Page 11 of The Duke Says I Do (Scoundrels of Mayfair #4)

Even if it hadn’t meant a chance to dance with Alaric, Portia wouldn’t miss Lady Shelburn’s ball. Not just because she and the Shelburns were now related by marriage, either.

Kate Anstey, Lady Shelburn, and she had become firm friends since the unconventional countess’s marriage and entry into society three years ago. Perhaps the fact that at heart they were both outsiders drew them together, or perhaps it was their incurable independence. The friendship had thrived, as Kate had helped her find homes for many of her rescues and had even taken in a couple herself.

This was the first time Kate had held a ball at Anstey House in Grosvenor Square. The prospect of hosting the cream of society had thrown the usually unflappable Lady Shelburn into a complete spin. But an hour into proceedings, she seemed to have accepted that despite her predictions of failure, the event proved a raging success.

Portia had just danced a quadrille with Ivor Bilson. Now she stood with her host and hostess, surveying the extravagantly dressed crowd filling the ornate ballroom. “You need to accept it, Kate. You’re about to become a famous hostess. You’ll have to hold a ball every year and fight back hordes of encroaching mushrooms, clamoring for invitations.”

“Heaven preserve us,” said Lord Shelburn, rolling his brilliant dark eyes. “They won’t call us the eccentric Ansteys anymore.”

His wife’s smile conveyed the love that Portia had always envied. The Shelburns’ teasing give-and-take had always seemed to her the best way to be married. “Face it, my darling, you’re no longer the worst lord in London. Despite marrying a peasant like me.”

He caught her hand and kissed it. “Now I’m thinking about frolics amongst the haystacks.”

It was time for Portia to roll her eyes. “Stop it, you two.”

“Yes, stop it, Leighton. You’re embarrassing our friend.” Kate’s voice betrayed her enjoyment of the flirtation.

Portia had known Lord Shelburn since her first season, and Kate and she had bonded from their first meeting. But only now after falling in love with Alaric did she sense the sexual spark between the pair. She wondered how she could have missed that crackling heat.

Shelburn smiled at her. “Perhaps our friend will give me this waltz?”

This morning, when they’d discussed the ball, Portia had promised the first waltz to Alaric. But she hadn’t caught sight of him. Although it was safer not to be seen together, she’d had to swallow bitter disappointment. The last few days of brief meetings in the park had whetted her appetite for his company.

“I’m sure you’d rather dance with Kate,” Portia said. “She deserves it, after putting this wonderful party together.”

“In any case, Lady Portia has promised me this dance,” a beloved voice said from behind her.

Portia told herself that on no account must she light up like a Roman candle. Especially when the Shelburns knew her well enough to be curious about her reaction to a man she’d always disliked.

But dear Lord, it was difficult not to smile as if Alaric filled the whole world with sunlight. Struggling to keep her expression blank, she bobbed into a curtsy. “Your Grace.”

The orchestra played the waltz’s introduction and couples gathered to begin the dance. Alaric offered a brief bow to the Shelburns. “My lady. My lord.”

“Your Grace. Thank you for coming to my ball.” Kate’s voice didn’t give much away.

Alaric’s expression remained serious, almost stern, as if that flibbertigibbet Portia Frain was beneath his lofty notice. Once that expression had made her want to kick him. Tonight, it made her want to laugh. And kiss him.

Wouldn’t that set the cat among the pigeons at Kate’s first ball?

“Shall we?” When he extended his gloved hand, Portia took it without thinking. The surge of connection made her jump. His grip tightening, he drew her onto the dance floor.

“Oh, dear.” Portia turned to him. “I’m not sure how well that went.”

She’d avoided meeting his eyes. She didn’t trust him to maintain his sangfroid if she gazed up at him like a lovestruck ninny. But his faint snort of amusement made her take a peek. The somber air lingered, but the line of his mouth hinted that he was having trouble not laughing. If Portia Frain made the famously austere Duke of Granville laugh, the game would be up in a second.

“Leaping about like a frog on a lily pad when I take your hand doesn’t help.” He didn’t sound annoyed. He sounded as if he liked her. The warmth in his tone made her silly heart caper with joy.

