Well, she simply wouldn’t. Not tonight, at least. She’d made sure he wasn’t on the guest list. She might see him eventually, but she doubted he would even recognize her. Men like that did not really look at the women who served them. To see her again, dressed properly, would be like seeing an entirely different person.
If he remembered his nurse at all. He had likely given the credit for his recovery to a good doctor and a strong constitution.
But she remembered each minute she’d spent with him, far too well. Some nights, when she was alone in bed, she swore shecould feel the heat of his fevered skin. The shape of his body. The softness of his hair as she’d brushed it out of his face. And, of course, his lips.
None of which she should be thinking about now. She took her place with Julian and Portia near the door, ready to be introduced to a flock of men who had many good qualities to recommend them and reputations that were not nearly as roguish as the Duke of Westbridge. Perhaps one of them would help her forget. It would only take one.
Each eligible man that passed her began by speaking with Julian, assuring him of their support for the school he was funding, then turned to her and requested a dance. As she let them scrawl their names on the card tied to her wrist, she tried to commit the snippets of conversation to memory, as a way to rank them against each other.
A few were vulgar enough to set an amount on their promised donations. She rejected them out of hand. She hoped this was not some auction where Julian meant to pass ownership of her to the highest bidder.
Personally, she gave the greatest favour to a young man named Tobias Blake who was reading for the clergy and could promise nothing but his assistance in teaching and mentoring the impoverished orphans Julian meant to educate. Mr Blake was visually unprepossessing and seemed rather more interested in the school than he did her. But she could not fault his earnestness.
Her father would approve. But should that be her primary goal? While she wished to be guided by his wisdom, she had hoped that she would feel something more than vague approval when looking at her future husband.
A little later, a man passed who was likely Julian’s favourite. He and Lord Andrew Rutland talked for some time, mostly about the man’s father, who was an earl and an ally of herbrother’s in Parliament. Lord Rutland was well-spoken, well-tailored and probably ambitious. She suspected he wanted something from Julian and thought the shortest route to his approval might run through her heart.
Or perhaps over it. He had a pleasant smile, but she was not sure she fully trusted him. Still, she did not hesitate when he offered to partner her in a reel. It would not do to refuse too many candidates before giving them some sort of hearing. And, if this one made Julian happy?
Then, perhaps Julian should marry him.
She thrust that thought aside as unworthy. Her brother had done so much for her that she owed it to him to be polite to his friends. And really, there was nothing so very wrong with Lord Rutland. He might have altruistic reasons for wanting a peer’s favour. If he meant to help orphans, as Julian was doing, she could be of help.
She turned to watch him go while Portia greeted the next man in line. ‘We did not expect to see you this evening, Your Grace.’ Her tone as she greeted this guest seemed strange, as if her courtesy was only superficial.
‘I imagine you did not. But Septon speaks so persuasively about the school he is sponsoring that I could not fail to show my support.’
She did not need to turn and look to know him. That smooth voice had haunted her dreams for months. She turned back slowly, and by the time she faced him, her composure was firmly in place and she could greet him as a stranger.
Their eyes met, and she abandoned any hope that he might have forgotten her. The change in him was subtle, but plain to her. A slight elevation of an eyebrow and dilation of the pupils. An infinitesimal hitch in his breath.
And then, he turned back to Julian as if nothing had changed. ‘What was the cause again, Septon? Wayward girls?’ Thequestion was like a knife wrapped in cotton wool. Soft and innocent on the outside, but sharp underneath.
‘Orphans,’ said Julian. ‘Boys.’ He was smiling as Westbridge was, but obviously annoyed.
And now, the Duke turned to her, still smiling, still sly. ‘And this must be your long-lost sister.’
‘May I present Miss Cassandra Fisk. The Duke of Westbridge.’
‘Your Grace,’ she said automatically and curtsied. She kept her eyes lowered. She had seen enough in the brief look they’d shared. He was every bit as handsome as he had been, when she’d nursed him. More so, now that he was healthy. The colour had returned to his face and he’d lost that gaunt look from too many days without food.
And just as it had a year ago, her heart beat a little faster and her skin felt flushed. She was tempted to fan herself and complain of the heat. But that would only call attention to her condition and prolong the meeting.
‘Delighted to meet you, Miss Fisk.’ He did not seem to be experiencing any difficulties at all. His voice was smooth as he took her hand raising it to his lips and kissing the air above it.
‘And you, Your Grace,’ she replied, sure that she could feel the heat of his breath through her glove. ‘My brother speaks of you, often.’
‘He has told me surprisingly little about you,’ he said with just a hint of acid. ‘But now that we have met, I look forward to knowing you better.’
What was she to say to that? The temptation was to announce that he knew her quite well enough. Or perhaps, she should simply run.
Then, she remembered that there was nothing to be afraid of. If he’d meant to expose their previous relationship, he would have said something already. This might be the only time she would speak with him, no matter what he’d just said. Herbrother would never approve of an acquaintance between them. The Duke’s reputation was far too rackety.
Nor would he wish to waste time on her. He was a notorious bachelor and likely came here to support Julian, not because he was seeking a wife. Even if he meant to marry this Season, he would not consider someone who could not even name her mother. She need only follow her original plan. She would be polite and deny, deny, deny.
‘Thank you. You are too kind.’ She glanced towards the dance floor. ‘But now, I fear, you must excuse me. The dancing is beginning and I am obligated.’
He looked down at her dance card. ‘Is there a space left for me?’
