Lady Trapleigh opened her mouth as if to speak but wisely closed it again before storming off, her anger evident in every aspect of her being. Anthony watched her go before turning back to Miss Smith. “My apologies,” he said. He felt like an ass for administering such a set down in her presence, especially knowing that his father would have handled the situation with more class. “But I cannot abide people like that.”
Miss Smith smiled as he sat down next to her across from the sketch artist. “Really, Your Grace? Judging from your tone, I was under the impression that you were quite fond of her.”
Sarcasm, eh? A rare commodity in a young lady and one that Anthony definitely approved of. It was impossible for him not to laugh as he leaned back against the seat, only to discover that whoever had designed this vehicle must have done so with much smaller people in mind. It was practically impossible for him not to touch the entire length of Miss Smith’s body as they sat there, squashed together. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered.
“Why don’t you move your arm, my lord?” said the artist as he waved his piece of charcoal in the general direction of Anthony’s left appendage. “Lift if up a bit . . . just like that . . . yes, there you go, that’s much better.”
Anthony could have sworn he heard Miss Smith gulp as he raised his arm and placed it against the top of the seat, but he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that their thighs were touching and that the curve of her breast was much too close for comfort. Dear Lord, but it was impossible for him to relax—especially when Miss Smith kept shifting from side to side and adding to the friction between them.
It was the closest he’d been to her since they’d met, and he found that it stirred to life an awareness of her that he couldn’t possibly ignore. Her scent was sweet—as if she’d recently bathed in the nectar of honeysuckles. Anthony winced. The thought of her bathing was probably one he should avoid at the moment. Dropping his gaze to her nak*d arm, he marveled at how unblemished it was—not as much as a freckle marred the milky whiteness of it. Unfortunately, said arm was directly perpendicular to her br**sts. Anthony tried to do the right thing and stop his gaze from wandering, but his eyes were apparently less noble and refused to listen, which in turn led to a rather uncomfortable situation a mere second later.
Anthony hastily crossed his legs and looked back up at the artist, only to find the annoying little man grinning right back at him. Thankfully he held his tongue and returned his attention to his work, finishing the sketch with merciful rapidity so that Anthony could finally distance himself from Miss Smith. But in his eagerness to prevent any further inappropriate contact with the woman, he shot to his feet so quickly that he bumped his head on the roof of the carriage, lost his balance and landed right back in his seat. This alone might not have been such a disaster had he not placed his hand upon Miss Smith’s right thigh in an attempt to stop his fall.
Anthony learned a number of interesting facts about Miss Smith in the moment that followed. First, she was not too easily startled, for although she’d emitted a squeak of surprise at the moment of initial contact, she’d refrained from yelling or hitting him (for which he was very much obliged). Second, she possessed the ability to remain calm when faced with unusual circumstances. Third, and perhaps most memorable of all, was the way she felt. Anthony had never considered himself the shallow sort, and he was well aware that the first two elements were of equal, if not greater, importance because they pertained to her character, but he also knew that he could never deny the way his body responded to the softness of her. It was as if molten hot lava had surged up his arm, filling his entire body with a pulsing heat unlike any he’d ever felt before.
It confounded him to such a degree that he found himself at a complete loss for words. After all, it wasn’t as if he had no prior experience with the female sex. Truthfully, he had ample, for until his father’s health had begun to decline, he’d led the same life of debauchery as every other young and unattached gentleman. Casper could attest to this. In fact, it was probably the only cause for tension between them, because while circumstance had forced Anthony to grow up and become the responsible adult he was destined to be, Casper refused to abandon his roguish ways, declaring that it would be wrong to meddle with nature’s intent.
As for Miss Smith . . . Anthony removed his hand from her thigh and hazarded a glance at her, expecting a reprimanding frown. Instead, he found her looking down at the exact spot where his hand had just been. Even in the dim light of the carriage he could see that her cheeks were flushed. She lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes wide with wonder and her lips slightly parted as if she wished to say something but failed to find the right words. It was a moment that Anthony would never forget, for as he looked into her eyes, he knew that she had been just as affected as he.
“Your portrait, Your Grace.”
Anthony blinked, turned away from Miss Smith and accepted the piece of paper that the artist was holding out to him. With the spell broken, he voiced his thanks and alighted from the carriage before offering Miss Smith his hand. She quickly accepted and was on the ground beside him a moment later.
“There you are!” Anthony recognized the voice immediately as that of his mother. Looking over his shoulder, he found her walking toward him with Casper at her side. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you—the food is about to be brought out, so I thought it might be an appropriate time for you to make a toast.”
