Along Came a Duke (21 page)

“Preston,” she whispered, like a promise, a hint that he wasn't alone in his desire, but at the same time, she shook her head and stepped back from him. Out of his arms.

Then he realized something. The entire room was silent. He wrenched his gaze away from Tabby and found all eyes on them.

Oh, dear God. What had he done?

“Miss Timmons, how clumsy of me,” he said, bowing low. Then he rose, ignoring the shocked stares from all corners, and took her hand, folding it properly into the crook of his arm as he said loudly and smoothly, “You must think me a wretched clod, trodding on your foot like that. I daresay, I have not danced much of late.”

“No, no,” she replied, managing a wan smile. “I believe it was my fault, Your Grace. I was unsure of the last step.”

“Then we shall blame your dancing master,” he told her and smiled as she glanced up at him, her eyes filled once again with that wary, but wonderful, mischief.

Around them, the matrons began passing the word that sadly, nothing was amiss, and quickly the room resumed its chirping chatter.

Ruin and scandal momentarily averted, Preston continued on, leading her through the room, taking the longest, most circuitous route he could manage. Not that she seemed to mind.

“Everyone is staring.”

“They always do,” Preston said, glancing up as if he'd just noticed. “Ignore them.”

“Why do you go out if you must undergo all this scrutiny?”

“What else would you have me do? Stay home?”

Tabitha sighed. “Home sounds lovely. A cozy fire. Reading aloud. Backgammon. Do you play?”

He cocked a brow. “Ruthlessly.”

“Of course. My father taught me. I never had brothers or sisters to play with, but I do love a house full of company and friends.” She glanced up at him. “And you? I have to imagine you love that as well.”

Preston was about to brush off her question with a blithe answer, but suddenly a memory came dashing to the forefront.

“Felix is cheating,” he complained to his sister across the room.

“Am not,” Felix declared.

Dove shook her head at the both of them and set aside her book to come join them, glancing over the backgammon board nestled on the small table before the fire. “You have Felix on the run, Gopher,” she said, smiling at him and reaching over to ruffle his hair.

Yet when he looked up, he found himself in the overheated crush of Lady Knolles's ballroom.

Holding Tabby.

“Miss Timmons,” he said, “do you truly think me such a sentimental sort?”

“Yes,” she said, as if she had been in that cozy memory as well.

How the devil did she do that? Evoke these memories. Give him over to these flights of fancy that tugged at his heart. Had him saying things . . .

“Miss Timmons?”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Do you recall our wager?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still have your winnings?”

She glanced up at him and shook her head. “I have no need of nicked pennies, Your Grace. Don't you remember? I am an heiress now.”

“How I wish you weren't.”

This gave her pause. “You begrudge me my good fortune?”

“Only the changes it has wrought on you.”

They wove their way through the crowded ballroom, and as they drew closer to her friends and family, Tabby asked, “Why did you want to know about that penny?”

“I wanted to know if you would be willing to make another wager.”

She laughed. “I thought you didn't like to lose, Your Grace.”

“I have no intention of losing,” he said, sounding as lofty as his title.

“So you plan to cheat.”

There was his vexing little minx. Apparently the changes were only on the lady's perimeter. “Miss Timmons, you wound me yet again,” though he said as much with a grin. “I have no intention of cheating because I have no need. I intend to win, fair and square. Besides, now I know my opponent.”

The lady's lips pursed into a slight smile. “And what is this wager?”

Ah, he had her. So he leaned closer and whispered so that no one else could hear, “That before you marry Barkworth, you will ask me to kiss you one more time.”

She sucked in a deep breath and went to pull her hand free of his arm, but he covered it with his hand and smiled graciously for all the world to see.

Straightening in his grasp, she scolded him. “Your Grace, just because you have a reputation for scandal does not mean you have to prove it at every opportunity.”

“Miss Timmons, with you, I have nothing to prove. You know exactly who I am.” Oh, how he wished she didn't.

