Page 7 of His Tempting Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #4)

CHAPTER 7

C assian’s heart thudded so hard that he could feel it through his whole body. His chest was tight, his gut swirling, and frankly, he could not remember the last time he’d been so aroused.

What was it about the wretched girl? She was beautiful, to be sure—he privately thought she was more beautiful than both of her sisters, although she would not be pleased if he said it—and there was something truly intriguing about her. The spectacles suited her, too.

Of course, Cassian had been with women before. What gentleman hadn’t? It was an infamous double standard in their part of the world, where men were permitted to quietly conduct affairs and tendres, whereas women were not permitted to even blink too flirtatiously at men lest they be ruined.

He snatched up a glass of champagne and drained it in one gulp, hoping to distract himself. He could still see the wide-eyed look on her face, lips parted and glistening, staring up at him with something akin to awe.

Not that she was awed by him, of course, but… well, he was aware that he looked rather impressive in his costume. He swallowed, remembering how intensely he had wanted to curl his fingers around that pointed chin of hers and run the pad of his thumb over her full, moist lower lip.

He shuddered.

You had better calm down, you fool. If you’re caught sporting a stand at a perfectly respectable ball, there’ll be hell to pay. It’s not as if this tunic is going to hide anything.

“Ah, Cassian! There you are.”

The voice of his cousin had the desired effect. Snatching up a second glass of champagne, Cassian turned to face him.

Richard scurried across the room towards him. He was wearing a plain black suit and a black domino mask.

Cassian eyed him narrowly. “You call that a costume?”

Richard blushed. “Bold words from a man wearing a tablecloth.”

“It’s not a tablecloth.”

“Well, it looks like one. You’re causing quite a scandal, you know. You’re practically bare-chested. Why didn’t you just wrap the sheet around your waist and have done with it?”

Cassian pursed his lips, glancing down. “Well, I was going to, but my valet restrained me. I think I look rather dashing. I’m Ares, you see.”

Richard snorted. “ Of course you are.”

Cassian tossed back his champagne. “Did you see Miss Belmont? She’s Aphrodite.”

Richard wrinkled his nose, looking faintly confused. “Miss Emily Belmont? That’s a surprise. I wouldn’t have chosen her to be Aphrodite. If anyone was Aphrodite, I would have picked…” he wisely trailed off at Cassian’s cold stare. “I’m sure she looks quite magnificent,” he mumbled.

“She does. I’m giving her a moment to settle in, then I’ll go back to claim her. There’s really no time to waste. The sooner the marriage can go ahead, the better.”

Richard didn’t look particularly happy, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m just worried, Cass.”

“What about?”

“What if she leads you on a merry dance? There are other women. If a marriage is what you’re looking for, since you aren’t set on a lady with a dowry, then we can?—”

“I have decided to marry Emily Belmont,” Cassian interrupted decisively, fixing him with a steely look. “A few more days won’t kill me.”

Or cost me my inheritance. The whole business was always going to be rather tight, timing-wise. My dear, deceased papa couldn’t have planned it better if he’d tried.

Suitably invigorated by the champagne, Cassian began looking around for Miss Belmont again. He had plans for tonight. He would woo her if he had to. He’d always been told he was charming, and he planned to exercise his powers if necessary.

Richard, however, was still standing there.

A flicker of worry tickled the back of Cassian’s mind, and he raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

Richard sighed. “The baroness is here tonight, Cass.”

Cassian glanced away, pressing his lips together. “Margaret is a free woman, Richard. As a widow, she has more freedom than any other woman in Society. She can attend a party if she likes. I know that she and the Duchess of Thornbridge are part of the same musical society. I daresay they’re friends.”

He wasn’t so sure of that. Margaret wasn’t particularly inclined to friendship.

At least, not anymore.

Richard only shrugged. “I don’t mean to tell tales, and of course, the baroness can do as she likes. It’s just that she’s been acting rather odd since the whole runaway-bride business. Since your engagement was announced, in fact.”

“Oh? Odd in what way?”

“Oh, I don’t know. She’s begun complaining, which she never did before, and is rather snappish. She raised her voice at me when I delivered the latest installment of her allowance, and demanded to speak to you instead. I told her to write to you, but I suspect she has not.”

Cassian suppressed a frown. That was odd, but now was not the time to deal with it. He would attend to Margaret’s capricious moods later. Of course, she knew about the terms in his father’s will, and she understood his need to marry quickly.

Whatever offense he might have caused could be smoothed over some other time. For now, he had other things to attend to.

