Page 3 of The Duke’s Absolutely Fantastic Fling (The Notorious Briarwoods #15)

“E veryone gets out of your way, don’t they?” Miss Josephine Briarwood stated, clearly amused and loving every bit of it.

Teague cocked his head to the side as he took her around the floor. “Yes,” he said, “they do, lass. And you seem to enjoy it.”

Her brows rose as she met the challenge of his ability to whip them about the ballroom floor. “How could I not?” she asked. “It makes me feel as if I am the most powerful lady in the room.”

He had not felt so good since they had been in Scotland together.

His brothers had been absolutely right; she was the perfect woman for him.

She made him feel in complete harmony. It still stunned him that she was a woman from the south, but once again, he reminded himself that she was actually continental.

She was not English, though the truth was he didn’t really have as much hate for the English as he had been trained to hold. He’d let his sister marry an Englishman, after all, though Briarwoods were superior English people.

Perhaps this was the solidifying of a healthy method for him. He’d already let go of most of his dislike of the English, as he’d told Octavian Newfield not long ago. He’d long ago learned how imperative it was to work with the English and use his influence to help stop Napoleon.

Here with Josephine in his arms, waltzing about the floor, he knew that coming here was the right decision, and he could not wait to get her alone so that he could make certain that she was his.

Marrying her would be the perfect way of solidifying his new life as a duke who was letting go of the past and embracing a better future for himself, one that wasn’t full of bitterness or sorrow.

“You are perhaps the most powerful lady in the room,” he teased.

“Don’t be silly,” she tutted. “There are duchesses, there are countesses, there are…”

“Ah!” he corrected with a soft smile, for he would not allow her to disparage her worth. Not his duchess. “A title does not necessarily mean a lady is powerful.”

She narrowed her eyes quizzically at him as he pivoted them, easily avoiding a couple.

“Yes, it does,” she challenged. “Anyone who thinks differently is deluded. And I do not think you are deluded. You merely wish to flatter me.”

He laughed. “Explain then, if you will?”

“You tell me that I’m as powerful as a duchess? All right. Show me how I can lead a political party or make the most important men in London listen?”

He frowned. “Well, perhaps you will be a duchess one day,” he managed.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re being silly again.”

“Do I truly look like the sort of man who is silly?”

“Yes,” she replied, grinning. “Actually, you do. Don’t forget, I’ve seen you up to your antics and dancing about a ballroom in your own palace.”

He gave a rueful grin. “Right, then. It’s true; I can be quite silly. But what is this life for if not a bit of silliness?”

“I’m glad you think so. I do too. There are far too many stodgy people who look grim and die young.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” he countered. “Unfortunately, I’ve met many stodgy people who live a very long time. Sometimes it actually feels as if the stodgiest ones live forever and ever. And…”

“Yes, you do make your point,” she sighed. “Though the Dowager Duchess of Westleigh, my grandmama, is a magnificent woman. And frankly, I hope that she lasts forever and finds the key to immortality. I don’t suppose you’d know where to find that, would you?”

He gazed down upon her, contemplating this and his heart suddenly ached. It was a strange thing for anyone to say, let alone a debutante, but it hit him in that particular moment that perhaps she felt so intensely about the Dowager Duchess of Westleigh because she had lost all her family.

He was aware of it.

He was aware of the fact that she was adopted.

He was aware that that in itself, for most dukes, would prove an immediate setback.

But he was not most dukes. “If I ever do discover it, I promise to give it to you, and we shall pop it into her tea before she can protest so that her wisdom might be preserved for the world.”

She beamed and squeezed his shoulder. “Good man.”

That touch of approval washed through him and caused him to feel as if he was floating about the room.

He loved it. Her warm heart, merry smile, and witty turn of phrase meant she would be perfect in the Highlands. He would take her up to his palace, his people would fall in love with her, and she would become one with Highland life.

And then he would be a Briarwood too, so to speak. He wouldn’t mind calling the dowager duchess Grandmama . Their time together had been some of the most peaceful and delightful time of his life, short though it was.

The truth was the dowager duchess was a magnificent woman. Her wisdom had inspired his family in the way she had raised her sons, daughters, and grandchildren.

The dowager duchess and her family had made him feel as if there was still promise left in this world, that there was hope to be had for people, despite the evidence to the contrary that so often filled the newssheets.

And he was deeply grateful for it. With more unions like the one between the Briarwoods and his family, the world would indeed become a better place.

“All right,” he said. “I won’t exactly lie to you and say that a lady without a great title or fortune can be as powerful as a duchess in terms of making great changes. But women who are like you? They can make a room turn on a tide.”

She arched a brow. “Women like me?” she asked.

“Self-possessed women who are not afraid of anyone or anything.”

“You think me not afraid?” she queried, her voice a whisper of amazement.

“You certainly do not seem so.”

She shook her head, causing the curls framing her pert face to bounce. “Oh, Your Grace, you are mistaken. I quake with fear all the time, but I have been taught how to embrace my fears as if they are my greatest talent.”

“Have you?” He lowered his head ever so slightly, fascinated by the idea of being so bold with one’s fears. “Will you teach me?”

