“That probably says it a bit nicer than she would have.”
His mother laughed a deep, hearty laugh, and Louisa was heartened to know the woman hadn’t taken offense at Louisa’s disparaging comments about her son.
Louisa wanted to get off the conversation about marriage, so she said, “Thank you for assisting Mrs. Colthrust with getting accounts set up for us at the shops in Town. That was a lovely thing for you to do, and it helped immensely.”
“If there is one thing I’ve learned since becoming a duchess, it’s which shops offer the best fabrics. Your gown is lovely, by the way, Miss Prim. Now, if you will excuse me, I promised His Grace—” She paused and looked over at the duke—“that I would find one of the patronesses of Almack’s and introduce you and your sister to her. I’ll find you and your sister later in the evening and take care of that.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Louisa said.
As soon as the duchess said her good-byes and walked away, Louisa turned to the duke. His face had twisted into a scowl, and he was staring at the dance floor. The dance was a fast quadrille, but Louisa caught sight of Gwen and a dashing young man who definitely knew his way around a dance floor. They were laughing and looked perfectly matched.
“Why do you have such a grimace?” Louisa asked. “Do you think I said something to offend your mother?”
“No. Look whom Miss Gwen is dancing with. Did you or Mrs. Colthrust give her permission to dance with him?”
Louisa studied the man. She knew they had been introduced, but she didn’t remember his name. “I’m sure one of us must have. She wouldn’t be dancing with him otherwise.”
“He is the last person you should want her with.”
“We met so many people, I’m afraid I don’t remember anything about him. Who is he, and why shouldn’t Gwen be dancing with him?”
“He is Mr. Stanly Standish, and she shouldn’t be dancing with him, because he’s too much like I was a few years ago.”
Louisa looked at the duke. “You mean he’s—?”
“Yes, Miss Prim. He’s a scoundrel of the highest order, too.”
Chapter 17
We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
—Hamlet,act 4, scene 1
“Are you sure?” Miss Prim asked him.
Annoyed that she’d questioned him, Bray frowned. “Surely this is not an area where you need to doubt me.”
“But he seemed such a pleasant and true gentleman when I met him earlier tonight.”
“How else would you expect him to conduct himself when meeting a beautiful young lady, her sister, and her chaperone at a ballroom? Even scoundrels know how to behave properly, Miss Prim. They just seldom do.”
A twist of worry wrinkled her forehead. “I’m sure you are right about him, Your Grace. I just don’t like admitting that you are.”
Bray let his gaze feather down her face. He wanted to pull her to his chest and hold her, soothe her brow. At this moment, he didn’t necessarily want to kiss her or even make love to her. He’d always loved the feel of a woman in his arms, beneath him, or astride him. He loved the pleasure he gave and received. But he couldn’t remember ever wanting to hold a woman just so he could feel her close to him.
Miss Prim aroused things he didn’t want to feel, such as caring whether or not Miss Gwen was dancing with a rake. It should mean nothing to him, but for reasons he could not understand, he did care.
“Well, don’t just stand there looking at me as if there were other things on your mind,” Miss Prim said. “Do something.”
There are other things on my mind!
Bray crossed his hands over his chest and shrugged. “What do you suggest I do?”
“I have no idea. What do you usually do when a scoundrel dances with an innocent young lady?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? That is not a satisfactory answer.”
