“I’m not done yet,” the duke continued. “‘I’m sorry, my lord, but I cannot possibly dance with you, as I’m having my wig washed.’”
She snorted at that. “I donotwear a wig.”
“Not the point,” he added with a grin. “Where was I?”
“Number six,” someone called helpfully from the crowd.
“Quite right. Let’s see. Political. ‘I’m sorry my lord, but I must decline as I’ve taken a vow of no dancing until the Importation Act is defeated.’”
“As if,” Lucy scoffed.
He didn’t stop to take a breath. “‘I’m sorry, my lord, but there isn’t time as I’m to be a stowaway on a ship bound for the Americas tonight.’”
“That one doesn’t even make sense.” But she couldn’t help but smile.
“Yes, but it’s interesting, is it not?” he asked with a roguish grin.
The crowd cheered in appreciation. Lucy shrugged.
“‘Being so close to a gentleman of your esteemed stature is likely to fluster me so much I shall tread upon your feet,’” he offered.
“Hardly,” she snorted.
“‘If I were to dance with you, my lord, I’d jeopardize my prestigious position as head wallflower.’”
Jane materialized from the crowd, pointing a finger in the air. “To be precise, Your Grace,Ihappen to be the current holder of the prestigious position as head wallflower.”
“Duly noted,” the duke said with a grin.
Lucy shook her head at her friend. Jane nodded and blended back into the crowd.
The duke was playing to the audience now, smiling outright and clearly enjoying himself. “‘I’d rather be shooting at Napoleon than dancing with you.’”
Lucy inclined her head. “I’m not a half bad shot.”
“‘I cannot dance because I have to look for my smelling salts.’”
Lucy afforded him a long-suffering stare. “Not likely.”
“‘I’d rather be eating army rations,’” he added. And then, “‘I’d rather be buying a turban.’”
“A turban?” She gave him an incredulous look.
“‘It’s far too warm to dance,’” he continued.
She sighed. “That one’s probably true.”
He tugged at his lapels. “‘Dancing is against my morals.’”
She giggled at that.
“‘Aww, I would dance with you but I don’t want to make you look inept.’”
“Far too similar to an earlier reply,” she scoffed.
“That was number eighteen!” someone called from the sidelines. Lucy could have sworn it was Garrett.
She gave the duke a challenging stare. “Only two more. Can you manage, Your Grace?”
