by Cecilia Rene
Unable to locate her amongst the sea of guests, he turned his attention back to his companions.
“Careful, the eligible ladies and their eager mamas may think you are in want of a wife.” Heartford’s eyes danced with mischief.
Remington followed his gaze, noticing that several ladies were staring at him with their heads together. Even he knew his appearance was a rare sight at a ball.
“Let them believe whatever they want. I am only here at the invitation of a friend.” His words were interrupted by the sudden silence that surged through the room.
Two angelic creatures standing in the center of the dance floor had stolen everyone’s attention. Remington’s gaze was fixated on the blonde-haired, curvaceous woman. Her gray eyes, wide and captivating, surveyed the room as if she could see through the very soul of each person. Her gaze locked with his, causing his breath to catch in his throat like a boy, not a fully-grown man. He returned the stare, feeling an odd sensation take over his body. For a fleeting moment, he felt as if for once in his life, he was whole.
Time passed as Remington, unknowingly to anyone else, played a game of cat and mouse. Tracking the breathtaking blonde became his sole purpose. He made every attempt to focus his attention elsewhere. Yet no matter how determined he was not to look for her, it seemed his eyes sought out the lady on their own accord.
He, however, did not know which one of Hempstead’s wards she was—his daughter or his niece. All Remington knew was that the sight of her unnerved him, and he had no idea why.
Finding refuge behind a very large pillar, he watched as she stood dutifully next to the earl and his wife. She was no petite miss. Her curves were in all the places a man desired most. He wanted to know more about her, to discover what lay beneath the prim demeanor she presented to society, to discover the passion she hid from prying eyes. He knew that to do that, to uncover the delectable creature in front of him, he would have to lose a part of himself.
A part of himself that he vowed he would never give up no matter what. He had to avoid the stunning creature at all costs.
Livie took a much-needed breath as her dance with Lord Carmichael ended. He was a dreadfully jovial fellow who spoke incessantly. Even when they were in mid-turn, Carmichael continued the conversation as if they had never left each other’s side. She found it difficult to keep up with the topic. His new barouche and the finer details of carriages did not hold her interest.
Lord Carmichael was a short, slightly rotund gentleman, whose eyes twinkled with hope every time he gazed at her. She, however, wanted nothing more than to leave his presence and never have a conversation about carriages again.
He escorted her to her father, who was in conversation with a handsome gentleman she was unfamiliar with. He was a perfect specimen of male vitality. His large body stood over her father. It wasn’t just his build but his height that commanded everyone to look up to him.
“I do hope you will save me space on your dance card. You know we really must stick together,” Lord Carmichael said before presenting her to her father.
Livie pondered his comment over and over as he began conversing with the handsome but brooding stranger and her father. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned as she glared at the clueless Lord Carmichael.
“Karrington, what a wonderful surprise to find you at a ball,” Lord Carmichael muttered in awe.
Livie schooled her features as she took in the Duke of Karrington. Of course, a man so commanding and suave would be the Bachelor Duke.
“Yes, well, there are more wonderful surprises in the world than a duke at a ball,” the Duke of Karrington replied, causing Livie to giggle.
She tried to cover her response by placing a gloved hand to her lips, but to no avail, as all three men turned to look at her.
“Ah, well, if you all will excuse me. Thank you for the dance, Lady Olivia.” Lord Carmichael made a hasty exit, obviously not wanting to be in the duke’s presence.
“Your Grace may I present my daughter, Lady Olivia St. John.” Her father smiled proudly, as if she was his greatest treasure.
The duke took her presented hand and bowed over it. Livie’s heart pounded. Her breath caught in her throat. He was indeed the most handsome man she’d ever seen with jet-black hair and deep blue eyes that unnerved her and caused her skin to tingle. A thick dark band surrounded a crisp blue iris ensnaring her attention. New and exciting feelings flowed through her as she struggled to control herself.
Livie shifted her gaze away from the impressive specimen in front of her, afraid she would reveal the effect he was having on her.
“Lady Olivia, it is an honor to make your acquaintance.” His smile was tight, his shoulders rigid as if he wanted to be anywhere but standing in front of her
Although they had never met, his behavior was disconcerting as she had done nothing to offend him. Perhaps he thought she was like the other ladies, wanting to snare him into matrimony. She shifted and spotted several eyes on them, all eager misses. Her eyes scanned over their thin shapeless forms, seeing their judgment. Heads pressed together as beady eyes followed her every step, each one hating her for capturing his attention, finding her lacking to gain his regard.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I am delighted you were able to join us.” Her smile was forced, the perfect mask to hide her growing discomfort with most of society’s eyes on her.
The current set came to a close with polite applause as couples departed from the dance floor. Livie prepared to take leave of her father and the brooding duke but her father’s happy voice interrupted her.
“Karrington, would you do me the honor of escorting Lady Olivia in the next set?” Her father seemed oblivious to the horror on her face.
The duke pondered the request for a moment, his jaw tense, eyes crinkled as if he were in deep thought, before he gave her a pleasant smile. “If the lady agrees, it would be my pleasure.” In one smooth motion, he took her dance card and scribbled down his name.