He slid his arm around her waist. Since her debut, she’d waltzed hundreds of times. This was the first time that setting her hand on a man’s broad shoulder made her heart kick with excitement. She hoped to heaven that she wasn’t blushing. “Perhaps Kate and Leighton will blame my edginess on dislike.”

“Try and look as apathetic as usual.” The waltz began, and Alaric swept her into a dizzying turn that had her clutching at him to keep her balance. His nearness always had the most calamitous effect on her knees. “That might help.”

She’d danced with Alaric often in the past, although not this season after last summer’s scandal. Never before had the dance become a flight through the heavens. She had a sharp word to herself. Too much was at stake for her to surrender to tipsy wonder. The world must never speculate about whether the Duke of Granville had turned his attention to the younger Frain sister.

Around them, couples spun in time with the music, but for Portia only one person in this glittering ballroom mattered. Only one person seemed real. “We’ve never danced like this before.”

His expression turned long-suffering. “You’ve always been as stiff as a board.”

Portia muffled a laugh. She couldn’t reveal how much fun she was having. Which was plaguey difficult when her heart danced faster than her feet. “Now I want to drape myself over you like a silk scarf.”

“Stop it, Portia.” That telltale muscle flickered in his cheek. “I’m having enough trouble as it is, not dragging you into the gardens to get you to myself.”

She liked hearing that. She liked even more hearing the agonized frustration in his voice. If she had to behave herself in public, he could suffer as well. “It’s pouring out there.”

“I don’t care. I want to kiss you.”

“Soon you can kiss me as often as you like.” She chanced a quick glance up into burning eyes. The heat lit a fire inside her, and she bit back a murmur of longing.

“Tuesday seems an eon away.”

It did. Her hand tightened on his shoulder. “Oh, Alaric…”

His grip on her waist firmed, bringing her nearer. “This is torture,” he snapped out through straight white teeth.

It was. It was also the most glorious pleasure. Her feet flew across the floor, and her body responded to his subtlest signals. Soon her body would respond to his signals in a bed. The carnal thought made her sight dim, and she’d have stumbled if Alaric wasn’t holding her so securely.

“Portia…” he growled. He didn’t need to say any more.

“You’re holding me too close,” she said in a strangled voice. That seemed like a foul lie. She wanted him to hold her closer still. So close that she felt his heart beating with the same excitement that made her feel like she was ready to burst into flame.

She sensed his reluctance, as he loosened his grip. With difficulty, she schooled her features into what she prayed was a lack of interest. She glanced around the room as if desperate for the waltz to end.

Which was another foul lie.

She wanted to twirl around in Alaric’s arms until the sun came up.

To her discomfort, curious glances arrowed in on her and Granville. Everybody would be thinking of how he’d courted Juliet and been found wanting. The events at Afton Place had fueled nearly a year’s worth of tattle. The peccadilloes of not one, but two dukes, and the lady once considered the doyenne of propriety had been irresistible fodder for the gossips.

Portia caught Kate’s eye across the room. From where they danced together, Kate and Leighton observed her with a concern that flooded her with dread. It could be that they were aware of the stir of curiosity in the room. It could also be that they sensed some connection between Portia and the duke.

That would be a disaster. Nobody – nobody – could ever know that Portia had developed a penchant for Juliet’s jilted suitor. Not even close friends like the Shelburns. But dear Lord, it was difficult pasting on a disdainful expression. She sent her friends a wry smile that she hoped conveyed the wish to be anywhere else but here.

Kate’s smile wasn’t convincing. Frowning, Portia focused on Alaric.

“That’s better,” he said. “You look unhappy.”

“I am unhappy,” she muttered. “Lady Shelburn suspects something.”

Alaric angled his head toward the Shelburns. “They’re not looking at us.”

No, Kate would have the sense to know that if she stared at Portia and her partner, other people might notice and ask questions of their own.

Portia’s heart sank as she realized that she took too many risks tonight. Good heavens, if word reached Papa about her making sheep’s eyes at the duke, there would be the devil to pay. He’d start promoting a marriage, however unsuitable the union. And Papa never did anything low-key.

“We shouldn’t have danced together,” she said in a bleak voice.