“You are a—”

He stopped her before she got going. “You aren't going to give me that dull litany yet again?
Wretched cur. Arrogant rake.
It is all most tiresome. And rather pointless. I know it by heart.” Preston grinned at her. “So, do we have a wager?”

Tabby's mouth dropped open. “Don't be ridiculous. It is a ruinous notion.”

“Not for me, and not for you . . . if you win.”

That was enough to set her brow furrowing into a deep line. “There is no doubt you would lose, for I shall not ask you for such a thing. Ever.” As if to prove her point, she smiled brightly over at Barkworth, the man nodding slightly in acknowledgement.

But she didn't fool Preston in the least. The smile was as false as her wretched ringlets and the rest of her ornaments.

“Of course you will ask me,” he told her.

“You do recall I have already had the privilege of that particular favor. Whyever would I make that mistake again?”

He had to admire the cool disdain in her voice. She almost had him believing that she had no desire to ever kiss him again. Yet her eyes held a fire that said something else altogether. “If you are so sure of your convictions, take my wager. You will have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

Her chin notched up a bit, her nostrils flaring. “What? Another nicked penny?”

“If that is what you wish. You seem to have a penchant for them. But perhaps it is so you can have another to match the one you have yet in your reticule.”

He had timed his comment perfectly, for they had finally arrived back at the spot near the wall, and they were greeted by a line of stony faces and stiff backs. Neither did he look at her.

He didn't need to, for he could feel her shiver.

And while he rather regretted setting her loose amongst them—almost—he had to imagine, as he glanced over at Barkless, that the more time Tabby spent in the man's puffed-up company, the more she'd be quite happy to take his wager.

And lose just as willingly.

Besides, he still had one more dance with the clod-footed Lady Pamela to endure so as to continue in Hen's good graces.

“Lady Timmons, thank you for allowing me the pleasure of your niece's company,” Preston said. He made his bow and left, crossing the room with quick, steady strides.

That is, until a lady stepped in front of him. Speaking of Hen . . .

“Preston! Explain yourself,” she demanded, folding her hand on the crook of his arm and smiling brightly.

There was nothing sunny about her tone.

“I have danced with three young ladies of no consequence, just as you asked.”

“You danced with two of them,” Hen corrected. “Whoever was that?” She tipped her head in Tabitha's direction.

“Miss Timmons. A vicar's daughter.”

“Bah!”

“Truly, Hen. Lord Timmons's niece. A perfectly respectable lady of no consequence.”

“You are bamming me.”

“She is exactly who I say she is. Miss Timmons of Kempton. If you don't believe me, ask Roxley. I only danced with her as a favor to his aunt, Lady Essex.”

Hen glanced over at Tabby yet again, eyeing her closely. “Really, Preston? A vicar's daughter?”

“Yes, Hen. I promised no scandals,” he said, knowing he'd probably caused a bit of a ripple but hardly a scandal.

At least outwardly.

He didn't count the whirlwind going on inside his chest.

“Well, if that is true, then I shall excuse this one minor lapse.”

Preston pasted a smile on his face and was thankful that for all her prowess, Hen wasn't a mind reader.

Because Miss Tabitha Timmons of Kempton had left him utterly undone and willing to risk even Hen's threats if only to kiss the impudent little minx one more time.

F
or about the thousandth time since Preston had returned her to her aunt's side, Tabitha cursed herself for putting Preston's nicked penny in her reticule—for when he'd picked it up, he must have felt the singular coin inside and discovered the truth.

That she was carrying it around like a favor.

Oh, bother, he knew nothing. Tabitha tightened the strings on her reticule. Many a lady had a coin or two in her purse. That nicked penny meant nothing.

Save for the memory of his kiss. Of the night when he turned your life upside down.

“I see you are obviously overcome,” Barkworth was saying as he led her from the ballroom toward the foyer, his mother and Lady Peevers following close on their heels.

“Excuse me?” she managed, for she hadn't quite heard him.