Livie blinked several times, trying to compose herself, but was acutely aware that the duke was waiting for an answer.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she replied hoarsely. He took her by the elbow and escorted her to the dance floor.
As they passed, the crowd parted for them as if they were royalty. Livie held her head high, trying to ignore the whispers that now surrounded her. She froze for a moment, unaccustomed to the attention she was garnering from being with such a gentleman. Although, she had stood beside her parents and Julia in front of the same crowd, it was now as if every eye judged her every move.
“Ignore them. They have nothing better to do than whisper about the Bachelor Duke,” he whispered conspiratorially, making her feel as if they were sharing their very own secret.
Livie let out a giggle, surprised he had the audacity to joke about his very famous title by using the nickname.
“You are very popular, Your Grace.” She tilted her head in his direction, trying to overcome the shock at speaking with the most eligible bachelor in society.
Walking beside him gave her a sense of superiority, and Livie found she held her head up higher while by his side.
His candor about his situation, his attractiveness, and the ease of their conversation disarmed her.
Reaching the dance floor, they took their places toe to toe in preparation for a waltz. Livie stared up into the handsome face towering over her. Heat ran through her veins at his power and dominance.
For once in her life, she was acutely aware of the male form. Her body heated all over as her gaze roamed over him. His shoulders were powerful, his grip commanded her to his will. Livie could feel her body respond to him and hoped there was enough material covering her bosom. She wondered what it would be like to be with such a man—intimately.
The thought was fleeting, yet she chastised herself for being another one of his admirers. She had only been in his presence mere minutes.
“He couldn’t possibly want her.” The cruel words were whispered by a pa
ssing woman, causing her steps to falter. They were correct of course. There was no doubt that Lord Carmichael was the sort of man that would want to marry her, not the Adonis before her.
“You are mistaken. I believe they are taken by your beauty, my lady.” The duke’s voice was low and teasing, sending shivers down her spine like molten chocolate.
Swallowing, she stared into his deep blue eyes. Before she was able to respond, he firmly placed his hand in the center of her back, rendering her a puppet and he the puppeteer. When their palms pressed together, it was as if the fabric of her gloves was on fire.
As he led her every step, sensations raced through her body, the feeling like nothing she’d ever experienced. His stoic and unfathomable gaze never left hers.
She matched his every step, trying to hide the confusion she felt. His comment on her beauty was surprising and had disarmed her. Surely this Zeus of society did not think her beautiful. He held her securely in his arms, but it felt more like a dream than reality.
Feeling a slow, tortuous movement at the palm of her hand, her gaze shifted to where they were connected. His thumb circled her palm, and she was momentarily shocked that he was doing such a personal and erotic act. Her heart pounded at the thought of allowing something so forward, so forbidden. Although her hands were covered, it was as if she was bare before him, his touch searing her soul, branding her as his.
The set ended. His hands stilled, his grip firm and unmoving, his gaze holding her captive until the mundane clapping of the other guests released them from the spell that only seemed to affect her and the duke.
Livie relinquished a breath as he took hold of her elbow, leading her off the dance floor. A feeling of dread crept up her spine as she realized her time with him had come to an end.
“Your Grace, you are an excellent partner,” she commented as they made their way to where her father was waiting.
“You pay me a great honor, but your beauty and poise only motivates me,” the duke replied smoothly, catching her unaware. Surely a man such as him would not find her attractive, especially when he could have any lady in the ballroom.
Once they reached the Earl of Hempstead, the duke released her and bowed stiffly. “Thank you, my lady. It was most enjoyable.”
She was unable to reply, taken back by how formal and polite he was after he had been so personal. Before she could respond, a tall, dashing gentleman with golden hair strode over with an air of contempt that belonged on a peer of higher ranking. Livie forced a smile on her face recalling that Baron Bromswell had claimed the quadrille on her dance card.
“Karrington, how kind of you to keep my partner warm for me.” Baron Bromswell slapped the duke on the back.
Livie’s eyes widened as the duke glared at Baron Bromswell as if he wanted to do him bodily harm.
Taking her from the duke, the baron took her by the elbow, causing a shiver to run down her spine. Unlike the duke’s touch, this one made her skin crawl as if tiny bugs were roaming her body freely. The duke’s gaze narrowed onto the baron’s hand upon her elbow. His face turned hard and unyielding.
“Shall we make our way to the dance floor, Lady Olivia?” Baron Bromswell’s sugary sweet voice made the fine hairs on her arm stand at attention.
Smiling tightly at him, Livie tried to hide her discomfort at his smug look and eagerness. He surveyed her as if she were a prize stallion. No doubt her dowry of twenty thousand pounds was the reason for his special attention.
She understood she needed to marry. Her parents could not provide for her forever. But there was something in the baron’s manner that put her on alert as if she should run as fast as she could from him.
“If you will excuse me.” The duke made a hasty exit.
The emptiness she felt threatened to consume her. Livie hadn’t the slightest idea why she cared. It was no secret that he would never marry, and she needed to marry in order to be looked after once her father was gone. She must forget all thoughts of the Bachelor Duke.
