Page 32 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke

Simon gave him a wicked grin. “We noticed. You’re quite tall. Hard to miss.”

“Please keep your marital relations between yourselves,” Dominic muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Olivia patted his arm, still laughing. “You poor, delicate thing. Come along, Your Grace. We’ll try to keep the indecency to a whisper.”

“No promises,” Simon added cheerfully.

Before Dominic could respond, Lord Grisham appeared. He looked more restless than he usually did as he tugged Lady Elizabeth along.

“Oakmere,” Grisham greeted. As usual, his voice was a lethal combination of silk and steel. “I don’t think I’ve seen you dance yet tonight. Certainly, you would give our family the privilege of dancing with my precious Elizabeth?”

It was too late. Dominic could see the Marquess gently pushing his daughter toward him.

To spare the skittish girl from further embarrassment, he offered his hand.

Lady Elizabeth gulped.

“Accept his hand, Elizabeth,” the Marquess ordered in a quiet and firm voice.

“Lady Elizabeth, may I have the honor?” Dominic asked.

“Y-Yes, Your Grace. Of course,” Lady Elizabeth replied, her eyes darting from her father to Dominic.

They moved to the dance floor just as the music began. The quartet, still faithfully serving its time at Grisham Manor, played beautifully. But Dominic could find no enjoyment in it.

The girl trembled in his arms, not from excitement but from sheer nervousness—likely fear of her father. How could any man take pleasure in that?

She was light on her feet, her movements graceful and in perfect rhythm. A fine dancer, to be sure, but he felt nothing. No spark. And that, he knew, could not be manufactured.

Still, he could at least make the effort to converse.

“How do you find social gatherings, my lady?” he asked.

“T-They are f-fine. I do not mingle with thetonmuch, Your G-Grace. It is a bit new and… and frightening. I understand my d-duties, though.”

Dominic’s stomach clenched at that word.

Duties.

“Are you fond of the countryside?” he asked, wondering how similar—or different—she was to her elder sister.

“Oh. Um, the air is nicer in the country, I s-suppose. I spend my afternoons painting the scenery.”

“That sounds interesting,” he said, half-lying.

He respected her choice of pastime, but he could not push the image of her elder sister on horseback out of his mind.

When the music ended, they exchanged a bow and a curtsy. Both half-stumbled to escape each other.

A match, indeed, Dominic thought wryly.

Now it was his turn to flee. He slipped out of the room and stepped into the night air, letting the cool breeze wash over him.

The moon hung low, casting silver light across the gardens and the still surface of the pond—just as it had on the night of Marianne’s unexpected midnight wander.

There was something about her. Something that kept drawing her to him—or perhaps drawinghimto her. As if fate itself was weaving them into the same pattern.

And there she was again, seated on the edge of a fountain, her figure bathed in moonlight. Not her foot this time, but her hand moved slowly through the water, tracing idle shapes on its surface.