Page 45 of Duke of Iron (Unyielding Dukes #2)

Three

I do not plan on having to look for another bride.

The Duke’s words haunted April, threading through her thoughts even as she stood smiling near the glass doors of the terrace, half-listening to the young viscount before her drone on.

She nodded absently though she hardly heard a word.

“It is universally acknowledged,” the viscount—Lord Cyril Ashworth, if she recalled correctly—proclaimed with the pomp of a parlor philosopher, “that no place in Europe can rival England’s greatness.”

“Indeed,” April murmured, pasting a bright, sunny smile onto her face. Poor England, saddled with such champions.

“I would admit the Continent has its charms. Would you like to visit one day?” Ashworth continued, puffing out his chest.

April tilted her head, the breeze from the open doors brushing her cheek. “Oh, but why would you care to visit a place you deem so inferior, My Lord?”

Ashworth preened. “Some parts, perhaps, are tolerable. Italy, for its ruins. France—if one can forgive its manners.”

April laughed lightly though it was as hollow as the man before her. Ashworth’s face tightened. “My viscountess would know better than to mock me, Lady April.”

She blinked, all innocence. “Then it is fortunate, My Lord, that I have no ambition of becoming your viscountess.”

His ears pinked with anger, but he thrust out his hand. “Your dance card, if you please.”

I just expressed my disinterest! April handed it over, the smile never leaving her lips. Better to be rid of him sooner than later.

Ashworth scribbled his name with a grand flourish and returned it to her. “The cotillion,” he announced before winking and swaggering away.

April sighed, feeling as if she had narrowly escaped a terrible fate. Yet peace was short-lived.

“Lady April!”

She turned to find Lord Wexley hurrying toward her, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“I am so glad to see you here,” he gushed, nearly tripping over his own feet. “And that you got home safely! I must confess, I worried after leaving you with the Duke.”

“Why did you not insist on escorting me yourself, My Lord?” April raised her brows, still smiling sweetly.

Wexley laughed, palming the back of his neck sheepishly. “Do you know the manner of man the Duke of Stone is?”

The heartless Duke, she thought, her lips twitching despite herself. The man who decided my fate with August without so much as meeting me first. April widened her eyes with affected innocence. “Are you afraid of him, My Lord?”

“Not fear,” Wexley said hastily, glancing over his shoulder. “Respect.”

“What kind of respect?” she asked.

Wexley gave a nervous chuckle. “A baron does not simply deny the wishes of a duke, Lady April.”

“And if he does?”

Wexley’s chuckle dried in his throat. “I would not like to find out,” he muttered.

So, the Duke might be a bully after all. How lovely. Her mind spun back to his grim promise. I do not plan on having to look for another bride.

Would he truly let her go if she refused? Or would he employ other means to convince her? Perhaps use August, family obligation, duty, or other invisible chains that polite society so loved to wield?

A shiver danced down her spine.

“Are you cold, Lady April?” Wexley asked eagerly, already half-turned to summon a footman. “Shall I order for a shawl to be brought for you?”

She forced another brilliant smile. “Thank you, My Lord, but I am quite well.”

Before Wexley could offer some fresh inanity, a hush swept over the ballroom. April’s gaze snapped to the entrance.

There he stood, the Duke of Stone, his dark evening kit absorbing the light, making him seem taller, broader, and more terrifyingly real than she remembered. His deep blue eyes roamed the room with chilling seriousness.

He looks as if he could command an army with a single glance, April thought, her heart hammering.

“That’s the Duke of Stone,” someone whispered behind her, awe thick in their voice.

“I heard he once refused an invitation from the Prince Regent himself,” another added in a hushed tone.

“And didn’t he duel a marquess over a card game?” a third voice chimed in.

“They say he has never lost anything. Not a duel, not a wager, not even a race at Epsom,” murmured another lady.

“He could marry anyone he wished,” someone sighed, “yet he speaks to no one unless he must.”

April listened, her heart tripping over itself, as the whispers swirled around her like the lift of a rising storm. Then the Duke’s gaze found her, and for a moment, the noise and glitter blurred to nothing.

Then his gaze shifted to Wexley. The Duke’s already-imposing expression darkened further. Wexley paled, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

He gave a jerky, graceless bow, nearly stumbling over his own feet.

“Lady April, er… I… forgive me… Enjoy your evening!” he managed to splutter, voice cracking with the effort.

Without waiting for a response, he turned and fled toward the punch table, knocking into a footman and muttering apologies as he went, his dignity leaking away with every step.

April scarcely had time to comprehend any of it before she realized the Duke was moving toward her.

Several ambitious young ladies flitted into his path like moths to a flame. April, seized by sudden panic, turned and plunged deeper into the crowd. She nearly collided with May and June, who latched onto her like hunting dogs scenting scandal.

“Is he following you?” May whispered, barely containing her excitement.

