“I would, my lady, but I’m afraid you would answer for her.” He gave her a false smile.
Lady Cassandra made a noise that sounded as if she were being suffocated. “I suggest we all go back indoors and—”
Lady Lucy continued speaking to Derek as if Lady Cassandra hadn’t even spoken. “How dare you question the actions of a lady?”
Derek stared serenely back at her. “How dare you answer for Lady Cassandra?”
Lady Lucy’s eyes seemed to be changing colors with her mood, the one turning deep sapphire and the other mossy green. “If you were a gentleman, Your Grace, you wouldn’t question Lady Cassandra and her disinterest in your advances.”
His gaze remained on Lady Lucy’s face. “Lady Cassandra, are you currently betrothed to another?”
“N … no.” Lady Cassandra gulped.
“Then there is still hope for me,” he replied, continuing to watch Lady Lucy.
She gave him a withering glare. “You’re not listening, Your Grace,” she managed through clenched teeth.
“On the contrary. I believe I’ve understood you perfectly. But I’ve fought many a losing battle in my day, fought them and won. I don’t give up easily.”
Derek had no idea why he was even still speaking with them. He didn’t know how to woo a lady. It was hardly something he’d been trained for in the military. But something about the way they both wanted to dismiss him brought out his competitive nature. That, and the fact he intended to master this particular skill before it was all over. True, Lady Cassandra had apparently been out for five seasons already, but he actually preferred that. Marrying a young girl held little appeal to him. And there was the added benefit that his interest in Lady Cassandra appeared to have Lady Lucy near to an apoplectic fit. That was just fun. And then there was his promise to Swift.
“But Cass is not interested,” Lady Lucy continued. “I thought I’d made myself clear.”
“You did make yourself clear, my lady, and I’m sorry,” he said, staring down his nose at her again.
Looking a bit mollified, she pushed up her chin and plucked an errant leaf from a curl near her forehead. “Sorry for bothering Lady Cassandra?”
He widened his grin. “No, sorry you’ve mistaken me for someone who gives a toss what you think, Miss Upton.”
CHAPTER THREE
Two hours earlier
Derek Hunt scanned the crowded ballroom brimming with sparkling ladies wearing the latest fashions and their gallant escorts wearing high-necked cravats. Laughter, champagne, dancing, and revelry filled the large room. Derek straightened his own cravat and slid a hand into his pocket. He swallowed hard. Had it really only been a fortnight since he’d laid his hand on his dying friend’s shoulder on a blood-soaked battlefield outside Brussels? Swift hadn’t died. Not yet. But he expected the news at any moment. And here Derek was. He’d returned to London, been granted a dukedom by the Crown, and was even now in the market for a proper wife. The future mother of his future son. Swift had insisted he go. And Derek had had no choice. He’d had his orders from the War Office, but still, he disgusted himself.
A fortnight ago, Derek hadn’t known whether he’d be alive tonight. Now he was lifting a champagne flute from the gleaming silver tray of a footman bedecked in the finest livery. As if Derek had never stepped foot on the battlefield, never watched as his countrymen were sliced down in front of him, never heard the agonizing screams of his dying friends. In London, the parades and parties given in honor of Napoleon’s defeat were all the rage. And here he was tonight, the celebrated hero, enjoying the victory along with everyone else. As if he’d never seen the real horror of war.
And he was a duke? A bloody duke? It still didn’t feel real to him. Why had he been made a duke above all the other officers? They’d all risked their lives, done their duty, fought honorably. Many had died.
Derek had cut around the outer defense of Napoleon’s ranks. Seeing the opportunity, he’d made the decision in an instant and ordered his soldiers to take the opening. That decision had been a fortuitous one, a turning point in the battle. The Duke of Decisive they were calling him as soon as the reports of the battle floated back to London. Decisive, he was. He’d been made that way, after all.
Derek drew the champagne flute to his lips and took a long swallow. Good stuff, that. French. He smiled at the irony just before narrowing his eyes and scanning the room again. He was no longer in battle, but he still had a goal.
There she was. Lady Cassandra Monroe. Derek’s investiture was dependent on him choosing a wife of whom the Crown approved, and Lady Cassandra Monroe’s reputation and connections were impeccable. She also just happened to be tall, blond, and beautiful. And quiet and demure if Captain Swift had been correct about her temperament. The perfect wife for a man who’d just spent his last years in the upheaval of battlefields. Lady Cassandra Monroe was exactly the type of woman who would ensure that Derek lived his remaining days in peace and quiet. Precisely what he wanted.