Page 15 of Daring with a Duke (The Jennings Family #2)

15

Ash

“L ady Pandora is in the great hall. She is ready for you now, Your Grace.” Sam’s voice echoed through the two-story library. There was something in his tone Ash didn’t like. Something that sounded like scheming.

Lady Felicity jumped up, all seriousness from their conversation completely gone. She clapped excitedly and, in the most unladylike of fashions, bounded toward the door. She paused in the doorway, a mischievous light glinting in her eyes and curving the corners of her lips.

“Make haste, Your Grace. I promise you will love this surprise.”

What he loved was how she could be both refined and poised, yet vivacious and free. She was multifaceted. She was a revelation.

And he was a bloody dolt.

Ash approached his friend, and Sam’s eyes scrutinized his every movement. His face was practically blank, and it made Ash’s gut twist over—multiple times. They fell into step behind a quickly retreating Lady Felicity.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Ash asked, lowering his voice.

Sam glanced at Ash from the corner of his eye, his profile still an unreadable, contemplative mask. “That chess match was enlightening. That was all.”

Well, that didn’t sound ominous at all. But Ash didn’t have any more time to think about his best friend’s nerve-inducing behavior. Because they walked into the great hall, and Ash stopped dead in his tracks.

His daughter stood before him in an ivory ball gown. Delicate puff sleeves graced her shoulders, and her hair was done up in an elaborate coiffure. But the most heart-stopping part? How she glowed with pride, her apple-cheeks bunching over her ear-to-ear smile—showcasing the last vestiges of her youth. And, fucking bloody buggering hell—he sucked in a gasping breath—his eyes burned with tears. She was beautiful. She looked far too grown-up, and it killed him. Where had his little girl gone?

She executed a perfect curtsy, lowering her gaze as she descended. He bowed in return, stepping up to her and clasping her gloved hands in his bare ones. He squeezed them, smiling at her like an absolute fool.

“No breeches?” he teased.

She shook her head, her dimpled cheeks spreading warmth through his chest, the muscle within squeezing as painfully tight as the hands that currently clutched his daughter’s.

“You look beautiful, poppet.”

Notes struck up on the pianoforte, and his attention snapped toward the sound. Lady Felicity sat before it, fingers gliding lightly over the keys. She looked over at them, but it was clear her gaze was locked on Pandora, pride, reassurance, and something else shining in her eyes.

He looked back to his daughter, who now appeared quite nervous—if the way her feet had her dancing in place before him was any indication.

“Lady Felicity and I have been practicing dancing. She has been helping me master the waltz.” She looked up at him with those big, blue irises, ones he could never deny anything. “Papa, would you dance with me?”

“I would love nothing more, Pandy Pie.” The words came out thick and coated in emotion. Frankly, he was surprised they even made it past his constricted throat at all.

Felicity struck up the notes to a waltz, and he swept his daughter into the dance.