It had seemed ingenious to him, giving her exactly what she said she’d wanted.

Surely an old lord who would take care of her, give her everything that she wished for, and then keel over one day, allowing her the freedom she desired, was the perfect solution to Jack’s problem.

Jack clearly did not believe so, as he watched her make a swift exit across the ballroom, through the crowd.

She was so swift that for a moment he worried gossip might ensue, but instead it seemed the company was giving it little note. A nod here. A raised brow there. A rapidly snapped fan across the room. But nothing too terrible. Though it was embarrassing to admit, most were all assuming that Jack was simply overborne by him.

The idea was laughable. Jack. Overborne. ’Twould never occur. He was fairly certain she was impervious to wind, weather, and dukes.

Many young ladies often seemed to find him a bit overwhelming, which he didn’t understand, because he did do his very best to be as unthreatening and kind to everyone as he could. But when one was a duke, one was, well…aduke.And there was the undeniable fact that his power made him someone that people were wary of upsetting. He had a reputation.

He was well aware of it, but it was agoodreputation. He never hurt anyone. He never caused anyone undue pain. And with the ladies, he just had a reputation for pleasure.

He smoothed a hand down his waistcoat and strode off the floor. He had not given Jack pleasure, of any kind.

He lamented the fact he could not physically kick himself. Why the devil had he done that?

Now, as he made his own way through the crush, carefully avoiding the hopeful eyes of ladies wishing to dance or mamas hoping to make an introduction, he debated what new tack to take.

A mistake.

It was an unpleasant sensation. He was not in the habit of making mistakes. And suddenly, inexplicably, he found himself longing to go after her and explain his asinine idea.

Surely, she would understand his motives and not look at him with so much rancor if he explained.

Just as he stepped out into the hall, a hand caught his sleeve.

An ivory hand covered in jewels.

“Dear boy, you should not pursue her, not just at present.”

“Pursue?” he queried, trying and failing to sound innocent. Damn and blast. He sighed as he turned to the voice that he knew so well.

His mother stared at him with her perfectly beautiful, shining eyes. Her raven-dark hair was coiled perfectly about her elegant face. She had been the diamond of her season.

And she was still a jewel.

Despite the fine white scar that no rouge or powder could hide from his knowing gaze.

Time and turmoil had not taken away from the fact that his mother was a beautiful woman and a woman to be reckoned with. But that scar? It would haunt him for all his days. No doubt it haunted her, too, every time she looked in a mirror.

Now, free of his father’s volatile decline, she was the dowager, and half thetonquaked whenever she entered the room. Not because she was a Gorgon, but because she was a dragon. He loved that about her. The way she had not yielded, how she did not bow or scrape, but took that which had made her life so difficult and made it powerful.

In his estimation, dragons were beautiful, fierce creatures, indeed. She had not been brought low by the machinations of his father. No. She had risen from them, and left the earth scorched wherever she went. Fools, though they may be, that came into her path, quickly discovered her wit and her sense of boldness.

She was without relent in exposing what she found to be any form of cruelty, unkindness, callous behavior, or prudishness. She had no patience for any of those things.

He admired her terribly and loved her, too, and yet…

And yet, even though he understood her, as a child he’d often wished that she had been a bit more like Lady Blackbrook.

As an adult, he knew how foolish that was. She’d never been a mother hen sort of woman, and she’d been struggling with a good deal.

She would never be the soft, adoring type.

And he would never try to make her so. She’d suffered enough. No, he took her as she was and their relationship had greatly improved over the years.

“Mother,” he said, “whatever do you mean?”


Tags: Eva Devon Historical