Was he going tobe tiresome about everything? “As I said, that was lastyear.”
“What has changed between then and now?” he askedsilkily.
“Forone, the year.”
The slightest offrowns touched his forehead. “Why are you being sodifficult?”
Annoyance beganto swirl within her. He knew the rules of the game. They hadenjoyed a flirtation, one that benefited them both and had alwayshad an expiry. The Duke of Sutton was notorious for his flirtationsand the trail of broken hearts he left behind; he was ruthless,unfeeling, and had made many a lady weep. Why was he attempting toprolong what had already died? “I am not difficult, your grace. Iam bored. There is a difference.”
“Bored? Bored? Withme?”
She exhaled. “Iam no longer interested. You may leave.”
“You? Are dismissingme?”
With a snap ofher wrist, she extended her fan and proceeded to ignorehim.
“Youwill regret this,” he threatened.
She flicked hima glance. “Will I?”
He smiledtightly and then, finally, he let her be, disappearing into thecrowd.
Ugh, now herstomach was twisted in knots. Why did the duke have to approachher? Her plan for the ball had not included his histrionics, andshe hadn’t required his petty threats. Fanning herselfrhythmically, she breathed in, and then out. In, out. Slowly, thechurn in her stomach subsided.
Her gaze lockedon two familiar faces amongst the crowd. Lady Elizabeth Harcourtand Miss Maria Spencer froze, their faces draining of colour asthey noticed her glare. Quickly, they hurried to herside.
“Lady Seraphina,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “You areearly!”
“I?Iam early?”
Elizabethblanched. “We are late?” she offered.
“Itold you bothpreciselywhen I would be here. Imagine mysurprise upon arrival when I discovered not only were you absent,but the position I had chosen specifically for this first ball wasoccupied by first years.”
They glanced ateach other. “We apologise,” Maria said. “However, you will not mindwhen we tell you what Margaret Williamson told us—”
“Itdoes not matter what Margaret Williamson told you. I specificallyinstructed you reserve this grotto and you did not doso.”
“ButMargaret Williamson told us—"
Sera held up herhand. Maria fell silent. “I do not care what youdiscovered.”
Maria opened hermouth. “But—”
Narrowing hereyes, Sera shot her a look.
“TheMarchioness Demartine, Lady Alexandra Torrence, Lady LydiaTorrence,” the majordomo intoned.
Sera whippedaround. Lips pressed together, she watched as Lady Demartineentered the ballroom flanked by her daughters.
“That’s what we were trying to tell you. Lydia Torrence isback.” Elizabeth said weakly.
IgnoringElizabeth, Sera kept her gaze trained on the new arrivals. LadyDemartine was still a beauty, her dark brows a curious contrastwith her pale hair. Neither of her daughters had inherited hercolouring, with Lady Alexandra’s hair a more golden shade of blondeand Sera knew her eyes to be of a muddy sort. Lydia’s hair was red,her eyes bright blue-green hazel. Some seemed to think Lydia wasbeautiful.
Sera gritted herteeth. Fine, Lydiawasbeautiful. Red-gold hair tumbledaround her head, her features perfect, with a curvaceous figurejust a shade on the right side of ladylike. The gentlemen wouldflock to her side, but if her affections remained as they hadalways been, they were doomed to disappointment.
Lady Alexandrawas the same age as Sera but had made her debut the year after her.Sera smiled thinly. And what a disaster it had been. Lady Alexandrawas…odd. She was fascinated by spirits and cared not who knew it.She was exuberant in everything she did—too bright, too eager, toomuch. It would bear her well if she wasjust…less.