Pausing to glance at his reflection in one of the many mirrors hung around the ballroom—he looked pleasingly flushed, and not at all like a man wrestling with uncouth desire—he left Richard behind and hurried across the room.

The dancing had begun already, and Cassian briefly cursed himself for dallying. He wanted to dance with Miss Belmont as often as he could, and she might already have a full dance card. Out of habit, he made a careful note of each face that flashed by him, taking time to observe who was dancing.

He saw the Duke of Thornbridge and his new duchess, as well as the Duke and Duchess of Blackwood and Langdon. Miss Belmont’s sisters and their spouses. All dancing, swirling around in a flutter of colored fabrics.

This was a masquerade, of course, so he was surrounded by masked faces. Cassian had not bothered to wear a mask. Anyone with a scrap of sense could guess which face lay behind which mask, in any case. People tended to act differently when they were safely masked, which was foolish—they weren’t as safe as they thought they were.

Not from a man like me, in any case.

There was something bland about a Society party, too. Nobody could ever be themselves, not truly.

He paused on the edge of the dance floor, glancing around him. He had half expected to find Miss Belmont dancing. But no, she was not among the dancers.

After a moment’s search—and mostly thanks to her red costume—he spotted her. She was sitting at the very end of a row of chairs set against a wall. About half a dozen chairs separated her from a gaggle of matrons, all deep in conversation.

She was staring off into the distance, as if bored.

Something tightened in Cassian’s chest, and he swallowed thickly.

Steady on, man. Keep your head.

He strode towards her, and was about halfway there when she glanced up at him, her eyes sharpening behind her spectacles. She watched him approach almost warily but made no move to hurry away.

“Miss Belmont. We meet again. I did say I would find you, didn’t I?”

“You did,” she conceded.

“Not dancing?”

She shrugged. “No one has asked me. It’s probably for the best. I’m not sure I could dance in this costume.”

He decided not to keep looming above her. Ladies liked tall gentlemen, of course, but nobody liked a man who loomed . He sat beside her, close enough so that their knees almost touched. Miss Belmont flinched and subtly shifted her knee away from his. He suppressed a smile.

“I should like to dance with you,” he said, grinning. “And, according to the rules of the game that governs Society, if you refuse, you may not dance with anybody else all evening.”

She rolled her eyes. “Heavens, what a fount of information you are! I know that, Your Grace . I’ve gotten away from many an unpleasant dance partner by feigning twisted ankles and whatnot.”

“Very clever.” He chuckled. “Is that a yes, then?”

She eyed him for a long moment. He wasn’t sure what he had expected to see in her eyes. Scorn? Resignation? Interest?

No. No, it was hope that glittered in the depths of those remarkable blue eyes.

The look was gone as soon as it came. Shifting to face away from him, she extended her wrist. The dance card was affixed there by a piece of colored ribbon, red to match her costume. A tiny pencil dangled from a ribbon, and could be tucked into the card to keep out of the way.

Cassian opened the card, careful to let his fingertips graze the inside of her wrist, and paused.

“Why, it’s empty,” he noted, surprised. “You haven’t marked down any names.”

Miss Belmont gave him a pointed look. “Goodness, you are as intelligent as they say you are. What an accurate observation!”

He rolled his eyes. “You are most amusing, Miss Belmont. I don’t understand why your card is empty.”

There was a brief silence.

“Because,” Miss Belmont said, as carefully as if she were speaking to a slow child, “as I said, nobody has asked me to dance. How do you feel about signing your name on a blank dance card now ?”

He held her gaze for a moment. Was it hurt he saw there? Everybody noticed when a lady did not dance. Gentlemen could avoid dancing if they chose, but not the ladies. If she was not approached, it would be humiliating.

Gentlemen went out and chose the ladies they wished to dance with, but ladies did not choose. They waited.

“What sort of fools are they, then?” He let out a harsh laugh. “Blind ones, certainly.”

She sighed. “I expect they do not care for Aphrodite with spectacles.”

Cassian pursed his lips. “Poor, silly fools. Ah, well, too late now.”

With a flourish, he took the pencil and set about signing his name in every single dance slot.

It took Miss Belmont a moment to notice what he was doing, and when she did, she squawked.

“What are you doing?! I can’t dance all of those sets with you—there’ll be a scandal!”

“Ah, but you and I are no strangers to scandal, eh, Miss Belmont?” he answered, giving her a wink. A most becoming blush bloomed on her cheeks. “I am the God of War, after all. Ares would not care whether one wore spectacles or not. As if such a thing matters in the slightest. Ares, I am sure, would adore Aphrodite regardless of what she wore.” He paused, drawing his tongue leisurely over his lower lip. “Or what she did not wear.”

