Holly berries and goose feathers!
Gwen was absolutely mortified every time she glanced up and saw the wide, red scrape under the Duke of Hurst’s eye. And for about the hundredth time that day she wished there were a way to go back in time and change what she’d done to him.
Lord Mountworth was seated to her right and Mr. Tweedy to her left. Directly across from her sat the infuriatingly attractive Duke of Hurst. The dinner table was covered with a fine white linen cloth and the most beautiful crystal, china, and silver money could buy. Candlelight shone on the table from the low-hanging chandelier, the elaborate wall sconces, and the tall brass candlesticks on each end of the table, making everything in the room glimmer and sparkle. The Duke and Duchess of Drakestone sat at the head and foot of the table, respectively.
Gwen would be happy when this day was finally over. She’d always had an active mind and a vivid imagination, often making up different endings to books she’d read, writing stories and poetry for her own pleasure, or making up fairy tales for Bonnie and Sybil. But not even Gwen could have come up with the unanticipated turn of events that had happened today.
They were well into the main course of baked pheasant drizzled with a delicious fig sauce and the duke hadn’t seen fit to take his concentration off her all evening. That was to say, every time she glanced at him he was staring at her. And it was doing delicious, confounding things to her insides.
Not that Mr. Tweedy would notice. He was too busy talking—always to her and completely ignoring Mrs. Underhill, who was seated on his other side. The jovial fellow had seldom stopped long enough to take a breath since he arrived. She couldn’t help but notice that the slim Mr. Tweedy had picked at his food, taking a nibble every now and again, while the strapping Duke of Hurst had eaten every bite of all that was put before him. Plus, he’d managed a quiet, easy conversation between Lady Mountworth and Mrs. Underhill, giving both ladies equal smiles and equal time.
Apparently his previous scandal of kissing every young lady in sight in order to win a wager had little effect on them. They seemed quite taken with him, and perhaps that was because neither lady had an unmarried daughter.
Somehow it didn’t seem fair that she was more drawn to the scoundrel duke who had pinned her to the ground than Mr. Tweedy, who had always lavished compliments on her, brought flowers to her and not her sister, and treated her like a priceless piece of china he was afraid of breaking.
Louisa and Bray kept watching her and the duke, too. It was clear they both felt more had gone on between her and the duke than either of them was willing to talk about.
The conversations around the table quieted as the servants picked up the empty plates. Everyone, that is, except Mr. Tweedy, who suddenly spoke up and said, “So tell me, Your Grace, what happened to cause that mark under your eye? Perhaps you mentioned it before I arrived. It looks like it could be from a fist with a ring, and I know that can’t be the case. No one would dare punch a duke.”
The duke’s focus flew to Gwen. She sucked in a deep, silent breath and held it, not knowing how he would answer. Would he give away her unladylike manners? It would be well within his rights if he told Mr. Tweedy and everyone what she’d done. And it would certainly be a good way to get even with her for hitting him and make her disgrace complete.
She couldn’t tell by the expression on his face what he would say. In her mind she heard: Funny you should ask, Mr. Tweedy. I was minding my own business, trying to help Miss Sybil, who was hurt, when Miss Prim came along and bashed me on the head with her flower basket!
Gwen winced inside at her thoughts.
“This little scratch?” The duke looked at Mr. Tweedy as he pointed at the injury. “I didn’t think it was noticeable.”
“Oh my, yes,” Mr. Tweedy answered. “I spotted it right off.”
When no one else made a comment, Gwen finally started breathing again. The duke smiled gently at her and her heartbeat started racing. He hadn’t tattled on her and somehow she knew he never would. Gratitude filled her. Despite the way he’d made her feel when they were on the ground together, he was a gentleman after all. Now she had another reason to thank him if, after all she’d done to him, he ever gave her the opportunity.
“So what happened? Did your horse run you into some brush?” Mr. Tweedy asked in his usual good-humored tone.
Gwen stiffened, surprised that Mr. Tweedy hadn’t let the subject drop.
The corners of the duke’s mouth tightened as he looked at Mr. Tweedy. Gwen could tell the duke wasn’t happy that Mr. Tweedy had brought the subject up again. “My horse ran me into a lot of trouble this morning.”
“I thought you were a better rider than to allow a horse to do that to you.” Mr. Tweedy gave a short laugh. “Not that you aren’t an excellent rider, of course, Your Grace. I’m sure you are. Certainly didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
Mr. Tweedy laughed again. At first, he was the only one at the table who did, but then his uncle, who sat on the other side of Gwen, gave an uncomfortable laugh, too, and said, “I’ve had more than a few scrapes myself from high-strung horses. Been tossed over my head a time or two, too.”
“I think we all have,” Bray added.
“And I don’t think the mark beneath your eye looks bad at all, Your Grace,” Lady Mountworth commented.
“Neither do I,” said Mrs. Underhill in a haughty tone, giving Mr. Tweedy an expression that warned him he was stepping over the line, before turning to the duke and saying sweetly, “but I knew there was something about you that seemed exceptionally dashing tonight and that’s what it is.”
“By the way, Your Grace,” Lord Mountworth said, “we’re having a gathering on Thursday evening. We’d be pleased for you to join us. I know it’s short notice, but we didn’t know you were in the area or we would have already sent around an invitation.”
“Yes, please do,” Her Ladyship insisted. “We’d be honored for you to come.”
The duke’s attention settled on Gwen. For a moment she would have sworn to anyone that he appeared to be asking her if she would be attending. An exquisite tingle sizzled across her breasts. Before she had time to think about what she was doing she gave him a slight nod.
The duke quickly changed his attention to Lady Mountworth and said, “I’ll come.”
Gwen picked up her glass of wine and took a sip. Had she just had a silent conversation with the intriguing duke? Or was it all in her imagination?