“I think he is,” June said, smirking. “He’s ignoring all the others—look at him!”

April risked a glance.

Sure enough, the Duke was cutting a merciless path through the throng, offering clipped nods, brushing aside flirtatious glances with barely a glance.

Heavens above, April thought, panic fluttering. Why does it feel like he’s hunting me?

April, caught between panic and delight, darted deeper into the crowd with May and June clinging to her.

“You must tell us,” May insisted breathlessly, her green eyes sparkling. “Why is he following you?”

April slowed her steps, casting a quick glance over her shoulder. She drew her sisters into a quieter alcove away from prying ears. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her gloves felt too tight on her hands.

“There is something you should know,” she said, gathering every scrap of calm she could muster. “He has offered for me.”

Both sisters gasped. “You failed to mention this minor detail!” June exclaimed, clutching at April’s sleeve. “How?”

“August arranged it.”

“And he said nothing?” May asked, her cheeks flushed with shock.

April lifted her chin, trying to look composed. “I have only just begun to believe it myself,” she said. “Besides, I am not certain it is something to celebrate.”

“Because of his reputation?” June asked, her mouth pulling into a grim line.

April nodded. Before they could interrogate her further, May gasped, and April’s pulse kicked up a frantic rhythm.

“He’s here,” June whispered, peeking around April.

April straightened her shoulders, stepped out of the alcove, and found herself immediately confronted by the Duke.

He stood before her, tall and immovable, his hand already extended. “Your dance card if you please,” he said.

April blinked, outrage flaring to life. No greeting? No polite inquiry after my evening? Only a demand? Her training held her tongue though she wanted dearly to rebuke him.

Instead, she forced a pleasant smile and gestured to her sisters. “Your Grace, may I present Lady May and Lady June.”

May and June curtsied gracefully.

The Duke nodded at them, the acknowledgment brief, before returning his gaze to April. His hand remained outstretched.

April felt heat rise to her cheeks. She could not very well refuse him without causing a scene.

Gritting her teeth behind her smile, she placed her dance card in his waiting hand.

He glanced behind before returning his eyes to quickly examine the dance card.

“A waltz has just begun thus I have no use for this. We shall dance now.” He handed it back to her, offering no apology for his abruptness.

“There are several gentlemen who have already secured dances with me,” April said sweetly, lifting her chin.

“Your betrothed takes precedence.”

Drat him! He was right.

With no dignified escape, she rested her hand lightly on his arm. His strength radiated through his coat. He’s not merely solid. He’s immovable. Like some ancient monument planted precisely where it pleases.

He led her onto the dance floor, and she felt every eye following their progress. As they turned to face one another, he set his hand at her waist, the weight of it both reassuring and unnervingly intimate.

April reminded herself to breathe. She dared not glance up, but curiosity betrayed her. She peeked. His face was carved into stillness, and his eyes were upon her like cloak.

Stay composed, April. For heaven’s sake, breathe.

The orchestra struck up the next measure, and they began to dance, his steps utterly controlled.

“Have you reconsidered my proposal?” he asked, his hand adjusting subtly at her waist to guide her through the turn.

April swallowed against the dryness in her throat. “I have.”

He gave the smallest tilt of his head, his attention never shifting from her.

“I will agree to accompany you on five outings,” she said, forcing her voice to sound bright. “But I shall choose the locations and the events.”

He inclined his head once more. April, desperate to fill the charged silence between them, plunged ahead. “I must understand you better before making any more decisions.”

“Ask what you will.”

She bit her lip, then ventured, “How do you spend your free time?”

“Shooting.”

April raised a brow. “What kind of shooting?”

“Archery.”

“Do you hunt?”

“I dislike it.”

April paused, grappling for the next question. “Is your manor truly as grim as people claim?” She was no longer in control of her words, and she did that when nervous.

His brow lifted slightly. “You should see it yourself before judging.”

Infuriating man.

“You are making this dreadfully difficult, Your Grace.”

“Am I?” he asked, pressing his lips slightly as though genuinely considering it.

“You answer every question with the least possible effort,” she accused.

“Yet I answer,” he argued, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

April held back the urge to huff. “What books do you read?”

“Histories.”

“Music you prefer?”

“None.”

“Favorite pastime?”

“Riding.”

She exhaled. “Are you trying to vex me, Your Grace?”

“Not deliberately,” he said, though his mouth twitched as if he found her frustration diverting.

His hand at her waist shifted slightly, drawing her imperceptibly closer. April’s breath caught. “You are very persistent,” he murmured, his breath brushing her ear.

April tilted her head boldly, ignoring the wild thrum of her pulse. “Perhaps I am.”

His gaze pinned her in place. “I am tempted to feel worried.”

April smiled up at him, schooling her expression to be bright and daring. “Perhaps you should, Your Grace.”