He laughed. “I am eager to fulfill your every desire. You have only to ask.”
There was one thing she wished to ask of him, but of course, she couldn’t. To never approach her again. Her father would be outraged and her mother disappointed, and she would hate to evoke such emotions in either of her parents. Her stomach tightened, and she felt a strong urge to run away.
His hand tightened on hers. “Allow me to take you into supper.”
Relieved that the dance ended, she said, “I’m afraid Mama has plans for the rest of the evening.”
He placed his hand over hers on his arm as he led her from the floor. “I’m confident your mother’s plan will include me.” He looked so annoyingly smug. Her fingers itched to poke his chest and push him away.
He left her with her mother. Mellicent leaned back on the seat and groaned. “I am exhausted, Mama. Might we go home? The ball has been utterly thrilling, but these slippers pinch horribly. I simply cannot dance again.”
“Oh Mellie, must you?” Mama said, dismayed. “The duke choosing to dance with you has assured you of a successful Season. Gentlemen will line up to dance with you at the next ball, which will urge Pallthorpe not to mince matters over the marriage settlement.”
Horrified, Mellie faked a yawn, putting her gloved hand over her mouth.
“You are tired, my dear. Very well, we shall leave.” Mama gathered her things together and stood. “I’ll have the carriage brought round and send a footman for your father.”
When her father decided not to come home with them, Mellie settled into the coach beside her mother. She smoothed her gown over her knees. “Mama, what if Pallthorpe did something truly awful? Would father change his mind about him?”
“But of course, but what awful thing would a gentleman like Pallthorpe do? He has impeccable manners.”
“He whips his horses.”
“When controlling a difficult mount, it is sometimes necessary to apply the crop. I find this conversation about Pallthorpe tedious, Mellie. Chandos danced with you, as it is his wont to do so with a debutante new to the Season, but tell me what you talked about.”
“I told him how glad I was that he’d come to the ball. He thanked me and said he was in better spirits.”
“That was all?”
Mellie nodded.
As the carriage approached their townhouse, Mama gathered up her shawl, reticule, and fan. “Forget him, Mellie. He was merely doing what he sees as his duty.”
Later, in her bed, Mellie hugged Rosie. She missed her cats, but the ginger kitten had become a favorite. She went over her conversation with the duke again. She’d been rather bold. But that was because she had so little time. He didn’t seem to mind. He liked her, she was sure of it. Now, she had to convince him it was more than kindness he felt, which made him come to the ball and dance with her.
She had sensed something special between them at their first meeting. After all, she was perfect for him. She would lift him from his sad moods and make him happy. And she would feel safe in his arms when she hadn’t felt at all safe ever since her father told her of his plan for her to marry Pallthorpe. She longed to gaze into the duke’s calm, gray eyes. What would it be like for him to enfold her in his strong arms? To kiss her? But when might she see him again?
Mama came in and held up a finger to her lips. She picked up Rosie, who mewed her annoyance, and whispered, “It’s very late. Go to sleep.”
The candle snuffed, Mellie lay in the dark, listening to Vivian’s faint snore in the bed beside her. She had no right to appeal to God when she didn’t deserve it, her mind always wandering in church when the vicar droned on, but she murmured a prayer. If it is meant to be, it will be, came the answer from somewhere within the recesses of her mind. “Itismeant to be,” she murmured.
Mellie closed her eyes. She could hardly be content with that.
“I doubt that’s going to work,” Vivian murmured sleepily.
She must have spoken aloud. “Then I shall have to ensure that it does,” she said decisively.
“Was the ball wonderful?”
“Oh, yes, it was. The duke danced with me and…”
Vivian pummeled her pillow and rolled over. “I want to hear every scrap of detail. But not ’til the morning.”
Chapter Three
Gene stripped offhis clothes and left them on a chair for his valet. In bed, he lay with his arm beneath his head, the room softly lit by a single candle, resisting sleep. It was almost dawn, and he’d drunk too much brandy. A good friend, who celebrated the birth of his son a few hours ago, had bought drinks for every patron. Gene envied his exuberance. He tried to picture himself in the same situation. A father! It caused an odd tingle along his spine.
Lady Mellicent’s enchanting face appeared in his mind. He ran an impatient hand through his hair and considered returning to Haverstock Hall tomorrow. But while he looked forward to riding and reading, the prospect lacked its usual appeal. He gave up the idea of sleep and left the bed, donning a dressing gown. He browsed the stack of invitations awaiting his perusal on his study desk: balls, soirees, dinner and the theatre, breakfasts, picnics, and card parties. It was time to commit himself to the future.
