Page 57 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

Mrs. Patterson’s face fell. “Oh,” she stammered. “Silly me. I had not realized that we were not introduced.”

Christian bit back a smile. Of course, no sensible host would rush to introduce young, eligible ladies to a man like him. Mrs. Patterson knew quite well there was no introduction, but she had clearly decided to risk it anyway in the hope of throwing her girls in the path of a duke. She was set to be disappointed.

While she was still stammering for an excuse, he gently slipped past her.

Mrs. Drummer blinked sharp, wise eyes at him. “My granddaughters are not good enough for you then, Your Grace?” she whispered softly.

He bowed. “I’m afraid it is more a case of me not being good enough for them, madam.”

He extended a hand, and she placed hers in it almost without thinking. He bowed over her hand.

“Perhaps I might call on you, though, madam?” he asked, casting a playful glance at her.

Mrs. Drummer reddened, then broke into a guffaw. “Oh, you are a card! Very funny, Your Grace, very funny indeed!”

He straightened up, flashing her a grin, and sketched another bow. She shook her head, chuckling in amusement.

He moved past, keen to leave the cloying Pattersons behind. He could feel their eyes on his back as he walked away, and he heard Miss Polly whisper to her sister, “That was your fault!”

“Was not! You were the one banging on about watercolors.”

“Hush, both of you!” came Mrs. Patterson’s sibilant whisper. No doubt she thought she was being a great deal quieter than she was. “There are other fish in the sea. He was a long shot, in any case.”

A long shot, Christian thought, turning the word over and over in his mind. Yes, I daresay that I am a very long shot indeed.

Lady Pembroke eyed him from a distance, her displeasure emanating from every pore. No doubt she would be very pleased to order him out of her house or never to have invited him at all. However, one did not simply neglect to invite a duke. Not in London, not during the Season. Even the presence of a rake like Christian would attract some ladies and their ambitious mamas.

Generally speaking, he would have avoided coming to such an event in the past on account of said mamas and their daughters. But Thalia would be here tonight with her translations. And of course, that was all he really cared about—the translations.

Even as he told himself that as firmly as he could manage, he remembered the taste of her lips, the feel of her body, soft and firm against his. He clenched his jaw.

Not in the middle of a party, for heaven’s sake. At least, wait for the fireworks.

A figure appeared beside him, making him flinch.

“You seem on edge.” It was, of course, Edwin.

“I am,” Christian responded. “Where is your dear wife?”

“Heaven knows. Cornering some poor acquaintance, no doubt. They’re all talking eagerly about when she’ll go into her confinement, and I haven’t the heart to tell them that there’ll be no confinement.” Edwin chuckled, taking a long sip of whiskey. “Daphne needs no such thing.”

“She is fearsome,” Christian agreed.

Edwin glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “There’s talk about you and Lady Thalia.”

“So I hear. Has she arrived yet?”

He gave him a long, thoughtful look. “Not that I know of. At any rate, Mr. Pembroke has heard the talk.”

“What talk?”

“About you and Lady Thalia, you wretch.”

“Oh.”

“He isn’t happy. Apparently, a match with her was arranged between him and her brother, but now that you are here, things have changed. The Marquess wants to hedge his bets. It is, after all, more impressive to marry one’s sister to a duke than to an ordinary mister. After all, it is Mr. Pembroke’s older brother who inherited the title.”

Christian sniffed. “That is not my concern.”