Has this Season’s plump miss landed the attention of the highly sought-after Bachelor Duke?
Remington took a very ungentlemanly gulp of his champagne, determined not to let Bromswell’s behavior affect his mood. He scanned the dance floor, his gaze landing on Lady Olivia and her companion. Bile rose in his throat as he thought of the last young lady who received the baron’s attention.
An image flashed through his mind, causing his heart to speed up and sweat to bead on his forehead. His mind raced back to that long-ago night, when a young duke was friends with a young baron. Composing himself, he watched closely as Baron Bromswell eyed Lady Olivia as if she were a meal to be enjoyed and devoured. Fear gripped him like never before at the thought that she could fall prey to the baron. Remington warred with himself on if he should allow such an exquisite creature to fall victim to the blaggard.
As he scrutinized the unsuspecting lady, he thought back on when he had first met the young Bromswell. They became fast friends, both young and titled for the first time in their lives. But unlike Remington, Bromswell had no fortune and eagerly latched on to the wealthier man, much like a leech to fresh skin.
It was not long until the young baron’s intentions were clear, and his behavior rather abominable. Only Remington’s mother was able to save him from the turmoil.
“There you are, my darling,” his mother said, catching Remington unaware.
Turning to face her, he tried to calm himself. He gave her a soft smile that showed his love and respect for this woman who had loved him most of his life. Breathing deeply, he let his anger and fear for Lady Olivia subside and focused on his mother.
He took in her neat appearance, noticing how impeccable she looked. Her light brown hair was swept up in an intricate hairstyle revealing very little gray, concealing her true age.
“Mother Di, what a pleasant surprise.” He bent to place a kiss on her cheek.
She smiled at the use of the name he’d called her since he was a small boy. The moment she had met the child of her friend, she had loved him as if he were her very own.
Mother Di gave him a brilliant smile as if she’d unlocked a secret. “My darling boy, the pleasure is all mine as my prayers have finally been answered.” Remington braced himself, knowing that somehow her prayers included him and Lady Olivia St. John. “What is surprising me is the attention you are showing a certain lady.” Her voice was filled with excitement as her eyes lit up like a child receiving gifts.
“It was just a dance, Mother Di. Please do not get too excited,” Remington warned, his eyebrows crinkling in thought before offering her his arm.
They began taking a turn around the expansive room. He tried to distract her from her very obvious observation of him being enamored with Lady Olivia. Numerous guests stared at them, following their every step as if they were animals in an exhibit. Society was always so taken by the Warren family, so aware of everything they did since Mother Di married her best friend’s husband less than a year after her death.
Remington remembered what it was like for him as a young heir subjected to the whispers and gossips of society like their words were a suffocating duvet.
He loved how his mother ignored the whispers. She seemed so accustomed to it, taking their words and questioning looks like they were a second skin. Mother Di was more acquainted with society and all that was required to be a part of it than he ever would be. Tongues had always wagged in her direction ever since she was a single lady staying with a duke and his wife, until the day she became his duchess herself.
She turned toward Remington as they widened the berth between them and the gossip. “Do not brood, Remington. I saw how you looked upon her.”
“Mother Di, I do not think this is an appropriate topic—”
“Do not tell me what is appropriate. I raised you. Have you forgotten?” The glare that followed made him feel as if he was a young boy again. “Duke or not, you’re still my son, and I don’t want you to miss an opportunity to have something f
ar greater than titles or money.” Placing a gloved hand on his cheek, she gave him a warm motherly smile.
“It was just a dance. I assure you it will not happen again. I do not want you to wish for something that will never come to pass. You know I will never marry.” His words were final. He took a deep breath to compose himself.
His mind shifted back to creamy skin and storming gray eyes that threatened to sweep him away in a tornado.
“Ah, I should’ve known it was you who stole my wife,” David Prescott interrupted and handed Mother Di a glass of iced champagne.
David’s eyes twinkled as he took in his wife and Remington. He was a single bachelor when he first came across Remington’s mother in the road. One of the wheels on her carriage had come off nearly causing a horrible accident that would have caused Remington to lose a third parent. It seemed as if luck and love were upon them both as Prescott was out for a ride on one of his prize horses not far from their ancestral home in Norwich.
It surprised Remington that after being a widow for nearly five years, his mother formed an instant attraction to Prescott. It was one that saw past rank and society. At first, Remington believed that Prescott was after her fortune, as Mother Di received a substantial allowance from the Karrington estate. There were a number of fortune hunters pursuing the widow, once the appropriate amount of mourning time was up. Remington confronted a bewildered Prescott, believing that he was another gentleman in want of an heiress. Prescott simply stated that all he wanted was to love her. After such an amiable declaration, he became one of Remington’s closest friends and confidants. Becoming more of a father figure to him than his own father ever had been.
“Prescott, I see Mother Di has forced you to yet another ball. How are you faring, old boy?” Remington tilted his head in the other man’s direction.
“I can’t complain about such things with such a lovely companion as your mother.” He smiled lovingly at his wife, as if she was the single best thing in his life.
