Him.
Her lips tightened into a straight line. She schooled her features and forced herself to pay attention to the conversation in the group.
Soon, the dance ended, and Helena waved at her sister to get her attention. Chastity, led by her dance partner, proceeded to her direction. She smiled at them. Looking over her shoulder once again, she was glad to note that the gentleman was no longer there.
“That was one of my favorite dances,” Chastity said when her dance partner left. “I enjoyed practicing it the most if you recall, Helena.”
But Helena did not hear her; indeed, she stood as still as a statue. The only animation she showed was her brows drawing together into a frown.
Helena drew in a deep breath to control her displeasure. She had no reason to think thathewas headed her way—except for the purposeful stride that brought the gentleman closer and closer to where she stood.
Chapter Two
Matteo wound his way through the crowd. It proved more difficult than he had anticipated, for he was detained by acquaintances, members of the peerage, and mamas presenting to him with their daughters.
“It is a most pleasant surprise to see you attending, Your Grace…”
“Have you met my daughter…”
“Your Grace, we had despaired of seeing you grace our debutante balls again…”
Amidst it all, Matteo had smiled and bowed, complimented young ladies where compliments were expected. He thought of every possible skill that a young lady might have, places they would enjoy visiting, and indeed, the good weather that London was currently enjoying, and inserted them all in conversation. He must, after all, maintain his image of the charming duke.
“Peter, where are you?” He muttered in between smiles, promising himself that he would murder his friend as soon as he arrived.
He should have known better than to agree to attend Lady Chapman’s ball, but Peter had practically threatened him with the loss of their friendship if he did not come.
Cursing his best friend under his breath, Matteo finally managed to extract himself from the two society matrons who held him in conversation. Lady Wright and Lady Smith-Brown, both dowager viscountesses, could rattle on for hours if one let them.
Peter, Dahlia, and their party were late. Had he known that he would arrive before them—a good half hour at that—he would have tarried longer in his townhouse. He was not much for staying at home and passing his time there, but he was more not the type to spend an entire evening in this type of ball. He preferred the more sophisticated set, the more experienced set. Where his efforts were not as pronounced, for there was less pretense and fewer expectations.
In short, debutante balls were not his ideal social event to attend. Neither were they Peter’s, not so long ago.
Just when he considered leaving and then returning at a later time, he heard them being announced.
“The Duke and Duchess of Icedale.”
“Lady Mary Thornscroft.”
“Lady Claire Thornscroft.”
“The Marquess and Marchioness of Bolton.”
“The Dowager Marchioness of Bolton.”
“Ah, the whole cavalry.” Matteo smiled as he shook his head.
It was funny how only a year ago, Peter had been seen as a cold and forbidding bachelor, the Duke of Ice. Now he stood surrounded by his wife, his sisters, his parents-in-law, even by his wife’s grandmother, looking very much the devoted male. In marrying Dahlia Hill, he had suddenly acquired a whole clan. And his friend could not look any happier for it.
He made his way towards their party.
“Might I say that you look very lovely tonight, ladies.”
All the ladies of the group, including Dahlia’s mother, Teresa Hill, the Marchioness, and Dahlia’s grandmother, Wilhelmina Hill, the Dowager Marchioness, all turned at the sound of his voice.
“Matteo!”
“Your Grace.”
