Page 14 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

She knew what he was going to produce in the instant before he did it. Sure enough, out came her dance card, which she’d tucked in her book. She mournfully wondered if she had lost her place and decided that she must have. Jonathan would not have thought to mark her place with anything else once he’d plucked the dance card free.

“And there you are, you see?” he growled, tying the card onto her wrist just a little too tight. “You are dancing the waltz with Mr. Pembroke. It’s written down.”

Thalia’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She had only danced the waltz a handful of times during the dancing lessons Jonathan had forced upon her, and she had not excelled.

“Jonathan, not the waltz. I’ll stand up with him for the quartet or…” she trailed off as Mr. Pembroke approached, apparently having lost patience. He carelessly extended a damp-looking palm towards her.

“I believe the waltz is starting, Lady Thalia,” he sighed. “We had better take our places.”

There was no escape. Ladies didn’t refuse gentlemen, and if they had a name marked in their dance cards, nothing short of a twisted ankle or perhaps a sudden death would spare them from standing up with that gentleman.

Reluctantly, she extended her hand towards his.

“Lady Thalia, I do hope you are not giving away my dance.”

All three of them flinched at the unexpected voice. Thalia used the distraction as an opportunity to yank her hand away from Mr. Pembroke’s grasping fingers.

Jonathan whipped around, fury contorting his face, mouth open to blast whoever had made the dubious decision to interrupt. But his jaw remained slack, and no words came out for a moment or two.

“Your Grace…” He cleared his throat. “I… I did not see you there.”

Thalia stared up at the Duke of Thornhill, wondering if she might have fallen at some point and hit her head on the floor. Perhaps she was delirious or hallucinating. That would make a great deal more sense.

The Duke only flashed her a quick, amused smile. His gaze flicked from her to Mr. Pembroke, then back again, and she could have sworn she saw sympathy in his eyes.

“Have you forgotten, Lady Thalia?” he asked, smiling easily. “You and I are to stand up for the waltz.”

“I do apologize if my sister has gotten confused,” Jonathan managed, recovering his composure. “She is, in fact, engaged for this dance. There, see?”

He grabbed Thalia’s wrist and lifted it so that the Duke might see the dance card. Sure enough, Mr. Pembroke’s name was angrily scratched in for the waltz, the only name on the otherwise blank card.

“Oh dear,” the Duke responded softly. “Whatever shall we do?”

Jonathan shrugged. “I daresay you can stand up with her for the next set. Will that suit you?”

The Duke sighed. “No, I’m afraid it won’t.”

He reached out, curling long, cool fingers around Thalia’s forearm. He gently turned it wrist-up between the four of them. Delicately producing a pencil—she could only assume that it had been in his pocket—he carefully crossed out Mr. Pembroke’s name and wrote his own.

Not his title, she noticed, but his name. Christian Lockwood.

Oh, she found herself thinking with mild curiosity. His name is Christian.

“There you are,” he said easily, releasing her. “A simple misunderstanding. There is my name, clear and easy.”

Jonathan and Mr. Pembroke both gaped at him in mingled disbelief and horror. For her part, Thalia was not sure she could have spoken even if she’d tried.

“Now,” the Duke continued, “we really should take our places. Shall we, Lady Thalia?”

He extended his large hand, long fingers curling in a beckoning way. Before she knew what she was doing, Thalia placed her hand in his, and he towed her away through the crowd. Jonathan and Mr. Pembroke were left behind, although there would most certainly be consequences.

They reached the dance floor, which was just about full. Even so, people threw the Duke quick, frightened looks and inched away from him. The end result was that they had a little more space in the middle of the floor.

“Jonathan will be furious,” Thalia managed, somewhat breathlessly. “And Mr. Pembroke will be mighty offended.”

“Did you wish to dance with Mr. Pembroke?”

“No!”