Page 88 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

“I’m excited to see everyone tonight,” she said after a moment. “Charity and Duncan have promised to attend. Maria and Stephen would probably join them, too.”

“Mhm.”

“Are you even listening to a word I am saying?”

Ronan absorbed only half of what she said because each time she turned her head toward the window, the pearls at her throat shifted softly against her skin and drew his attention somewhere it had no business lingering.

“I’m answering you,” he shrugged his shoulders. The last thing he wished to do was tell her that she was having any sort of impact on him.

“You seem more distracted tonight,” she said, worry suddenly clouding her tone. “Is something bothering you?”

“Bother is not the word I would use,” he muttered under his breath, causing her eyes to widen further.

“Then what is it?” she pressed. For some reason, she had resolved not to let the matter go. But it was no use, of course.

He was not going to give her a straight answer.

“I think you’re spending your energy on all of the wrong things, Duchess,” he said to her. “I would suggest you focus on the night ahead, and not so much on what I’m bothered about.”

She shot him a look.

“It concerns me very much what you are bothered about,” She folded her arms in front of her. “So, please. Stop being so cryptic.”

By the time they reached the Hetherford residence, the street outside was clogged with carriages, and guests were already moving steadily.

Ronan had expected the crowd to irritate him, and it did, but what he had not expected was the instinctive satisfaction he felt when Augusta took his arm again and remained close to him as they entered, as though the pressure of hundreds of strangers around them gave him permission to keep her nearer than what was required.

The ballroom itself was a blaze of candlelight and color, with crystal chandeliers scattering light over mirrors and polished floors while the orchestra played from a raised gallery at the far end, and the hum of conversation rose and fell around them in waves. Augusta paused for a moment as they entered, not because she appeared overwhelmed but because she was taking everything in with the ease of a woman who had spent years learning exactly how to move through rooms like this, and Ronan realized that although he had seen her in drawing rooms and at dinners, he had never watched her fully occupy the society for which she had been trained.

That thought should not have bothered him, but it did. Not because she seemed happy, because he liked seeing her happy more than he intended to admit, but because men were already looking at her, and Ronan found himself suddenly understanding why some husbands developed reputations for disliking society. He had never sympathized with such men before, assuming that any gentleman foolish enough to marry a beautiful woman ought to accept that others would notice her, yet now, with Augusta beside him and half the ballroom apparently in possession of functional eyesight, his earlier judgment began to seem uncharitable.

Augusta glanced sideways at him as they moved farther into the room. “You have been here less than three minutes and already look as though you regret every decision that brought you through the door.”

“Once again, I would urge you to not pay so much attention to me.”

It was easier that way, anyway.

They found Charity and Duncan near one of the tall windows, where Maria and Stephen had already joined them, and the warmth of the greeting that followed immediately reminded Ronan that Augusta’s circle of friends and family had expanded into something large and complicated long before he entered it. Charity embraced her sister with obvious affection, Duncan greeted Ronan with enough amusement in his expression to make Ronan suspicious, while Maria took Augusta’s hands and stepped back to admire the dress.

“You look beautiful,” Maria said warmly. “That color was made for you, and I hope whoever selected it has already been sufficiently praised, because I would have dragged you back into the shop myself if you had arrived in pale blue again.”

Augusta laughed. “Charity chose the color, Alethea chose almost everything else, and Temperance spent half the morning trying to turn me into a public scandal, so the final result is this.”

Charity smiled. “Temperance wanted scarlet.”

“She also wanted a neckline that would have caused Ronan to abandon the ball before we arrived.”

The words slipped out lightly enough, but Augusta seemed to realize what she had said almost as soon as Ronan’s attention dropped, quite involuntarily, toward the neckline in question. It was perfectly respectable, which did nothing to stop the memory of her standing close to him in the dining-room doorway from returning with unhelpful clarity, and when he looked back at her face, the faint color in her cheeks told him she had noticed exactly where his gaze had gone.

Duncan, who appeared to possess a stronger instinct for self-preservation than Gregory, immediately turned toward Stephen and began discussing the crowd, while Maria concealed a smile and Charity looked far too pleased with herself. Augusta cleared her throat and shifted the conversation toward the musicians, but Ronan found himself standing closer to her again, his shoulder nearly brushing hers as though proximity alone might shield her from the fact that everyone in the room seemed determined to observe them.

Duncan glanced between them before addressing Ronan. “I confess that I owe Charity five pounds, because I was convinced you would discover some pressing matter of estate management before this evening and decide that Augusta could survive a ball without you.”

Ronan looked toward Charity. “You wagered on whether I would attend?”

Charity smiled with remarkable innocence. “Duncan wagered. I merely accepted the opportunity to profit from his poor judgment.”

“And on what basis were you so certain?” Ronan asked, although the way both sisters looked at him made him immediately regret the question.