Page 24 of Second Duke's the Charm
“It is indeed.”
Justin’s heart began to pound. He’d seen her before, twoyears ago, across a crowded ballroom just like this, and the memory was burned into his brain.
Back then she’d been wearing white, like every other debutante; some shimmering fabric shot through with silver thread that was the perfect foil for her dark hair. Her luminous beauty and infectious smile had drawn every eye in the room.
She’d been surrounded by suitors, all richer, older, laughing. Justin hadn’t even bothered asking for an introduction. She was clearly destined for a brilliant match—an earl, at the very least. Such youth and beauty would inevitably marry wealth and a title. Thetonhad operated that way for centuries.
As a merchant with a single ship, no fortune, and no aristocratic title, he wouldn’t stand a chance. And that was probably for the best, because his skin was clammy and his heart was pounding and he was suddenly filled with the dreadful conviction that here was a woman he could easily fall in love with.
Love was what had wrecked his father. Marrying for it was a recipe for disaster—and entirely avoidable.
So he’d stayed where he was, watching her from the shadows like a dog salivating at the door of the butcher’s shop—desperate to enter, to steal whatever scraps he could, but knowing he’d be chased away by the shopkeeper’s broom if he dared.
Ever the pragmatist, he’d dismissed her—at least, therealityof her. She was the epitome of unattainable. But he’d still allowed himself to dream. In the privacy of his mind, she’d become his fantasy woman, a reason to succeed, a glittering ideal for which to strive, if never actually attain.
He soothed his suddenly dry throat with a healthy gulp of claret.
“Are you telling me thatTess Townsendmarried the eighth duke? Thatshe’sthe duchess of Wansford?”
Edward nodded. “Hearts broke in the gentlemen’s clubs that week, I can tell you.” He shook his head. “And who would have put money on the old bastard cocking up his toes on their wedding night?”
Justin shook his head in amazement. “Turnbull never told me this.”
“Probably assumed you already knew. It was the talk of the town for months, especially since it took so long to find a living heir. Every time they found a candidate, they died. Until you.” Edward frowned. “Her own father died only a few weeks after the duke, so she stayed in the country for at least six months of mourning, then returned to town. She’s been fighting off potential suitors ever since.”
Justin studied her again, drinking her in with his eyes. His memory hadn’t done her justice; if anything, she was even more attractive than he remembered. Her hair was still a riot of silky waves, the color emphasized by the deep claret of her dress. She exuded a subtle sensuality that was both alluring and, he suspected, completely unconscious.
“Does she have a lover?”
“Not that I know of. If she has, she’s been astonishingly discreet.”
“Shown any inclination to remarry?”
“Again, no. She’s wonderful company, universally liked, but she never lets a man get too close.” Edward glanced at him. “Not thinking of adding your suit to the mix, are you?”
Justin took another swallow of wine and considered the idea. “Perhaps.”
He shook his head at the perversity of Fate. Even inhis wildest dreams he’d never have predicted that within two years he’d have become richer than most men in this room, and have a dukedom thrust upon him. That he would now be considered a suitable match for a woman likeherwas incredible.
For a brief moment he considered the wisdom of approaching her, considering how dangerously attracted he’d once been. But he was older now, wiser. He wasn’t some callow youth to lose his heart at the drop of a hat. He was perfectly capable of controlling his emotions. He could be attracted to her, but in no danger of succumbing to anything more serious. More foolish.
Edward gave his shoulder a playful nudge. “Come on, I’ll introduce you. She’s with my cousin Ellie, and that hellion Dorothea Hamilton. The three of them are as thick as thieves.”
Chapter Eight
Tess scanned the crowd, idly searching for her handsome stranger.
She was wearing the same red dress she’d worn to Careby’s, with an extra froth of lace tacked to the top of the bodice to make it slightly less indecent. The bold color imbued her with confidence. No wonder monarchs wore this shade; it made her feel invincible.
People were definitely looking. They were noticing Daisy, too, who’d raided Drury Lane’s costume room and found a Shakespearean costume of burgundy velvet, complete with an oversized neck ruff.
Tess snapped her fan shut, then flicked it open again. Her nerves were jittery tonight, not just in anticipation of meeting the blackmailer, but also thanks to the secret hope that her mystery man could be here, at this very ball.
Which was a stupid thing to wish for.She didn’t want him—whoever he was—to recognize her in real life. She might not have stopped thinking about him, but having him suddenly appear in front of her would be very awkward indeed.
She’d told Ellie and Daisy all about her countryside“adventure.” Ellie had been scandalized, Daisy delighted, and the two of them had spent a pointless hour pondering his identity.
Daisy was convinced he was a highwayman, a spy, a smuggler, or all three. Ellie, far more prosaically, thought he was an acquaintance of Careby’s who never visited London. A provincial solicitor, perhaps, or a land agent.