“Are you afraid?” she breathed, her eyes widening with surprise.

“Oh, of course,” he returned. “Any duke who is not afraid will be a disaster for his country, and I am determined to prove myself the opposite of a disaster.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said as her skirts swished about them after a quick turn. “More men in power should wish to help their people rather than drive them into the ground.”

“It all depends on what a powerful man thinks is helping their country,” he said grimly. “Sometimes I think that some of the great lords wish to wield power, consolidate it, and not care about who it affects.”

Her eyes narrowed at that, and he feared he had said something amiss.

“I agree with you,” she said sadly. “Sometimes great men do not care about the cost of whatever it is that they pursue.”

He nodded. “I’ve seen it in Scotland.”

“And I’ve seen it in Europe,” she whispered as her eyes shone with memory. “Though I was very small when it happened.”

His throat tightened as he realized how much she had suffered compared to most. “I’m sorry for it.”

“Not I,” she said quickly. “I refuse to be sorry for anything that’s ever happened. For if I am, I shall always be living in regret.”

He did not know how their conversation had taken such a sudden turn, but one thing that he knew was that he would never have to worry about only speaking trivially with her.

She would take every conversation they had and somehow make it profound, interesting, meaningful, and that was the kind of life he wished to lead.

He did not wish to live a life that was only about summer ices and the latest gossip out of Almack’s.

“I wish to speak to you,” he said suddenly before he could think on it too much.

“You are speaking to me,” she pointed out, bemused.

“No, no, I wish to speak to you privately .”

Her eyes searched his face. “You do?” she queried.

He nodded, his heart beginning to speed up its pace.

“I…” she began.

“Do not say anything now,” he said, “but know this: I have traveled all the way from Scotland for this moment to come and speak to you, and I think…”

“Oh, dear,” she exclaimed as she abruptly stumbled, as if she was so astonished that she’d misstepped. “I do believe I’ve turned my ankle.”

“What?” he blurted.

She winced. “My ankle. I think I’ve turned it.”

“Let me help you off the floor,” he replied, taking her weight easily against his arms.

He felt strange. Had she truly hurt herself? If she had, he was the most terrible dance partner, and he knew that he was not. Perhaps she wished to be alone with him!

The thought buoyed him.

Carefully, he helped her hobble off the dance floor, and as soon as he led her out into the hall, everyone still watching, he paused. “I can’t be alone with you.”

They stood together in the soft, scone-lit darkness.

“No, I suppose you can’t.” She worried her lower lip for a moment. “So you should go back inside and send one of my cousins out.”

His gaze caught on that lip, longing to tease it with his own.

“But I do want to be alone with you,” he said quietly, loving the way the soft candlelight from along the walls danced over her.

She swallowed and gently took a step back from him, her step perfectly stable. And then, as if she’d been prepared to say this, she began quite seriously, “I understand that, and I wish to be alone with you too…but whatever you were going to say, I don’t think you should say it.”

He stilled. “Why not?” he asked.

“If you really want to know, we can discuss it, but Teague…” she said.

He nearly gasped at the use of his given name.

“I love being with you, and I know you love being with me too, but I fear that you wish to say something that you cannot take back, and that will only result in unpleasantness.”

“How could anything between us ever result in unpleasantness?” he asked on a gasp.

“Well,” she said, “I might reply in a way that you don’t like.”

He eyed her. “Why the devil would you do that?” he demanded.

“Because I am a Briarwood in name only. Well, not only in name,” she said. “Through affection also, but I have no wish to…”

“What?” he demanded.

“Be a lady of great power,” she said. “I wish to be interesting instead.”

“Can you not be both?”

She laughed at that. “Yes, I suppose I could.” She took his hands. “But I’m not the lady for you, I think. Don’t ask me how I know. You have so much you wish to accomplish, and…”

“I haven’t even asked you yet,” he pointed out, dismayed that she was making mincemeat of his hopes.

Her eyes rounded at that. “Forgive me. How terrible of me. I have made assumptions. And if I have been erroneous in them, you must accept my effusive apologies.”

“You’re not exactly erroneous,” he grumbled. “My brothers insisted that I come down here and see you.”

“Your brothers?” she echoed.

“Well, sometimes they know me better than I know myself,” he admitted. “And they were fed up with me plodding about everywhere in a dour mood.”

“I cannot imagine you in a dour mood,” she said.

“That’s because whenever you’re with me, I feel light.”

“What a compliment,” she said, her lips turning in a gentle smile. “Thank you.”

How he wanted to take her in his arms and convince her that they were meant for each other despite society, or silliness, or any doubts she might have. “They insisted that I come down here and do the right thing.”

“The right thing?” she exclaimed. “What am I, some sort of charity case?”

He laughed. “You’re being deliberately difficult.”

She folded her hands before her and agreed, “Yes, I suppose I enjoy it sometimes.”

“Good, I shall enjoy that too,” he said, refusing to be misdirected. “But here’s what I think you need to understand: I do want you to be my wife.”

She cringed.

“Is it such a very terrible thing?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said rather passionately. “I think it might be because… Well, I don’t really know what to say.”

“There’s only one thing to say,” he said and waited for the reply that he knew would surely come.