Can’t Buy Me a Duke by Bianca Blythe

CHAPTER SEVEN

The first step to rectifyingthe mistake was to find Lucy.

Fortunately, he found her at the Duchess of Hammett’s ball. She wore a pale blue gown with a silver overlay. She practically shimmered. 

Harrison marched toward her, ignoring the startled expressions of other guests who weren’t expecting him to approach her, then swept into a deep bow. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

Lucy did not smile and she gritted her teeth.

A stony expression was not his intended goal, and Harrison flinched. Still, he forced himself to continue to beam. “I thought we could have this dance.”

“You amuse me, Your Grace.”

“I am most amusing,” he agreed, “though I wouldn’t say this precise moment is a humorous one.”

Lucy arched an eyebrow, and Harrison sighed. Clearly, she was upset at him for rejecting her offer. He didn’t blame her.

“We are being observed,” Harrison said softly. “You’re supposed to take my hand, then we’re supposed to dance.”

“You don’t have to ask me to dance. In fact, I’d rather not spend any time with you anymore at all.” Lucy turned away and scrutinized a nearby painting.

If there was any artistic merit to that oil painting of one of the Duke of Hammett’s relatives, Lucy would find it, given the intensity of her gaze.

Harrison shifted his legs. Previously, he might have been pleased with her willingness to avoid him.

If he’d truly asked her to dance at an effort at politeness, he might have been grateful to learn he didn’t have to make forced conversation with her. Still, that was decidedly not the case now.

Too many people were asking questions, and he had no desire to make some poor young debutante think there might be a chance he would marry her and make her his Duchess of Sturbridge. Unfortunately, whenever he’d approached a woman for even a single dance, they would form odd, dewy-eyed expressions. It was kinder to stay away.

Had his mother gazed at his father with similar wonder when he had first approached her? Sturbridge’s heart tightened.

When he approached women, they would stop talking entirely, smile too brightly, and giggle at everything he said.

A faux courtship was not a terrible idea. Besides, he knew Lucy’s situation. He knew the bravery it had taken for her to approach him. He also knew, frankly, that she despised him.

That fact had always been clear, given the sour looks she gave her mother when her mother declared herself pleased by his presence.

He’d always thought it unfortunate that Miss Lucy Banks and her family had moved in next door to his townhouse where his mother resided in Grosvenor Square. In fact, it had been anything else but that. It had been a great boon.

“Let’s dance,” he said through gritted teeth.

“What?”

“I insist we dance.” With that, Harrison dragged her to the dance floor. A rush of heat moved through him as he grasped her gloved hand.

Lucy’s eyes widened, and her mouth formed an o. She slipped on the polished marble floor, and he righted her, noting the delightful manner in which her back curved.

“What are you doing?” She sent him a shocked look.

“Smile.”

She did, and, heavens, there was something brilliant about her smile.

“You have a lovely smile.”

“Is that what you came to tell me?”

“No,” he said. “I have something else to discuss with you.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Your idea—”

“I hope you’re not here to tell me not to find another faux suitor. I am determined.”

“No,” Harrison said. “As long as you’re resolute on going through with it, I’m not here to sway you from your plan. Quite the contrary.”

She sent him a shocked look. “You mean . . . “

He nodded. “Miss Lucy Banks, I am officially faux courting you.”

“Oh.” Her mouth dropped open.

“We’re on the dance floor, my dear. Remember to gaze at me in a besotted manner. We find each other terribly intriguing. Everyone will think we’re a thrilling couple. People will discuss us.”

“Because of my poor reputation,” she said in a soft voice.

“That’s not what I meant. Besides, your best friend is a princess. That can’t make you too unpopular.”

“Some people remember that she broke into a men’s club.”

“That makes you scandalous by association,” Harrison said. “And I, as a rake, find that appealing.”

Lucy giggled. “I suppose I’m somewhat scandalous.”

“No one except me knows how much,” he murmured, pulling her closer to him so no one would hear.

Her cheeks pinkened. “I don’t always break the rules. I am a very good girl.”

He chuckled. “I will refrain from handing you tobacco.” 

“It is a distasteful habit.”

“See,” he said, “that’s something we agree upon. It is a marvelous foundation for our fake courtship.”

“Is that what you’re going to be telling everyone when you explain we are entwined with our hearts?”

“I was hoping there might be other common points of interest I could find instead, though it is nice there’s something to fall back on.”

She laughed, and his heart warmed. 

The dance began, and he stepped back, going into the correct pose, holding his hands just so and his legs just so. She did the same. 

“I think it’s quite unfair,” he said, “that men’s legs are constantly on display, and women get to hide their legs inside large dresses.”

She giggled. “Well, there have to be some advantages to being a woman, though I’ve never thought this particular one was an advantage.”

“No?” He questioned her.

“You see,” Lucy said, “I’m an excellent dancer. I wouldn’t mind if anyone saw my legs. They’re quite shapely.”

“Excuse me?”

Lucy bounced up and down in perfect rhythm to the Scottish reel. She was not out of breath, but her eyes sparkled and shimmered.

For a sudden moment, he imagined her legs bare, and his heartbeat quickened. “You said shapely.”

“I’ve had many dance lessons.”

“Oh,” he said, “that’s what you meant. Not shapely in the other sense.”

“Well, they’re shapely because I do so many lessons,” she said.

“Oh. You meant in a purely factual manner.”

“Indeed. In a purely factual manner, I have quite shapely legs.”

“And I’ll never see them because they’re hidden in that great big skirt of yours.”

She giggled. “Precisely.”

Harrison smiled. “I’ll have to pay attention to my dance steps to keep up with you.”