Miss Belmont clearly understood his meaning, for the blush spread across both of her cheeks and descended to her neck. It was most endearing.

He felt the urge to press the back of his hand against her cheek, to feel how hot her skin was. Her hand was still outstretched towards him for him to sign her dance card, and he slid his forefinger across the soft underside of her wrist, feeling her pulse jump.

“That,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes and jerking her wrist away from him, “was not funny.”

“On the contrary, I found it remarkably amusing.”

She glared at him, inspecting her now full dance card. “Why did you do that? Dancing two sets with you would make us the object of gossip. More than that and it will be a scandal.”

“Ah, but you and I thrive on scandal, don’t we?” he remarked, leaning forward.

She gave him a level look. “No, I do not. I like peace and quiet. I thought you knew that about me. And anyway, what are you on about? Now that blackmail didn’t work, you are trying to seduce me?”

He gave a theatrical gasp, pressing his hand against his heart. “Seduction? I ? I would never.”

She looked as though she very much wanted to laugh at his display, but fought manfully through it.

“Well, it will not work,” she insisted. “I am not a debutante or a silly Society miss. I am two-and-twenty, and I consider myself quite well-versed in the ways of the world.”

“Brava,” he intoned, leaning back and draping both of his arms over the backs of the chairs beside him. “Let me be the first to congratulate you. As for seduction, I can assure you that I do not need to resort to such tactics. You and I are already such a fine pair, don’t you think?”

She looked away, flushing. “I don’t think so. Aphrodite is already married to Hephaestus, you see. You’re too late.”

“Oh? Have you a dull, block-headed blacksmith waiting for you somewhere in the wings? Shall I challenge him to a duel?”

She glared at him again. “I am talking about Greek mythology.”

“Ah, I see. So, this Ares does not need to carry away his Aphrodite, then?”

Before Miss Belmont could respond, she glanced at something over his shoulder.

Cassian turned to look and frowned.

A gentleman was striding towards them. He was not tall, but rather plumpish, with greasy, slicked-back dark hair and a determined expression on his face. Like Richard, he clearly considered himself too important for a costume, for he was wearing an ordinary suit, with a domino mask dangling around his neck.

He strode up to them and gave a short bow.

“Miss Belmont,” he greeted, his voice plummy and cultured. He shot Cassian a brief, disdainful look. “I have come to take you for refreshments.”

Cassian said nothing, glancing across at Miss Belmont. He didn’t know the man, but it was clear that he knew her .

Miss Belmont looked deeply uncomfortable.

“No, thank you, Mr. Evans,” she responded. “You’re very kind.”

“I insist,” the man said firmly. “And after, we’ll dance a set. I’m sure your esteemed mother would not object. Movement is most healthful for the female body.” He extended a hand expectantly, and Miss Belmont flinched slightly.

“My good sir, perhaps you misheard,” Cassian spoke up lazily. “Miss Belmont does not wish for refreshment at this time.”

Mr. Evans shot him a glare. “I would be obliged, Your Grace, if you would stay out of it. Ladies are, as I’m sure you’re aware, rather fragile. I believe Miss Belmont needs refreshment and exercise, in that order. Miss Belmont, please. Come along.”

Miss Belmont cleared her throat, glancing at Cassian out of the corner of her eye. “I… I’ll stay here, Mr. Evans.”

He pouted, almost like a child. “Come, come, Miss Belmont. Don’t make me insist. I’m sure your esteemed mother would not like to hear of this.”

I daresay this isn’t the first time he’s bothered her.

Cassian rose to his feet.

But it shall be the last.

The top of Mr. Evans’ head barely reached Cassian’s shoulder. The man was forced to tip his head back to look Cassian in the eye.

Something like regret began to creep over his face.

“The lady has said no, dear chap,” Cassian said softly. “When a lady tells you no , she only ought to say it once. Now, if you wish to run and tell tales to Lady St. Maur, you may do so. Although from what I know of her, I am not sure it will have the effect you expect. In the meantime, you had better run along, before I get really angry. Is that quite understood?”

Mr. Evans opened his mouth as if to say something, then wisely snapped it shut. Throwing a quick, mournful look at Miss Belmont and a nervous one at Cassian, he turned on his heel and scurried away.

Cassian made sure he was leaving before he turned back to Miss Belmont. She was staring up at him with a strange expression on his face.

Raising his eyebrows, he held out his hand.

“Come, Miss Belmont,” he said. “It’s time to dance.”