Juliana was the belle of the ball. Every eligible gentleman had asked her for a dance. But, she’d had enough of the clumsy gentlemen stomping on her toes, the horrible aroma emanating from their skin—and, well, just about everything about this Godforsaken ball. She hadn’t rested all evening, and she was trying to keep her head. She glanced down at her dance card. Lord Randall Jeffries had spoken for every supper set. If she was honest with herself, she was no longer in the mood to dance. She knew the gentleman wanted the honor of taking her to supper. She sighed as she searched the room for an unused chair on the fringes of the room.
The servants rang the supper bell. She noticed Lord Jeffries sauntering toward her. She cringed. Then, at the last moment, the gentleman turned and strode in another direction. Juliana couldn’t complain. She strode toward the balcony, knowing that it was bad Ton to be out of doors during a ball without a chaperone.
“I see I am not the only person who finds the ballroom overly stuffy,” said a baritone voice directly behind her.
“It was rather hot, my Lord. I needed a breath of fresh air before returning to the ball,” she replied.
“Since we’re here, basking in the fresh air together, allow me to introduce myself. I am Marcus Stafford, the Eighth Duke of Dunsbury.”
Juliana gasped and scanned the room to make sure that her chaperone wasn’t looking. She had read about his reputation in the London Daily, a gossip sheet that she subscribed to. Why would he introduce himself to her? There was only one thing a rake of his reputation would want with her outside during a ball, and she was in no frame of mind to allow it, whatever that was.
“I am Lady Juliana Hatfield,” she said as she held her hand out. He held her hand, felt a current move between them, kissed her upturned knuckles, and then stepped away.
There was something about the duke. He looked familiar. But, from where? Had they met before?
Marcus smiled down at his quarry, struck by a sense of familiarity. Her name was unknown to him, yet it seemed they had met, but when? Surely, he would have remembered her bronze hair, her eyes.
“Your Grace, it is unseemly for us to be together alone without a chaperone,” she said to break the silence.
Marcus nodded. “I will see you to your chaperone. Do you have any dances left?”
“I do. The final waltz, I believe.”
“Please write my name down for that dance.”
She nodded gracefully.
Marcus held his arm out to her. He felt her gloved hand touch his arm as they strode back into the room.
“Now, which of these ladies is your chaperone?” he asked. His mouth quirked up into a pleasant smile.
He watched as she nodded toward a rather nondescript woman standing near the other chaperones and wallflowers.
He guided Lady Juliana toward her companion.
“Until then, my lady.” He bowed before her, leaving her standing beside Henrietta.
Marcus made his way back to where Aaron stood near a Grecian pillar. He found his friend exactly where he’d left him, talking to Lady Elizabeth Hensley. The tall, lithe beauty had silver hair and icy blue eyes, making her look ethereal. Her height made it difficult for her to find a dance partner—at least, one that was a match for her stature.
Lady Elizabeth turned to face him. “Marcus, it’s been months since I’ve seen you! Did my reprobate of a cousin forget to tell you I was in town?”
Lady Elizabeth was a distant cousin of Jacob’s. She was also Marcus’s former mistress—knowledge he kept to himself for obvious reasons. Elizabeth had grown up with the three rowdy boys and, as a result, she had always been like any other playmate—at least until she married Lord Evan Hensley, who’d tragically died on the continent shortly after their wedding.
“Jacob did, in fact, forget to tell me. Nevertheless, it is nice to see you, my dear,” he said as he bent down to kiss her cheek.
“Marcus, you know you should not be doing that in public, you rogue!”
“My apologies, my lady,” Marcus chuckled and winked at her. Elizabeth gently swatted his arm with her fan in retaliation.
“Who was that beautiful creature you were talking to out on the balcony?”
“Lady Juliana Hatfield. She has granted me the final dance of the night.” He smiled as he searched for Juliana among the dancers on the ballroom floor. His gaze alighted on her, and then he slowly forced himself to focus on Elizabeth.
“Marcus, you do realize that she isn’t mistress material, don’t you? She is marriage material,” she emphasized. “Please be careful or you may find yourself stuck with her for the rest of your life.”
“I can imagine more horrible fates than that, believe me. To be perfectly honest, I would not mind it one bit,” he whispered with a smile.
“Marcus! Your mother got to you, didn’t she?” Elizabeth asked while trying to hold back a laugh.
With an audible sigh, Marcus nodded. He knew his duty. It was to marry and produce an heir. He was the duke, after all. That was his purpose—or part of his purpose. He had his work. He had his estates and the tenants to think of, as well. Marriage and heirs had to be a priority, at some point. Seeking out Juliana once more, he felt strangely at peace with his lot.
“I see that the final dance has been signaled. I shall leave you with Aaron. He’s on the marriage mart, too,” he said with a wink, as he walked toward Juliana.
“I believe this is my dance, my lady,” Marcus said from behind her. He was standing far too close for her comfort. He had a strange effect on her—his voice, alone, sent shivers down her spine.
“So, it is, Your Grace,” she said. She curtsied as he bowed. The next thing she knew, his arms went around her, and he spun her into the dips and swirls of the waltz. Heat radiated from his strong, masculine hands. It unnerved her. She supposed that it could just be the unbearable heat of the ballroom, but something told her it wasn’t.
“Is something wrong, my lady?” His gaze met hers.
“No, Your Grace. I was just thinking.”
“That’s a very dangerous thing to do, my dear.”
“What is that supposed to mean, Your Grace?” Juliana shot back at him, baiting him into a conversation.
“My name is Marcus, and I give you leave to address me thus. All this ‘Your Grace’ business swells my head. I would especially like you to use my given name when we’re alone.”
“I don’t think that the least bit wise, Your Grace.” She blushed prettily.
He stared into her eyes as the dips and swirls of the dance sent them both into a trance. Her scent was intoxicating—lavender, a splash of vanilla, and a unique quality that was strictly her.
Marcus was just as entranced with Juliana. She felt right in his arms. Her scent sent lust ripping through him. He shook his head and waited for the music to stop so he could make his exit.
The dance came to a close. Marcus led Juliana to her chaperone before striding off in the direction of his friend.
“Perhaps we should make our exit before the matchmaking mamas come hunting,” he mused out loud.
Aaron chuckled when he saw a couple of the predatory beasts walking toward them. “Marc, I think you may be right. Shall we proceed to the club?”
“I see no reason to stay,” Marcus said, knowing he spoke a half-truth. His gaze drifted through the crowded ballroom until he saw the one person who made the tedious affair palatable—Lady Juliana Hatfield. Her light was a beacon that drew gentlemen to her side. After seeing her meld back into the throng of people, he made his exit.