She'd been too busy glancing about to see where Preston might be hiding. For she'd half expected him to return and continue causing a scandal. But even in that the duke had been vexingly unpredictable.

He'd left her alone ever since he'd returned her to her rightful position beside her almost-betrothed, and now he was nowhere in sight.

“I was saying, you appear overcome,” Barkworth repeated. “And why wouldn't you be? This momentous evening is nearly over and you are bereft to see it come to its inevitable conclusion.” He patted her hand and continued to guide her slowly through the parting crowd, smiling at all who sent curious glances in their direction.

Bereft was hardly the word Tabitha would use. This eager attention was hardly something she desired. One more thing she could credit Preston for—because when he'd singled her out to dance with, two questions had flown about the room with the usual efficiency of the
ton
:

Whoever is this divine creature in Lady Timmons's care?

And why has she garnered the Duke of Preston's notice?

So when she wasn't being introduced to Lady Lofty or Countess Cruella, Tabitha found her fingers being drawn up in lingering kisses by overly attentive gentlemen and lords, who added to their slavish attentions invitations to dance, to dine, and to partake in private interludes that would have put her aunt in Bedlam if she'd heard them.

All the while, Barkworth stood at her side, taking in all this adulation as if it were being laid at his feet.

As if the Enchanting and Original Miss Timmons was entirely his discovery.

“For your first venture out into London society,” he said as he steered her past several leering rakes lounging by the door, “I must say I couldn't be more pleased, my dear Miss Timmons. You have surpassed even my expectations.”

“Pleased?” However could the man be pleased? She'd spent most of the night as an object of unabated curiosity and untoward speculation.

“How could I not?” He bowed slightly at a matron who was watching them with her quizzing glass, and in return she tipped her head slightly. “See, just there, you gained the approval of Lady Melden. I have no doubt that by tomorrow afternoon there will be an invitation to her upcoming musicale on your aunt's salver.”

“Whatever for?” Tabitha asked. For she certainly couldn't imagine that she'd done anything notable.

Save dance with Preston.

“Why, for being so utterly perfect,” he declared, patting her hand yet again where it sat atop his sleeve.

What with the way he steered her and showered her with these affectionate and familiar pats on the back of her hand, Tabitha felt more like a prized pug being paraded down the lane than his future bride-to-be.

It certainly hadn't felt that way when Preston had led her through the crowd. Yes, the guests had parted before them with the same curiosity, but with Preston beside her, Tabitha had felt shielded from their scrutiny. As if with the duke beside her, he'd made her impervious to the baleful stares. That when he had escorted her, his attentions had never wavered—always been focused entirely on her.

Leaving her stirred and shaken by his steady regard, his closeness, like a dizzy, dangerous tonic.

She wished she could say the same with Barkworth, for he towed her along with a start and a stop, as if posing her for review and chatting with all those around them, barely acknowledging her unless there was a general lack of anyone else about. The only thing dangerous she felt around him was the unending urge to stuff her reticule down his pandering, patronizing throat.

She glanced behind her where Daphne, Harriet and Harriet's brother Chaunce were following. While Harriet was in a deep discussion with her brother, Daphne cast a bright, encouraging smile at her.

These things take time,
her friend seemed to be reminding her.

Time! She didn't have any time. And it wasn't beneficial to her situation that she couldn't help but compare Barkworth to Preston.

Oh, if only she had more experience in these matters! Or perhaps, remembering Preston's kiss, a little less experience.

Ignorance, in her case, would truly be to Barkworth's best advantage.

“Mr. Barkworth,” a brightly gowned young lady called out, stepping into their path. Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, Tabitha recalled. In a bright silk, with jewels at her ears, neck and wrists, she lit up the night with her finery. “Most happy felicitations on your most splendid news. Miss Timmons, I was just scolding your aunt for not bringing you by on my last afternoon in. An oversight, surely! I will have vouchers sent over tomorrow.”