“I have no mantel at present.”
“Ah. Well. When you do, I have the most beautiful collection for whoever I choose to marry.”
Lord Bennington spoke for what felt like hours about porcelain before the bell rang and saved her again. Deena’s eyes shifted back to Austin. He glanced at her, the corners of his mouth lifted and the beautiful lady opposite him seemed to realize their exchange. Deena panicked and looked away.
Damn him.
But just from a look, heat gathered low in her stomach.
The next swap took place. Austin sat at a table with Lady Amelia, who was already giggling. He looked relaxed and charming as ever. Lord Monthall arrived next, but everyone was aware of his recent engagement.
“Lady Deena, I must congratulate you on your safe return from abroad.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“I wonder…do you find English weather trying after the Parisian climate?” he asked politely and Deena had to stop herself from groaning out loud in frustration.
“I find English conversation trying after Parisian silence,” she muttered under her breath.
He blinked. “Oh, I… see.”
“’ I did not mean with you, Lord Monthall,” she added hurriedly.
“It’s quite all right, Lady Deena. I understand how you feel.”
Deena frowned. “I’m curious…how do I feel?”
“We both would rather be sitting with one person rather than all of them.” Lord Monthall’s eyes wandered towards Lady Belle, who was already looking at him helplessly.
“I apologize, Lord Monthall, but I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Ah, but you do know what I mean.” He smiled coyly at her.
The bell rang, and he left as swiftly as he arrived. Deena sat stock still as Lord Monthall’s words enveloped her.
Did he see something?
She stole another glance at Austin. He had moved to Lady Ann, who was gesturing animatedly with her fan. Although the ladies offered him an extension, he accepted none of them, and Deena did not understand why she felt relieved. Gentleman after gentleman sat in front of her, offering her dull conversations or hilariously awkward ones.
I’ll be sure to write to Penelope about the things men say in a hurry.
The thought of her friend snapped Deena back to her present situation, like a bucket of icy water dashed over her fevered skin. There was no time for mooning over the dark and infuriating Duke of Windemere. She had a mission. She had a blackmailer and a friend, who had become her only true family in Paris, to protect.
Yet even as duty asserted itself, the memory of Duke’s kiss flooded her senses. Austin’s mouth on hers was hot, commanding, and he coaxed her surrender with devastating skill. His strong hands slid possessively over her waist. The graze of his lips along the sensitive column of her throat, the faint rasp of stubble that had made her shiver and arch towards him, silently begging for more.
Deena pressed her thighs together beneath her skirts, heat pulsing low and insistent. She was in deep trouble, and the worst part was how she wanted to sink further.
“Lady Deena?”
The tentative voice pulled her from her reverie. Deena blinked, focusing on the young man now seated opposite her.
Viscount Duncan, she thought. Her grandmother had tried to get him around Deena from the beginning of the Hunt, but that plan failed when she bumped into Austin.
“Oh, please forgive me, my lord,” she said quickly, straightening. “I was… miles away.”
He offered a kind smile. This time, when Deena looked across, it was Austin who was already staring. His gaze was intense and almost possessive. A hot shiver ran up her spine.
“You look as red as a tomato. Have you eaten this morning? The dowager’s cook does a splendid seed cake if you’d like me to fetch one.” Lord Duncan offered.