“Yes, we should. If only to save me from losing my mind.”

For a forbidden second, she let herself sink into his gaze. His eyes conveyed everything that she struggled to hide. Hunger. Need. Desire. “I’m having the most awful trouble pretending you mean nothing to me.”

His smile was swift, gone in a second. Even so, it bolstered her faltering courage. “I like that.”

“When we get back to London after our…tryst, we can never be in the same room or everyone will guess what we’ve done.” She stared over his shoulder to where Elizabeth Tierney danced with Ivor Bilson. It was safer not to look at Alaric. Partly because when she did, she didn’t want to look anywhere else. “How will we go back to being polite strangers?”

Another huff of amusement, although his expression remained grave. “When were we ever polite?”

“I always said what a lady should.”

“Yes, you did. Even if the tone shrieked ‘damn your eyes.’”

“You’re trying to make me feel better.”

“I am.”

When she chanced a glance at his face, he looked particularly ducal. “Aren’t you worried about what happens, once we do this outlandish thing?”

“It will all work out.”

She stifled a surprised laugh. “That doesn’t sound like you. You always plan ahead, do the sensible thing. You chose Juliet because she’d make the perfect duchess, not because you loved her.”

Portia saw that he didn’t like hearing her mention her sister. “Perhaps I’ve learned from my mistakes and stopped trying to control every moment.”

She’d forgotten not to look at him. “Gossip wouldn’t annoy you?”

His jaw set in a determined line. “I don’t want anybody speaking ill of you. That’s as far as my concern reaches.” He paused. “Now you need to stop looking at me like that, or else I won’t be responsible for my actions and people really will talk.”

Portia was horrified to recall that they remained in the middle of a crowd. A nosy, scandal-obsessed crowd. She straightened. Her body showed a lamentable urge to lean toward the duke. “I can’t wait for Tuesday.”

“Me either.”

He gave her an extravagant twirl as the waltz ended. The dance had been all too brief. Portia wanted to beg the orchestra to play the waltz again.

Since she was a little girl saving the village’s mistreated animals, she’d kicked against the restrictions placed on females. Never had the rules struck her as so suffocating as they did now. Why couldn’t she dance with Alaric all night? Why couldn’t she kiss him when she wanted? She was an adult woman, yet society treated her like an incapable child.

For a charged moment, they stood staring at each other, before he looked away and took her arm. He led her through the throng to the far end of the room, where the Shelburns waited. Portia braced for parting from Alaric.

“Thank you, Lady Portia. May I fetch you some refreshment? Champagne? Orgeat? Lemonade?”

Under Leighton and Kate’s inquisitive gazes, it was more circumspect to refuse. “That’s very kind, but no, thank you, Your Grace.”

“In that case, I wish you well.”

“Good evening.” She dipped into a curtsy.

He bowed and left her side. She was stupid to feel bereft. But she did. It took the greatest effort not to follow his progress through the crowd with covetous eyes.

“Portia?” Kate’s tone brought her back to earth with an unpleasant thump.

Unwillingly, she met her friend’s searching regard. “Yes?”

“I thought you didn’t like Granville.”

Oh, no. She’d done her best to hide her attraction to Alaric, but it hadn’t been enough. “I don’t.”

She hated feeling like that assertion betrayed both Alaric and herself. She hated lying to Kate, especially when it was clear that her friend didn’t believe her. “Then why did you dance with him?”

“He asked me.” At least that was true.

Despite rejecting Alaric’s offer, she seized a glass of champagne from a tray carried by a passing footman. She gulped some wine, hoping it would help her through the next few minutes. “He wants to play down the gossip about a feud with my family after that mess with Juliet. As Juliet’s on the Continent and Viola’s in Hampshire, I’m the only Frain available.”

There. That almost sounded convincing. And not a bad excuse, given she’d come up with it on the spot.

“I see.” Kate’s noncommittal response didn’t sound as if she saw at all.

Portia’s self-satisfaction faded, especially when Leighton joined the conversation. “I saw His Grace in the park yesterday with a dog any self-respecting poacher would turn his nose up at owning.”

