Page 10 of Her Rogue of a Duke
Francesca drifted through the crowd, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of the Viscount. She frowned when she couldn’t spot him immediately. Usually, his presence stood out amongst his peers. Had he not yet arrived? That would be rather strange. She had arrived within the acceptable time frame where it might be considered fashionable to be late, but any later would push the boundaries into rudeness. Lord Terrell was nothing if not impeccably mannered.
So intent was she on finding the Viscount that she almost failed to notice her cousin Gerard mingling with the crowd just aheadof her. He was speaking with a small group of fops that had dressed extremely beyond the dresscode and luckily remained oblivious to her presence. Eager to keep it that way, for she was too afraid of inadvertently revealing the truth of her father, she quickly turned to leave. Glancing over her shoulder one more time to ensure her cousin hadn’t noticed her, she was so distracted that she didn’t see someone step into her path. She looked forward just in time to collide with a tall, solid figure, feeling the impact against a muscular chest.
“Oh!” she gasped, startled by the unexpected collision. “I must apologize, my Lord. Please excuse me…”
As she lifted her eyes, she found herself looking directly into the face of the Duke of Elmcroft himself. He was gazing down at her, his brow furrowed in mild concern. For a moment, Francesca was struck silent by his appearance. He was so handsome, it caught her off guard. He was dressed in a black coat and vest over a gray undershirt. His dark brown hair was slicked back and styled in a way that gave him an almost roguish look, and his clothing was impeccably tailored, emphasizing his broad shoulders and wide chest. He cut a striking figure… almost larger than life.
Truth be told, he seemed to dwarf the grandeur of the ballroom by his presence alone, and he appeared wholly out of place. He belonged in a palace, surrounded by opulence and individuals with just as large of a presence as he had.
“My lady, are you quite all right?” he asked, his large hands gently steadying her by the shoulders before easing her back.
“Y—yes,” she mumbled. “I am. Yes, I apologize, Your Grace. I was not paying attention to where I was going.”
“Clearly,” he observed. “You appeared rather preoccupied, if I might say so.”
It was then that Francesca realized the Duke was not alone. Lady Susan was once more by his side, as was another gentleman whom Francesca faintly recognized. The Duke noticed her glancing toward his companions and moved to make introductions.
“Lady Francesca, I believe you are acquainted with Lady Susan. However, may I have the honor of introducing mycharmingcompanion, Lord Benedict Rockwell, Earl of Salford?”
As the Earl stepped forward, Francesca was immediately struck by his striking red hair, which glowed like burnished copper in the candlelight, lending a fiery and charismatic aura to his appearance. His hazel eyes, shimmering with flecks of green and gold, sparkled with a mischievous light. Were all of the Duke’s acquaintances almost as handsome as himself? “I don’t believe we have had the pleasure. Delighted to meet you, my lord,” Francesca greeted.
“The delight, my lady, is entirely mine,” Lord Benedict responded with a twinkle in his eye, gracefully taking her hand and bowing over it. “Lady FrancescaNightingale, is it? His Grace’s esteemed neighbor, I believe?”
Francesca nodded, wide-eyed, charmed by Lord Benedict’s kind smile and twinkling gaze. “Y—yes, the one and only, my lord,” she replied, sending a fleeting glance the Duke’s way. What had he said about her?
Lord Benedict’s smile broadened as he released her hand. “Goodness, you are quite the opposite of what I expected. From the way Elmcroft here has described you, I had envisioned a hag in a bonnet, yet here you are, stunningly beautiful, my lady. Were you trying to keep her all to yourself, Elmcroft?”
He chuckled at his joke, but Francesca’s stomach twisted when Lady Susan laughed a touch louder, and suddenly, she felt uncomfortable again. Was his comment meant to be at her expense?
She offered an awkward smile. “Yes, well, I should not bother you any longer. Enjoy your evenings, my lord. My lady. Your Grace.”
Francesca turned to walk away, but before she could take even two steps, the Duke swiftly caught her hand, spinning her around to face him.
She looked back up at him with wide, stunned eyes.
“Your Grace?”
“May I have this dance, my lady?” he asked, leaving her even more astonished.
She stared blankly at him for a moment, speechless, her mind racing. Her immediate impulse was to decline, but she realized the implications of such a refusal. It would be gravely insulting to the Duke and cause more gossip than she could truly afford to have focused on her at that moment.
After a brief pause, she mustered a polite smile and nodded. “Of course, Your Grace,” she responded, offering a respectful nod.
The Duke’s grip on her hand firmed as he began to lead her away from his companions. Lord Benedict had a funny little grin as he watched the Duke escort Francesca away, but Lady Susan wore an irritated expression. She was evidently displeased with the Duke paying such attention to Francesca, though Francesca would have happily assured her the attention was unwanted.
She did not resist, however, as she and the Duke weaved their way through the crowd. She had no idea what he was thinking, or if he was playing some sort of game with her, but she would have to endure it… at least for the duration of one dance.
As they reached the dance floor and took their position among the other couples, Francesca felt the air escape her lungs when the Duke's hand enclosed around hers, his other hand resting feather-lightly on her waist. The music began, and they moved together in time with the rhythm.
For a while, they danced in silence. Francesca deliberately avoided his burning gaze, but when she did glance up at him, she found him looking intently at her also. It seemed like he couldnot take his eyes off her. His unwavering gaze brought a blush to her cheeks, unaccustomed to such focused attention.
“Please do not stare at me like that, Your Grace,” she whispered, feeling increasingly self-conscious. “It is making me uncomfortable.”
“There is nothing else worth looking at,” he replied nonchalantly with a dismissive tone. “The interest this ballroom offers pales in comparison.”
Under different circumstances with a different gentleman, such a remark might have been flattering, but coming from the Duke, Francesca was certain it wasn’t meant as a compliment.
She rolled her eyes and averted her gaze, scanning the crowd once more for Lord Terrell.