“You are an excellent dancer,” he observed, that rich voice caressing over her.
“I am not,” she countered tersely, her earlier thoughts of perfection popping, bubble-like. “Do not give me false compliments. That is not our relationship.”
He arched a brow. “We do not have a relationship, Jack.”
She choked back a laugh, but her face must have been as active as it was when her mother begged her to smooth her countenance.
“What is humorous?” he asked.
“You just called me Jack. Do you call all your female acquaintances similar appellations?”
“Fair point,” he allowed, gazing over her head.
“Oh, I do like that.” She beamed up at him. “Point to me.”
His brow pinched ever so slightly. No one else would have seen it. “This is not a match.”
“No,” she agreed. “’Tis a battle. And you are my general.”
“I am your matchmaker,” he corrected.
She let out a dramatic sigh. “And I must do as you bid, to secure my future happiness.”
“I am glad we agree,” he replied, “that you must do as I bid.”
“Within reason,” she replied, loving the feel of her skirts swirling about them.
“Within reason,” he echoed.
She blinked. “You’re not about to bid me to do anything I’d find foolish, are you?”
It was most helpful he knew her character and general limitations. Laces, needlepoint, and swooning were not tools in her arsenal.
“No,” he said firmly before he intoned rather grandly, “I do not believe in people acting foolishly. It gets one into heaps of trouble.”
She refrained from mentioning the behavior of his mother and father, which was positivetonlegend.
After all, given his own impeccable reputation, she had a rather strong feeling that such a reminder would be a way in which to end all alliance between them in one brief moment.
But, the truth was, there were many stories of his mother doing absolutely wild things at parties.
For instance, at one particular soiree, his mother had been sighted dancing vigorously by herself too close to a flame, whereupon her wig had caught on fire. A great deal of champagne had been involved. And then, of course, there was the tale of his mother being carried in on an immensely long silver platter into one of Lady Highbury’s parties. That had caused quite a scandal. Luckily, she had been clothed, but it was rumored that she was mocking her husband. Apparently, one of his mistresses had arrived in a club room quite naked upon a similar tray.
And, of course, one couldn’t forget the tale of the cheetahs…
Yes, the duke’s mother was a character, to say the least. But then so had been the duke’s father. Those two had blazed through thetonlike comets. Their fights were also rumored to have been positively volcanic.
She wondered if the Duke of Stone knew how much everyone…well, knew.
Frankly, with such parents, it was a miracle that he was sane at all, she supposed. She often wondered if it was the early time spent with her family as a boy and then a young man that had saved him from becoming completely mad, like his parents.
It was impossible to know, of course.
And perhaps one day, he might take to wearing jewels as large as ostrich eggs and parading through town with a tiger on a leash.
She couldn’t imagine such a thing. But…
As the duke spun her around and around the room, she found herself feeling a trifle overwhelmed. Or at least so she convinced herself.