How to Capture a Duke(41)

"She's over there." The marquess extended his hand. "The woman in the  gold dress. Not that you would have any difficulty finding her, since  she considers herself the most desirable woman in England."

"You disagree." Percival raised his eyebrows, for a moment puzzled by the vehemence of the man's dislike of her.

The marquess shrugged. "From what my brother has told me, you will be well suited."

"Indeed." Percival didn't want to hear any more sarcasm, no matter how  much he deserved it. He gave a curt bow and headed in the direction of  his fate.

He observed with a bizarre impartiality that Lady Cordelia was  beautiful. No one had exaggerated this woman's appearance. Her face was  as symmetrical as any statue's, and her eyes appeared as cool.

"Allow me to introduce you." The marquess strode to the woman, who gave  him a stiff bow from her shoulders. The marquess winked at Percival, and  his heart ratcheted as he made his way to them.

"Lady Cordelia, this is His Grace, the Duke of Alfriston. You might find  him most entertaining. He's in the habit of adopting new names at a  whim."

"I am sure I will find him enchanting," Lady Cordelia murmured. Her  voice was low, almost sultry, and irritation flashed over the marquess's  face.

"Splendid," Highgate mumbled, before disappearing into the throng of finely clad guests.

"Your Grace." Lady Cordelia glided toward Percival, every bit the  goddess, and when she reached him she curtsied deeply. A diamond  necklace sparkled on her chest, and he wondered at the necessity of  fetching the jewels for a woman who clearly already possessed priceless  ones.

Her voice was perfect. Calm and contained, and it didn't shake. Her  cheeks were no pinker in his presence. Her gait was poised, her  expression serene. She was unperturbed at meeting the man who would  become her future husband. She couldn't be more different from Fiona.

Good. All the better to forget her.

He bowed. "I am no longer one for dancing, but perhaps we might find a quiet alcove."

She nodded her head, her eyes gleamed. His heart grew heavy as she  steered him to a corner of the ballroom. Some wallflowers sat nearby,  their gazes focused on the eligible men who ignored them. Lady Cordelia  did not acknowledge them.

"So." She sat down and smoothed the folds of her elaborate, silky dress.  "I heard you had some adventures these past few days. You must regale  me."

His smile tightened.

From across the ballroom the dowager gestured to him. She pointed her  peacock-feathered fan in a manner she probably considered discreet, even  though the green and purple feathers could not be more ostentatious.                       
       
           



       

The gold ring burned in his pocket, and he moved his hand there. Lady  Cordelia's lengthy black eyelashes swooped up, and a smile flickered on  her perfect rosebud lips.

The chit likely thought he was about to propose. His heart dropped, an  unpleasant sensation, since his stomach also seemed to want to rise. He  stiffened his fingers and forced his breath to keep a steady beat.

Lady Cordelia ran her fingers over a sapphire bracelet. The stones seemed cold, despite their beauty.

He searched for something, anything to say.

"I've always wondered what a London garden looks like," Lady Cordelia chirped.

"Indeed?" He pressed his handkerchief to his lips. The woman might be  from Hampshire, but he considered it highly unlikely that Lady Cordelia  had never seen a garden in London before.

She peered at the French windows near them. It would easy to stroll  there, despite the cold. He tilted his head. Did Lady Cordelia think him  shy?

His aunt glanced in his direction with frequency, and he shifted his  position on the bench and tried to ignore meeting the gaze of the  dowager.

"Have you had a pleasant time in London?"

She laughed. "It was dreadful waiting for you to arrive for so long. No  one is in London during Christmas. The Serpentine is frozen, Hyde Park  is muddy, and even the horses seem unwilling to venture far."

"Indeed."

"But surely you must know that."

"I am familiar."

"But there are many wonderful house parties at this time. If one can't  go outside, one wants to at least have an enormous manor house in which  to wander." She hesitated. "My mother mentioned to you that you are  welcome in Hampshire."

"Ah, yes. That is very gracious of your family."

Lady Cordelia beamed. "Splendid."

"But I'm afraid I won't be able to join."

"Your Grace?" Lady Cordelia's voice squeaked.

"Please forgive me. But I have many duties-"

Her shoulders relaxed. "I understand. Completely. I am the daughter of a duke."

He nodded, and the ring prickled his tightly clutched fist.

He was supposed to invite Lady Cordelia to stroll around the garden with  him, not that his injury would permit him to do anything that  conventional. He was supposed to offer her flattery. He was supposed to  confess to having promptly fallen in love with her, even though they'd  only just met, and he was supposed to slide his family's ancestral ring  over her finger, as if he just happened to carry it with him.

Except-even though Fiona's rejection had been adamant, even though he  didn't deserve her anyway, the thought of dropping to one knee before  Lady Cordelia and joining their lives forever seemed like betrayal.

He sighed.

"Most men are quicker to shower me with compliments," Lady Cordelia said, her expression rueful.

"Then you are a fortunate woman."

"Yes." She lifted her nose, and he had the distinct impression she thought him unfamiliar with the practice of conversing.

Bernard would have proposed to her by now. Even if Fiona had captured  him, he would have found a way to escape, whether in Harrogate or even  sooner.

Were he alive, Bernard would be showering her with compliments with the  force of a March storm. He would have understood that she would make the  perfect duchess. She was the daughter of a duke, and would be the  perfect mother for future ones. Her family's pedigree was even older  than the Carmichaels. Her aptitude in French, watercolor and singing  already made her ideal.

"Lady Cordelia … "

She fixed him with a serene smile, and his heart hammered.

He was about to say the words which would change everything. Nothing  could be the same after this. He sucked in a deep breath of air. "I am  afraid I must tell you that I am in no position to marry you."

She blinked, and her gaze fell to his wooden leg. "Your wealth and pedigree show you are in the perfect position to marry."

He cleared his throat, clear he'd broken all protocol. "Not that you would marry me, if I . . . er . . . asked."

"But you're not going to ask." Lady Cordelia frowned, but her voice remained unflappable, and her fingers did not tremble.

"No." He heaved a sigh. "Please know that I hold you in the highest esteem. You are a beautiful and accomplished woman."

The room seemed silent as she appraised him. Her gaze scrutinized his  features as if she thought she might uncover some secret about him from  the slope of his jaw. She tilted her head. "Is this about your leg?"

"I fear I would not be able to devote my attentions to you with the consideration you deserve."                       
       
           



       

"I would find it odd if you were to sit here beside me and proclaim your love to me, given that we have only just met."

Percival's shoulders slumped a fraction.

"I might be able to assist you through society," Lady Cordelia  continued. "The Duchess of Alfriston practically begged my parents for  the match to take place. She said you were quite in love with me."

"Without ever having met you?" A bitter taste burned Percival's throat.  He thought of the Matchmaking for Wallflowers pamphlet Sir Seymour had  shown him.

"I hope this does not come from some misguided sense of honor." She frowned. "I'm rather accustomed to looking the other way."

He tilted his head. "What exactly do you mean?"

"Simply that I know that men are hard-working beings. It is  understandable and perhaps even to be encouraged if they decide to  indulge themselves from time to time."

Percival stiffened. The woman was practically his sister's age. She shouldn't be speaking such.

Lady Cordelia smiled, perhaps taking his silence as approval. "I am also an accomplished pianist."

"So you can pound keys while I pound whores?"

"Your Grace!" Lady Cordelia widened the distance between them. Her  tranquility was finally ruffled, and she glanced around the room.

"Forgive me," he murmured.

After a pause she shrugged. "I suppose you conform to your roguish reputation. You needn't apologize for that."