need to look like he was having a good time. He just needed to dance with her, so Benedict could dance with her sister.
“Dancing with me isn’t a miserable prospect,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow.
“That’s not a controversial statement,” he insisted.
“Do you begin all your dances by saying that?”
“Only with you,” he said lightly.
She smiled, though he wasn’t certain whether it was because they were joining the other dancers and she would no longer be forced into prolonged conversation with him.
The music began, and Harrison moved. Thankfully, the musicians had decided on a reel and not a waltz. Holding Miss Banks in his arms was the absolute last thing Harrison desired. Hopefully, he would not encounter her after tonight.