Page 22 of Wedded to the Scottish Duke

He sighed and looked away, knowing that he only came here for her. If he’d only had himself to think of, then he would have stayed in Scotland.

“I’m fine,” he lied through gritted teeth.

“Then perhaps I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you dance this evening?”

“Dance?” he scoffed at the notion. “I…” he trailed off.

He’d had no intention of dancing whatsoever, but at that moment, he looked toward the dance floor to see that Lady Celia was dancing.

His words failed him as he watched her.

She didn’t dance demurely or daintily the way ladies of the ton so often did. As she did in so much else, she observed the barest form of the rules but lent them a passion and energy that was all her own. She flashed her partner such a beaming smile that something in Keith’s gut twisted.

She had never smiled at him like that. Then again, he had gone out of his way to infuriate her as much as possible.

She looked beautiful. There was no other way to describe her, for she was dressed in a bold red gown, a huge contrast to all the other pastel colors in the room. It accentuated the deep tones of her hair and her green eyes.

When she laid her hand on her dance partner’s, Keith almost gagged at the sight of the man. He was nothing compared to her. He was scrawny in build, his face drawn and haggard. He did not belong at her side.

“Excuse me,” he whispered to his mother. “There’s someone I have to speak to.”

He walked away, though his mother was already heading toward Lady Arundel.

Keith crossed the room and moved to the edge of the dance floor, watching Lady Celia and her dance partner as they were leaving. They halted at the side, and Lady Celia smiled at her partner.

“You are a fine dancer, Sir,” she complimented the scrawny man.

“Thank you, My Lady. Perhaps we could?—”

The thought that the man was about to ask her for another dance made Keith’s gut churn. He stepped in front of them before the man could finish the sentence.

Fortunately, Keith’s extreme height and imposing presence made the man look at him at once and stop talking. While the gentleman jerked his head back in alarm, Lady Celia narrowed her eyes at him.

“Lady Celia is dancing with me next.”

At Keith’s words, the gentleman stepped away. “Yes—yes, of course,” he stuttered. “If you’d excuse me.”

He ran off like a whipped cur with his tail between his legs.

“What are you doing?” Celia stepped toward Keith, her face flushing red.

“At last, a blush,” he whispered to her.

“This is anger. It is no blush,” she muttered darkly. “You and I are not dancing together.”

“How else are ye to give me my first lesson?” he challenged her.

“We’ll find another way. My dance card is full.” She lifted her wrist for him to see. “And your name isn’t on it.”

“Give me the damn card.” He held his hand out for it.

“I will not.”

She moved to turn away from him, but he reached out and subtly took hold of her wrist. She could have easily pulled her hand out of his grip, and yet to his surprise, she didn’t. Instead, she followed him as he pulled her an inch back toward him.

“Give me the card,” he ordered again.

“I do not have to follow your orders,” she protested, yet his fingers lifted her wrist an inch and found her dance card.