The Wicked Ways of a Duke(25)

She had just finished an exuberant galop with a most enthusiastic partner when his name was announced. Out of breath, flushed and a bit damp, she fussed with the loose tendrils of her hair, smoothed her wrinkled gown, and bemoaned her disheveled appearance as he paused in the doorway and glanced about the room.

But her efforts proved to be in vain. His gaze skimmed right past her, then he turned and made his way toward the opposite side of the ballroom.

He must not have seen her. Disappointment shot through Prudence as she watched him make his way across the room, and that disappointment only deepened when she realized who he had seen.

Lady Alberta’s beautiful face lit up at the sight of him, and within moments the pair were engaged in an animated conversation. Prudence watched them, her disappointment deepening as they smiled and laughed, their heads intimately close together.

When a certain Lord Weston approached her uncle asking for an introduction to her, she tried to be glad of the distraction. But when a waltz began and he asked her to dance, she hesitated and glanced across the room, only to find that the duke was leading Lady Alberta onto the ballroom floor. Her disappointment settled into a heavy weight in her tummy, but pride enabled her to accept Lord Weston’s invitation. As they waltzed, he attempted to make conversation and she did her best to pay attention, but whenever she glanced at the other couple, it seemed as if St. Cyres was smiling at his partner as if thoroughly enamored, and she couldn’t help the horrid sting of jealousy.

“I can see I am put in my usual position of playing second fiddle to my friend.”

With an effort, Prudence returned her gaze to her partner. “I beg your pardon?”

Lord Weston inclined his head in the direction of the other couple. “The Duke of St. Cyres is a friend of mine, and I know the ladies are much more inclined to stare at him than at me. I tell myself it’s his superior rank, not my lack of charm and good looks, that garners him more feminine attention.”

Ashamed, Prudence endeavored to make up for her faux pas. She scanned his face, not a homely countenance by any means, and said, “You should not speak so disparagingly of yourself. You are every bit as handsome as the duke.”

“Thank you, but since you’ve been staring at him since we began, I know that’s a false opinion on your part. Still, it’s a kind thing to say.”

She bit her lip, feeling terrible. “I’m so sorry.”

“Quite all right,” he assured her with a good-natured smile that marked laugh lines at the corners of his blue eyes. “If there’s anything about Rhys you’d like to know, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“You know him well?”

“I suppose I do, yes. At least, as well as anyone can ever know Rhys.”

That enigmatic answer only heightened her curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“For all that careless surface charm he displays, he’s a deep one. There’s a bit of a wall around him. Try getting past that wall, and you’ll find the gates slammed in your face.”

Prudence was struck by the choice of words, for she remembered the day before when she’d had a similar feeling. “I think I know what you mean. Not letting anyone get too close.”

“Exactly so, yes. I visited him several times when he lived in Paris, and I stayed with him in Florence for a year, but I’ve actually known him since we were boys. Despite all that, every time I see him, I have the odd feeling I’m talking to a stranger. Still, I’d love to tell you anything I do know. Only fair, I say, after all the scrapes he led me into when we were boys.”

“Did you attend the same schools, then?”

“No, we went to different schools—he’s Eton and Oxford, I’m Harrow and Cambridge—but both our families possess lands in Derbyshire, and he stayed with my family once or twice during summer holidays. After his brother’s death, he never stayed with any of his own relations, though I don’t know quite why. He and his mother don’t get on, I know that much.”

“His Grace had a brother?”

“Thomas, yes. He died when he was twelve. Rhys was thirteen at the time.”

“How did the boy die?”

An evasive look came into Weston’s face. “Do you know, I’m not sure,” he murmured, but Prudence was certain he was lying. “Accident of some kind, I expect,” he went on. “It happened when the boy was at school, I remember. Rhys has never spoken of it to me, and I highly doubt he’s spoken of it to anyone else.”

“It must have hit him very hard.”

