“Well, then,” Persephone said. “Apartfrom being a good dancer, it’s said he’s also one of the kindest gentlemen of theton. He won’t object if Elowyn asks him first, neither will he reject her. That’s why he’s the perfect choice.”
Elowyn sent a reassuring glance to Isadora. “Don’t worry, Is, I’mready.”
Isadora sighed, then gave a nod. “I know, I know. I don’t know why I’m so worried. You’re wearing pink. You’ve always looked prettiest in this shade but never worn it to a ball before.”
Elowyn’s face flushed and she smoothed her skirts. “Nonsense!”
“Oh, don’t deny it,” Persephone said with a grin.
Her friends laughed, only causing her face to flame even more. Yes, well, sad to say, she hadn’t wanted the color to bespoiled for her. “Hush and help me locate the partner for my first dance.”
Persephone nodded to two men across the room in conversation, their demeanor that of two friends at ease about the topic they were conversing on. “Purple cravat.”
Well then.
She could do this.
“Do you want us to come with you?” Isadora asked.
Lord no! “Do not even dare.” She had to do this alone. Part of the disaster of her first year had been because her face would turn beet red and her hands would shake whenever a gentleman approached her with any form of interest. She’d sometimes even stutter from nerves. Her refuge had been her friends. Tonight, more than ever, she wanted to prove she could walk toward what she wanted without her courage abandoning her.
She drew in a breath and straightened her shoulders. “Wish me luck.”
“Oh stars,” Isadora muttered. “I think I’m more nervous than you.”
Elowyn grinned at her friend. Foolish or brave, perhaps there was no difference. Nevertheless . . .
Here goes nothing.
***
Julien Everett, the Duke of Mandeville, was three seconds away from losing his infamous temper. Not just lose it, but have it explode all over this godforsaken event, never mind the chittrying to entrap him. He didn’t have time or the patience for this. And yet, here he was.
His gaze dropped to the hands suggestively splayed on his chest.
Well, this was a bloody first.
Not traps set by greedy mothers, that happened on every other night, but bloody stepping straight into one. That had never happened before.
Damnation.
He would never have attended tonight if not for his business with the Duke of Cranbrook, which had been taken care of readily enough. However, before he could slip away, he’d been waylaid by this overly tenacious chit, who insisted she had a message to deliver. Normally, he’d have ignored such an approach. However, given the timing, he couldn’t entirely dismiss that Cranbrook had sent her after him. He should have bloody known better. In those seconds of hesitation, he’d allowed himself to be drawn into an empty drawing room.
“I will only say this once, woman,” Julien ground out. “Remove your paws from my person.”
“Please, call me Gabrielle,” she murmured, blatantly ignoring his request, and went on, “You must know, I’m the diamond of the season. I can fulfill all your heart’s desires.”
Diamond? What bloody diamond? A thorn more like. Heh. Just how did she reconcile those two things? “And what do you know of what I desire?”
Her grin seemed to widen even more. “Your desire is to continue your bloodline.”
Christ, deliver me . . .
The audacity. That was the farthest thing from his heart’s desire. “Wrong. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my leave.” He tried to step back, but the bloody woman only pressed closer, her fingers digging into the fabric of his waistcoat so thoroughly that anything short of prying her from his person wouldn’t deter her.
Blazing hell.
He balled his hands into fists, the leather straining across his knuckles. He’d have done just that, pry her away, but he didn’t want to soil his gloves. He’d already have to rid himself of his waistcoat. Possibly burn the thing.
