Page 3 of The Duke I Wished For (A Maypole in Mayfair #5)

Apologies for the interruption, but you see I’m hiding like a coward and you bear a striking resemblance to my favorite safe haven tree trunk.

No, that would not do.

She swallowed hard again. “I apologize for the intrusion but…”

“Where is that girl?” Her mother’s voice reached her from the left, and panic set in as she shifted to the right just as he’d taken a step to his left. To an onlooker it would have seemed like they were participating in some newfangled dance.

Perhaps it was time to make a run for it.

She’d deal with the consequences of her mother’s anger later.

Her mother’s voice had come from the left so she took another step to the right, just in time to see Mr. Benson moving toward her.

His gaze met hers and this time there was a light in his eyes, all right.

But it was a sickening light. It was the sort of gleam Mr. Pennywind had gotten whenever his gaze drifted to her decolletage or his hands strayed too low when they danced.

Her breathing grew shallow.

“Miss, if you’ll just excuse?—”

“I was hoping to speak with you,” she said. Drat. Was that her voice? She sounded far too breathless.

The man glared down at her.

“I realize this is…unusual,” she said. A hysterical laugh rose up in her chest at the understatement.

Unusual? They hadn’t even been introduced! And she’d turned the poor man into her very own tree trunk. Unusual was putting it mildly.

The gentleman crossed his arms and leveled her with a hard stare. “What do you want, Miss…”

She opened her mouth and then she closed it.

Her mind went blank for a moment. Perhaps it was the deep, dark voice or the oh-so-serious glower, or the fact that his question seemed to echo the one she’d been stewing over since she and her friends had gathered ’round the maypole.

But she found herself tilting her head to the side, her own brows knitting together in thought. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

One of his brows arched slowly. Which was a relief. All that frowning and furrowing looked like it would give a man a headache.

“What is it that I want, I mean,” she added. As if that would clear things up.

“Yes, well…” The man’s expression made it clear he thought her a complete dolt. “While you ponder that, I’ll just excuse myself, shall I?”

Her mother’s voice cut through the crowd. “Have you seen Daffodil?”

The gentleman turned to leave her and Daffodil grabbed his arm. “Wait!”

His gaze dropped to her hand.

Her hand which…she should remove from his person. One part of her mind knew she should stop touching the stranger, but the other part of her mind was tracking Mr. Benson.

Mr. Benson’s eyes narrowed on her and her stomach churned dangerously. She moved so she was once more safely hidden behind the gentleman of tree trunk proportions.

It was decided. She’d rather humiliate herself with some stranger whom her mother didn’t want her to marry than make nice with the odious man coming toward her.

With a bright smile, she said, “Since we’re already talking, don’t you think we ought to get to know one another?”

He stared.

She wet her lips. Delilah once said Daffodil could outcharm a snake charmer. Surely she could manage to make one grim tradesman smile. “Have you been in London long, Mr.…”

“No.” He didn’t fill in the blank. Though, to be fair, she hadn’t given her name either.

She nodded eagerly as if his one-word answer was fascinating. “And the weather, do you find it?—”

“Miss, I do not know what you’re about, but this is highly irregular behavior.”

“Isn’t it though?” Her laugh was more hysterical than charming, she’d be the first to admit. “But needs must, and all that,” she said vaguely.

What was she talking about? She had no idea.

Movement in the crowd to her right caught her eye and she saw a certain beady-eyed suitor bearing down on her. His pace had slowed but his gaze raked over her from head to toe, appraising her with a smirk that made her belly clench with terror.

She shifted, putting the tree trunk between her and Mr. Benson.

This Benson fellow wanted to get to know her? “Ha!”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, er…I was just thinking that…” Her gaze met his. “We ought to get to know each other.”

“One typically starts with an introduction.”

“How right you are,” she murmured placatingly as her gaze darted left and right for any sign of her mother or Mr. Benson. Then she smiled up at him. “But where’s the fun in that?”

He regarded her oddly. “I think I know what’s going on here.”

“You do?”

“Where’s your mother?” He craned his neck, looking left and right. “It’s normally the mothers who are this brazen, but I suppose in some cases the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Her smile faltered.

“So you wish to get to know each other, hmm? Let’s start with this. What are your interests?”

“My interests?” It wasn’t the question that was so odd, but the tone. Like she was being quizzed…

Or interviewed.

He sighed. “What would you be doing with yourself if you were not here this evening, throwing yourself in my path?”

Now that was easy to answer. “I’d be dancing.”

Her sister and their friends would be taking dance classes right about now back at school, and Daffodil wished so badly she was with them, she felt the ache of it all the way to her bones.

Which was why her tone was more wistful than absolutely necessary when she said on a sigh, “Oh yes, I would so love to dance.”

“I see.”

Why he sounded so disapproving was beyond her. “Do you not enjoy dancing, Mr.…?”

He ignored that. His gaze focused on her so intently her breath caught. “What are your talents?”

“M-my…pardon?”

He waved a hand. “Music, embroidery, entertaining…that sort of thing.”

“Oh, well…” None of the above, she could say. But the answer was too depressing. Not only did she not have a goal, she also had no talents. “Is that really so important?”

He arched a brow. “For a wife and mother it is.”

Her smile fell even further, her heart sinking a bit. That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? All these years of lessons and tutoring, and all for one goal—to marry a man with wealth. But…but what if…

What if she didn’t wish to marry at all?

The thought seemed to echo in her skull. The question she hadn’t allowed herself to consider and now it was here, crashing into her as she stared into the cold, hard eyes of a stranger.

“I hardly see how excellent embroidering skills would make a woman a good wife,” she said. She thought of her mother’s immeasurable talents. “And they certainly do not determine whether a woman would be a loving mother.”

He pressed his lips together. “And you are well versed on being a wife and mother then, are you?”

Heat crept into her cheeks and her cheerful smile disappeared. She was beginning to think she might not like this man…no matter how excellent a safe haven he might appear.

And yet, surely Mr. Benson lurked just beyond. That last thought had her calling the smile back upon her lips as she made to deliver some witty answer…