Page 25 of Wedded to the Scottish Duke

Then the music came to a stop.

The Duke halted their movements, though he didn’t release her right away. Celia feared that she was rather too obviously reluctant to let go of him too, her fingers trailing over his shoulder and across his palm.

All at once, they both moved fast, bowing and curtseying as the others in the room did.

“Meet me on the terrace,” the Duke said as he stood straight.

“I do not follow any man’s orders,” Celia insisted, jutting her chin.

“Then do it out of your own curiosity.”

With those final words, he turned on his heel and left her there.

Celia found she could suddenly breathe deeply again. She turned on the spot, looking around her, but everyone else in the room was too busy with their own business to have noticed where the Duke of Hardbridge had gone. Even her sister was deep in conversation with Xander.

Celia checked one more time, but when no one looked her way, she crept toward the door that led out to the terrace.

It would hardly be the first time I met a man in private.

Though that’s all it had ever been. She reminded herself of this as she slipped out the door. She might be rebellious, but she wasn’t scandalous, and she wasn’t about to lose her common sense now.

As she stepped out onto the terrace, she found him standing in the very middle, waiting for her, his arms folded in such a way that his strong muscles were obvious through the shirt sleeves.

Goddammit, why does he always have to stand in such a way that makes me go weak at the knees?

She shut the door behind her, not wanting anyone to witness their conversation. Maybe he thought she came out of curiosity, but she had come for a fight.

“What are you doing?” she said, approaching him but being careful to keep at least a yard between them. “You asked for my help, and now you dismiss my suggestion like that? You wouldn’t even look at Lady Alicia.”

He didn’t answer but raised his eyebrows again, half his face bathed in the orange candlelight filtering out of the ballroom windows, the other half shrouded in darkness.

At that moment, she was willing to say anything to hear that deep voice again, provoke him, belittle him, enrage him, just as long as he kept looking at her like that and spoke in that honeyed baritone.

“And you can’t ruin my dance card like that.”

She took another tiny step toward him, still keeping some distance between them but standing close enough to make sure she had his full attention.

“All those men…” he spoke at last, prompting her to inhale sharply. “Ye really want to dance with them? Do yeenjoydancing with them, sweetheart?”

“That’s… that’s beside the point,” she stammered. “And I told you to stop calling me that.”

“What? Sweetheart?” he whispered, that deep voice enveloping her as he leaned toward her tauntingly.

“Yes. Stop it.”

“Why dance with them? Ye evidently don’t enjoy it. Ye just avoided the question.” He gestured toward her. “So, why do it?”

“Because it’s expected. It’s what men think they can do, isn’t it?”

“Do what?”

“They order us around and expect us to say yes and do as they want. If I don’t want to embarrass my mother completely with my rebellion, then I might as well follow a man’s wishes and dance with him. He won’t be making me follow any otherorders,” she said simply, surprised at just how honest she was with him.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s not really about that, is it?” He actually smiled. The sight of it was infuriating.

“I said, don’t call me that,” she growled at him.

“I don’t think the problem is someone telling you what to do. I think the problem…” He paused and stepped toward her.