“It shattered him. That I do know. They were very close. Their father had passed away one or two years earlier, and Rhys, being older, felt it was up to him to watch out for his brother. He blamed himself for not being there when Thomas died. But he could hardly be expected to be there. They were at different schools by then. Being thirteen, Rhys was already at Eton when Thomas died.”

She wanted to ask more questions, but the waltz was coming to an end. When the music stopped, Weston escorted her back to her place beside her family. “I should very much like to linger here, Miss Abernathy, in the hope that my friend would become less interesting and myself more so,” he told her with a rueful smile, “but I promised my sister most faithfully I would make an appearance at the ball of her friend Lady Harbury, and since it’s getting on for midnight, I had best be on my way.”

“Thank you, and I am sorry if my attentions were engaged elsewhere during our dance.”

“Pray do not apologize. A waltz with a lovely woman is always a pleasure.” With that, he bowed and departed, exiting the ballroom.

The moment he was gone, Robert appeared beside her, asking if she would grant him the next dance.

“Not this one, Robert,” she said, her gaze moving to the other side of the room, and lighting at once on the duke. He had escorted Lady Alberta back to her place and they stood side by side, observing the crowd and talking.

She told herself perhaps he did not know she was there. Once he saw her, surely he would ask her to dance. She gazed at him, waiting, hoping, almost willing him to find her. And then, just as she was sure she must have inexplicably become invisible, his gaze caught on her.

He bowed to her in acknowledgment, and Prudence once again felt that delicious sense of anticipation, along with an overwhelming relief. A waltz was next on the programme. Any moment now he would come to her and ask her to dance it with him. Surely he would.

She smiled at him. He did not smile back. Instead, to her utter astonishment, he returned his attention to the woman beside him.

She stared at him, unable to believe he had just snubbed her. When the band began to tune for the waltz and St. Cyres once again led Lady Alberta toward the ballroom floor, her disbelief deepened into a bruising, aching hurt. Why? she wondered in bewilderment. Why would he behave this way?

“Will you grant me at least this one waltz, Prudence?” Robert asked, breaking into her thoughts.

Pride came to her rescue. “Yes, Robert,” she answered. “I will.”

She danced with Robert, and though she tried to keep her attention fixed on her partner, she could not resist an occasional glance at the other couples around them. Every time she spied St. Cyres and Lady Alberta, it was like an arrow piercing her heart.

Only yesterday, they had spent such a wonderful day together.

I like you best.

If those words were true, why was he dancing with Lady Alberta and not with her? As often as she asked herself that question, she could find no answer, and by the time Robert escorted her back to her place at the end of the dance, all she wanted was to vanish into the pale gold wallpaper. But despite his actions, she could not abandon all hope. Perhaps he was only fulfilling an obligation to the girl. She knew from the night she’d met him that he had promised Alberta at least one waltz. Perhaps he had also promised her a second one and had to make good on that promise.

Heartsick, yet hoping for a miracle, Prudence watched him as he hovered by Lady Alberta’s side. She danced with those partners who asked her and kept her head held high. But when she saw him take Lady Alberta out onto the dance floor for a third waltz, her hurt became unbearable. She knew full well what three waltzes meant. An engagement was sure to follow.

Anger, an emotion Prudence seldom felt toward anyone, began to smolder deep within her as she thought of what he had done. Only yesterday he’d taken her for an outing, acted as if she was the one he wanted, said she was the one he liked best. He had sat beside her, laughed with her, touched her, almost kissed her. Only yesterday he had embraced her, using that transparent excuse about fishing to do so. He had led her on and encouraged her hopes. Clearly he had only been toying with her, because Alberta was the one he intended to marry. Alberta was obviously the one he loved.

Anger bolstered her pride, smothered any vestige of her hope, and extinguished any tears that might threaten to fall. He wasn’t worth crying over, and she vowed she was never, ever going to waste a tear on him. She lifted her chin, turned away from the pair on the dance floor and walked around Robert to where her aunt and uncle were standing. She informed them that she had a headache and wished to leave. Without waiting for an answer, she turned on her heel and departed from the ballroom.