For the briefest of moments, Anthony considered asking his mother to do it instead, but he knew that would never do. He was the duke, and the making of toasts was his responsibility no matter how much he disliked the prospect of speaking to a room full of people. Being on public display like that made him uncomfortable—it always had—and was the reason why he’d delayed taking that dreaded seat of his in Parliament. But, in light of the fact that this was the first ball hosted at Kingsborough Hall since his father’s death, he couldn’t help but agree with his mother: saying something was the right thing to do. “Of course,” he said, managing a smile that he hoped would mask his nervousness.
“Thank you, my dear,” his mother said. She cast a quick glance in Miss Smith’s direction before returning her gaze to him. “And if you wouldn’t mind mingling a little with the rest of your guests for a while after, I think it would help reassure everyone that you’re taking your new role as duke seriously.”
The implication could not have been clearer if she’d spelled it out for him word by word. His mother knew, just as well as he did, that the woman whose company he’d been enjoying for the past hour was not only an imposter but also, perhaps, even unsuitable for him to associate himself with. It annoyed him—mostly because he knew she was right. He couldn’t remain absent from the ballroom too long without the guests wondering where their host had disappeared to, and since his mother would be the one to suffer most from any potential rumors, he had no choice but to do as she asked.
“Don’t worry,” Casper said with an impish smile. “I’ll be more than happy to keep Miss Smith entertained while you see to your ducal duties.”
Anthony had no doubt that he would, but knowing his friend’s devilish ways, he didn’t feel the least bit reassured by his willingness to help. Not when it came to Miss Smith. He was trying to think of an excuse to prevent Casper from spending any time with her when the lady herself said, “How kind of you, Mr. Goodard.”
“It’s settled then,” his mother declared as she took Miss Smith by the arm and started leading her back inside.
Anthony waited until they were out of earshot before he turned to Casper and said, “If you so much as look at her in an inappropriate fashion, I’ll call you out.”
Placing a hand upon his heart Casper said, “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”
Anthony frowned.
“Your lack of confidence wounds me,” Casper said with exaggerated sadness.
Anthony’s frown deepened.
“Look,” Casper said with a sigh. “Miss Smith is clearly more interested in you than she ever was in me—though I cannot begin to imagine why. Regardless of my reputation, I have never once risked ruining our friendship for the sake of a woman, have I?”
Forced to concede the point, Anthony shook his head.
“And I’ve no desire to do so now. If she’s so important to you, then I won’t ruin it for you—you have my word on that.”
“Thank you,” Anthony said with a nod as he started after his mother and Miss Smith. “I realize how strange it must seem to you, given everything we’ve been through together, but there’s something special about her, and I . . . well, I suppose I’d just like to keep her to myself for the remainder of the evening—find out if there’s a chance for anything more.” Considering what he knew of her, he somehow doubted that she would agree, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that their paths had crossed for a reason.
Keeping pace with him, Casper raised an eyebrow. “More? You’re not thinking of reverting to your sinful ways with Miss Smith, are you?”
“God no,” Anthony said. He realized a moment later that Casper had stopped walking, and he stopped as well so he could turn to look at him.
“Surely you’re not contemplating marriage!” Casper was staring at Anthony as if his head had just fallen off his shoulders. “You barely know her!”
“Casper,” Anthony warned. “I have no intention of marrying anyone . . . yet. So if you don’t mind, I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d refrain from hollering about it for the entire world to hear.”
“My apologies,” Casper whispered. “I can’t imagine what came over me.”
Anthony rolled his eyes before adding, “I happen to like Miss Smith.” Her soon to be fiancé aside. “And since I am entertaining thoughts of marrying in the not so distant future, I’ve decided to start looking at all potential candidates.”
Casper gaped at him. “Are you serious?”
“Quite. In fact, I’ve never been more serious about anything else in my life, and while you may be correct in that I don’t know Miss Smith well enough yet to propose to her, I do know that she’s very forgiving and has a splendid sense of humor.” And before he was tempted to tell his friend more about the time he’d spent in Miss Smith’s company, he hurried up the steps and strode inside the ballroom.
Chapter 6
“Have you met my daughter, the Countess of Huntley?” the dowager duchess asked as she guided Isabella along the periphery of the room.
“No, I have not yet had the pleasure,” Isabella said, eyeing the duchess. She felt as though she ought to address the topic that was hanging over them like a storm cloud waiting to burst. Apologizing for her unauthorized attendance would be the proper thing to do—especially since her host and hostess had not yet tossed her out. That in itself was a miracle to be marveled at. Determined to do the right thing, Isabella placed a staying hand upon the duchess’s arm. The older woman slowed, stopped and turned to look at her expectantly. “I hope you will forgive my intruding on your festivities this evening. Should you wish for me to leave, I will do so immediately.”