Oh, dear. Portia bit back the urge to defend Jupiter, who she liked more every time she saw him. He mightn’t be pretty, but he made up for that with character. “Did you? How nice that Granville has found a pet.”

She struggled to sound like none of this mattered. Even in her own ears, she didn’t succeed.

The Shelburns watched her as if awaiting a confession. Plague take them, they weren’t going to get one.

“I imagine the duke’s felt rather friendless since last year’s scandal,” Kate said, still in that careful tone.

“The funny thing is I immediately thought of the dogs you foisted on us. Not an ounce of pedigree in any of them,” Leighton said.

“I thought you liked your dogs,” Portia said with some heat to divert them from Granville’s new canine companion. Her annoyed tone would explain the color surging into her cheeks.

“We do,” Kate said. “They’re part of the family.”

“That’s good, then.” Portia decided to lead with her chin. “If the duke has adopted a stray, I applaud him.”

“So you had nothing to do with the acquisition?” Leighton asked.

“On my morning ride, I’ve seen the duke and his dog. I didn’t think to question his choice of pet. Clearly it’s a major issue that a man should walk his dog in Hyde Park. I’m surprised it’s not in the Morning Post.”

“There’s no need for sarcasm,” Kate said.

“Isn’t there?” Portia said in a thorny tone. “Even if I gave His Grace a dog, it’s not a hanging offense.”

“No, but it’s…out of character. For you. And for him. I’d have said, at best, you barely tolerated each other.”

Portia hoped her belligerent tone would discourage speculation. She also hoped that only Kate and Leighton had made the link between stray dogs, Portia Frain, and the Duke of Granville. “What are you trying to say, Kate? Are you suggesting a romantic intrigue with Granville? The man my sister jilted? The most proper fellow in Mayfair?”

Kate didn’t back down. But then, Kate had run successful textile mills in the Midlands since she was a girl. “You’re a beautiful woman. I’ll wager Granville isn’t blind to that fact.”

Portia snorted. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m too harum-scarum to be the Duchess of Granville, thank you very much. Granville chose Juliet, for heaven’s sake, because she was the most well-behaved lady in England. I’m not in the running for a proposal.”

To her overwhelming sorrow, none of that was a lie. She’d always known that no wedding ring waited at the end of their affair.

“Perhaps after two broken engagements, he’s decided well-behaved ladies aren’t for him,” Leighton said. “If you’d like a man’s point of view—”

“Which I don’t,” she said stiffly.

Leighton ignored her. “…the duke looked more than a little interested when he danced with you.”

Portia realized with a sinking heart that if she wanted to deflect interest in her relationship with Alaric, she’d chosen precisely the wrong tactic. Her vehement responses only fed her friends’ questions.

“He was just being polite. Remember, he’s the most proper gentleman in London.” She went on to say what she knew to be the unadulterated truth. “Anyway, even if he is looking for another woman to marry, he’s not going to consider a Frain. When Juliet abandoned him to go off and marry Evesham, he went through the gossip mills and he’d hate that.”

“If you say so,” Kate said grudgingly.

Portia so wished that this topic had never arisen. She answered in a more conciliatory tone. “You and Leighton are still like April and May, despite a couple of years together. You see romance wherever you look.”

Kate didn’t smile. “We just want you to be happy, Portia. When I saw you two together, there was something…right about it.”

That made Portia feel like a worm. And a liar. Because while marriage to Alaric most definitely wasn’t on the table, an affair was. Kate and Leighton might approve of her resolution to seize what happiness she could. After all, Leighton had once been a famous rake.

But even if she confided her plans – and she couldn’t confess all in the middle of a crowded ballroom – she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone talking her out of her decision.

Portia glanced up. To her relief, Alexander Comerford crossed the room to her rescue. “You’re both unhinged. Granville would laugh himself silly if he could hear you. If he had an ounce of humour, that is. Which we all know he hasn’t.”

Before Leighton or Kate could argue, Alexander extended his hand. “I believe this our dance, Lady Portia.”

The broad smile that she fixed to her face made Alexander look startled. They were friends, but there had never been a hint of romance between them. She wanted Kate and Leighton speculating about her and Alexander and not her and Alaric. “How utterly wonderful. I can’t wait.”