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CHAPTER3

There wasnothing more depressing to the spirits than announcing to your handsome enemy that you needed to marry, and having a resounding silence. Except, perhaps seeing the man your mother was cultivating on your behalf. Tam’s stomach sank as she saw the man she was talking with, fluttering her fan and pointing over at Tam.

He followed her gaze. “Dance with me.”

“What?” He wanted to dance? The rakish, gorgeous Duke of Newton, and her, a bluestocking aspiring doctor who he’d laughed at when he discovered her goal.

The Duke held out his hand. “One dance for old times’ sake before you have to go hunting for a husband.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach.

This was the worst time for her crush on the Duke of Newton to re-emerge. Because though she told herself she hated him, and he was too old for her, that wasn’t precisely true. This whole nonsense about marriage had reopened the wound that looked healed but was ripe to burst and bleed all over the carpet.

His Grace gave a sidelong glance to where her mother was practically dragging a young man toward them. He didn’t look old enough to grow a mustache.

“One more moment of freedom Tam, and hear me out before you meet whoever your mother is lining up. I’ve got an idea.”

Her mother would be on them within seconds. “Tell me.”

“I will. If you dance with me.” He offered his hand again as the musicians played the opening bars of the new dance. Around them, couples took position. “It’s a polka. You always enjoy a polka.”

She did. It was a bright and fun dance like a country dance, but also partnered and close like a waltz. Being lifted in the jumps always made her heart beat faster.

A shock went up her arm when she put her hand in his and their eyes met as he closed his fingers over hers and she could have sworn she saw satisfaction flare. The Duke of Newton, interested in her?

Probably just the gaslights flickering.

They found a gap in the dancers, and took their place. The Duke was so tall beside her that it was impossible to look at the other men. Had her pulse always fluttered when she looked up at him? Had the scattering of silver hair at his temples always made him look distinguished? His dark good looks and short beard had never made her wonder how it would feel to touch him.

Well. Almost never.

They’d danced a dozen times, and she didn’t think it had ever felt like this when he took her hand. This pinging in her veins. Then she was in his arms and looking up into his silver eyes. As they made the first steps in the dance her mother managed to drag the—no doubt rich—young man to where they had just been standing.

She really ought to be meeting her mother’s choice, not be dancing with the man who antagonized her at every turn, but… Well. Right now this seemed a good option.

The steps of the dance were familiar, but having to find a husband had opened Pandora’s box. Electricity zipped between them. Had they always fit together like this? He shortened his stride and she lengthened hers, so despite their height difference they were equals in the dance.

Except when it came to the hops. Then the Duke’s greater height and strength were very much in evidence.

Att. He always told her to call him Att.

“You’re not marrying any of these men,” Att said into her ear as he lifted her in the first jump.

“I have to.” One evening to save her family and she was wasting it arguing with the Duke. She was ashamed of herself.

“I’ll wager you for the funds to continue your studies.”

“What?” Was he out of his mind? “That’s outrageous!”

He clicked his tongue. “You really need to be more worldly if you want to be a doctor, Tam.”

“I am!” The accusation smarted. Partly because it was true, and partly because it was her nemesis saying it. “And it’s outrageous because you don’t have that much money.”

He laughed, loud and surprised enough to be heard above the music and a head or two turned.

“Stop it!”

“They can’t hear us,” he murmured into her ear as he next lifted her. The feel of his breath sent warm shivers down her spine. When had he begun to give her those feelings? Well, apart from when she was eighteen, but she’d thought she was over that. “And I’m plenty wealthy enough to count as a rich man, sweetheart.”