“I assure you,” she said, “that you are a natural.”

She wasn’t the first woman to compliment his dancing, but he found himself grinning.

“So, you like dancing?” He tilted his head and gazed at her. Somehow, he hadn’t expected that.

“I like all activities. I like running. I like anything that involves balls.” 

Her plump, red lips grinned up at him, and something in his core tightened. He wasn’t going to think about that. She was an innocent after all, and he was not, absolutely not, going to make a double entendre joke.

“What precisely does our fake courtship involve?” he asked.

“People should see us together at various events.”

Harrison nodded. That sounded like an excellent idea, particularly when the events in question included dancing.

“We’ll have to compare calendars,” he said. “I hope you are planning to attend the same events as me.”

“And if I’m not?” She bit her lip, perhaps thinking about how she attended less important balls, like that of Sir Seymour, and her family had not procured entry to the most exclusive establishments.

“I can visit the hosts in question and comment about how nice it would be to see you there.”

She stared at him. “You would do that for me?”

“I assure you, I have much sway.”

“I don’t doubt that. You’re the most eligible man in all London.”

“Unfortunately, that’s becoming all too clear to me.”

“You could marry anyone,” she said. “You know why I want a fake courtship, but why on earth would you, if not for the money?”

“I think we should set some rules,” Harrison said, avoiding her question. “The first rule is that you cannot ask me that question.”

She nodded.

“But the second rule is that we’ll compare calendars and attend the same events.”

“I quite prefer the second rule,” she said.

“I thought you might.” He smirked.

The dance continued. When it was necessary to switch partners, they parted.

A sudden longing shot through Harrison’s chest as if he already missed her, even though they could only have been dancing for three minutes.

It would be easy to feign being utterly enraptured by her. He smiled. This was going to be a most marvelous season.

*

WHEN LUCY RETURNEDto the dance, she half expected the duke to smile and say he’d simply been jesting. He did smile, but he didn’t say he was jesting.

Her skin warmed at his touch, as if he’d swept her away to some glorious Mediterranean country filled with sunbeams and not simply onto a dance floor filled with people she didn’t particularly like.

The other dancers’ eyes bored into her, and she shivered. Eyebrows lurched, and mouths dropped.

“Everyone’s watching us,” Lucy said.

“Naturally.” The duke’s eyes shimmered.

“You’re well aware of your own importance.”

“Mmhmm,” the duke agreed nonchalantly, evidently not seeing it as important to speak actual words.

But then, the duke hardly needed to speak. He was already perfect. His glossy hair glowed in the flickering candlelight. Caramel strands mixed with darker ones, and she had an odd urge to trace them with her fingers. His high cheekbones made his face appear more chiseled, more thoughtfully composed than the others in the room. He was taller than most of the guests as well, and Lucy felt small and insignificant beside him. He would probably look immaculate if he danced with a vase of flowers or one of the brooms the maids used.

Some older women stared at them, puzzlement evident on their faces. Perhaps they’d tried to matchmake him with their exquisitely trained and red-hair devoid daughters.

“Now, we must get to work on our contract,” the duke said. “This is my first time doing this.”

“And you’re already a natural.”

He gave a modest shrug. “I create contracts sometimes for my estate. In fact, I’m having a house party at Thornridge Castle to celebrate the end of the season. Perhaps I could invite you and your family there.”

“Oh.”

“Is something wrong?” 

“I assumed this would end at the end of the season.” 

“It could, should you prefer.”

She shook her head. “No, I would quite like to see your estate. I’m certain my sister would be pleased if you invited Lord Brooke.”

Harrison grinned. “I have already invited him.”

“Then it would be perfect.”

“Excellent.”

The music ended, Lucy curtsied, and Harrison bowed.

“I will dance with you one more time later tonight,” he said. “Three times would be scandalous. I’m not certain it would be believable. Twice would just be enough to intrigue people.”

“Very well.” 

“Save me the next reel. You danced it marvelously.”

Her eyes shimmered, as if still bouncing and twirling. “Thank you.”

“I would almost think you were Scottish.”

“My father is Scottish. He was born in Glasgow.”

“He came to New York as a young child?”

“Indeed. With both parents and three siblings.”

“And his family preferred New York?”

“His family wasn’t hungry in New York.”

“That would be an improvement.”

“And now he’s rich. That’s even more of an improvement.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I think I like New York.”

She must have been looking at him strangely, for he arched an eyebrow. “What are you thinking? Do you have any doubts?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I think you’ll be ideal.”

His eyes sparkled, and her cheeks heated.

“You do have a very nice bow,” Lucy added hastily.

“And your curtsey is superb.” He grinned and led her away from the dance floor.

They separated, and people rushed toward Lucy.

“How was the dance?” one woman asked, her eyelashes fluttering. “He’s so athletic. Isn’t he? It must have been quite nice to dance with him.”

“He is a good dancer,” Lucy said.

The fact was not surprising. Most men here were good dancers. Even the dullest aristocrat in London attended a ball once a week, and the people who truly enjoyed festivities found ways to dance more often. They had hours to practice their dance steps, which always remained the same. There were only a certain number of songs in rotation.

People danced at home as well, but the men often worked on Wall Street. They were focused on creating wealth and not on perfecting basic dance skills.

Still, she had to admit the duke was particularly gifted at dancing.

She smiled. 

She hadn’t liked lingering on the corners of dance floors. Perhaps some men hadn’t been confident she would know the dance steps because she was American. Maybe others had no wish to attempt to lead some overly tall woman around the floor, particularly given her association with the princess. Harrison, though, was taller than she. His height was perfect. He was perfect.