The Duke I'm Going to Marry(37)

“You all right?” Gabriel asked, coming up beside him and offering him a glass of champagne.

“Never better.” He wanted to step outside to cool down, but Gabriel would know he was rattled and ask questions that Ian had no desire to answer. He drank the offered champagne and turned away, pretending to watch the dancers as the orchestra struck up a lively gavotte.

Hellfire.

He saw Dillie amid the dancers, stepping and twirling to the music in the arms of Charles Ealing. The bastard had claimed her for a second dance. “Bloody great ball. So glad I came. Having a wonderful time.”

Gabriel arched an eyebrow. “Surlier than usual, aren’t we? It’s those stupid rumors. What can I do to help?”

“Get lost, Gabriel.” His gaze remained on Dillie, who appeared to be having a glorious time. Damn the girl. Damn him that he cared. “Who appointed you my nursemaid?”

“No one, you ass. But you look like hell. I thought I’d offer my help.”

Ian sighed and turned to face his friend. “Sorry. I appreciate the offer. No need to help. I have it under control.”

He drained the contents of his glass, set it on the tray of a passing servant, and started for the terrace once again. He was in need of cooling down before he did something stupid like flatten Simon, Edmund, and Charles Ealing. Not that Ealing was doing anything wrong. He wasn’t. But Ian didn’t like the way he had his hands on Dillie.

He didn’t like the hungry way Ealing was eyeing Dillie.

Until this moment he hadn’t considered Ealing the sort to take a step out of line, but the clunch had been drinking, and Dillie looked breathtakingly beautiful. Innocent and beautiful.

Any man would want to put his hands all over her.

Of course, he’d have to kill Charles Ealing if he tried.

He knew he was being surly, just as Gabriel had said.

“I know what you’re thinking, Ian. Not a good idea.”

He turned to face Gabriel, only now realizing that his friend had followed him outdoors. He frowned. In truth, he was out of sorts and thinking the worst of everyone, whether or not deserved. Still, Ealing was in his cups and obviously feeling randy. His hands kept sliding down Dillie’s back. Dillie wasn’t liking it. She kept easing out of his grasp.

Ian suddenly felt possessive.

He knew he was being unreasonable. Behaving as though Dillie was his. Not that he planned to do anything about it. Still, he didn’t want anyone else touching her. Dog in the manger again. He couldn’t have her. Didn’t want anyone else to have her. Didn’t like that Ealing had her. He wanted to flatten Ealing. One punch. That’s all it would take.

“Ian?” Gabriel’s hand was now on his shoulder.

He shook his head and sighed. His family hated him, had tried to kill him, yet he was mad as a hornet because Ealing was dancing with Dillie. Damn. He’d earlier told Gabriel that he had matters under control.

It wasn’t true.

He was a shambles. He didn’t have anything under control.


***

Dillie realized that she ought to have been paying more attention to the gavotte. She’d stepped on Charles’ feet at least twice so far, but he’d forgiven her each time. He was a little drunk and probably feeling pleasantly numb, which was a good thing since he hadn’t noticed that she’d just stepped on his foot again.

His hand slipped a little lower on her waist so she moved it back up. He apologized, obviously doing his best to concentrate, though the champagne and whiskey he’d imbibed throughout the evening had obviously fogged his brain.

He must have knocked back quite a bit more than a few drinks.

She’d had three or four glasses of champagne herself, which explained her inability to concentrate on Charles or their dance. Her gaze constantly flew to Ian, who was standing against the wall, arms still folded across his chest, looking quite daunting. He stood alone, stiff as a crossbeam, as though propping up the wall.

He unfolded his arms as Gabriel approached and handed him a drink.

Charles let out a yelp.

Dillie returned her attention to him. She really had to be more careful. “I’m so sorry! I’ve stepped on your toes again.”

“You’re forgiven. I think you’re tired,” he said gently.

She nodded. “I’m not used to all the dancing and excitement.”

Charles held her a little too closely as they continued the gavotte. “The London season can be quite overwhelming, even to those of us who have experienced it over the years. This is your first. You’ll get through it.”

“Actually, this is my second season.”

He shot her a blank stare. “You were in town last year?”

“Yes, I’m certain we discussed it.” No matter, most society conversations were vapid and easily forgotten. “But I am quite spent,” she admitted. “We country girls aren’t used to these late hours.”