As for Leo, he found it utterly amusing watching this disaster of interaction unfold before him. Prim regrouped and collected herself. Leo was left wondering what methods she could use to thaw the infamously cold Duke.
“How old is your daughter, Your Grace?” Prim tried.
Leo grinned. Prim had cunningly chosen that subject. Parents tend to talk annoyingly a lot about their offspring with inexhaustible information.
“Five,” Nathaniel said.
And then not much else. Prim swayed as if prompting him to say more on the matter, but Nathaniel seemed to have catalogued the question as resolved. Prim was positively deflated. Her face held the expression of someone who realized that she was against a formidable adversary.
“Such a delicate age,” Prim felt the need to fill the void.
Leo was ready to laugh at her desperate attempt when he noticed a flicker of… emotion on Nathaniel’s face. Something like recognition or revelation. And yet the man quickly reigned it in and his face was once again that wax mask of his.
He envied the man. When it came to Primrose Jenkins, Leo seemed let his desires take over. He was completely lacking that particular thing, Nathaniel possessed in abundance. Self-control.
CHAPTER 8
Proof Of Lies
Prim was happy for once that her parents loved socializing so much that they were often the ones who left the balls last. She really didn’t want the night to end. One thing was the estate itself. It was grandiose and beautiful and elegant. What the Duke and Duchess of Blackwell had offered was simple, artistic, and meaningful. Many of the ton missed it, but even the most ignorant could feel the light atmosphere.
She also enjoyed Abigail’s company so much. Prim felt obliged to the Duchess for supporting her and her sisters. The twins were already enthralled by Abigail, and so was Prim. They had enjoyed their little talks as they mingled, and for the first time in her life, Prim felt she had a friend.
“We most definitely need to dance,” Leo’s voice was heard so close to her. “Preferably before everyone is gone. Our performance requires an audience after all.”
That part of the ball, she hadn’t evaluated yet. The Duke did his due diligence, paraded her in front of the ton, making sure everyone saw him offer her too much lemonade. And he introduced her to the Duke of Greyhaven.
“I think we walked around enough, arm in arm. Must I suffer more?” Prim said.
“It is just a dance,” Leo bows in front of her in perfect form, except for the mischievous glint in his eyes.
There was something inside her that told her that she should decline. Feign that her feet hurt, or she had a light headache, all these well-worn excuses that the ladies of the ton wisely used to avoid socializing.
“Fine, one dance,” she was surprised to hear her own voice.
The Duke guided her to the center of the dance floor.
“Do you suffer much if you are not in the center of attention?” She hissed as she took his hand.
“Actually, I do not enjoy it as much, but I do need to make a point, don’t I?”
Prim looked away as he settled his hand on her waist. She had to tighten her jaw to keep her body from jumping up.
“You might want to change your expression into something that looks less like a walk to the gallows,” the Duke chuckled.
“More like a dance to the gallows.”
“Is dancing with me that unpleasant, Miss P.J.?”
Prim looked up at him, frowning.
“This little performance would work so much better if you gazed upon me with a little… fascination at least.”
“Let’s stay within reason, Your Grace. I am known to be sensible.”
He threw his head back and laughed, and that deep, husky sound became her worst enemy in this moment.
“Can you just try a bit harder?” The Duke provoked.
