Chapter 4

Chapter Four

H ow was this even bloody possible?

Courtland. How could she have forgotten the name?

What have I done to deserve such punishment?

Hazel drummed her fingers.

Is this a sign, perhaps, of the end of the world?

August Wade. The horrible nephew of that pompous duke. Here. At Maria's house party. And now he was the Duke of Courtland, having inherited his uncle's title. His cousin, obviously Eliza's brother, must have met an early demise for August to now be a duke.

Dear God.

There was absolutely no mistaking the man glaring down at her with such arrogance was August Wade, formerly pudgy, horrid child. The pale hair, shining like a beacon in the sunlight. The blue-green eyes, like the deepest depths of the ocean. And once she'd heard Duke of Courtland …

What a terrible coincidence.

August should be portly. Round. Corpulent. Like Hough.

Viking. He looks like a bloody Viking. All he needs is an ax.

Hazel's only advantage was her height, but August had her feeling diminutive. Fragile, given his size. Broad of shoulder. Big hands. She had seen the size of his bloody boots when she'd curtsied, and her first thought was that he'd had enormous feet as a child, wobbling about like some overfed duck. But now?

The pulse in her throat had fluttered madly when he'd taken her hand.

Good lord. I cannot possibly find him attractive.

August hadn't even twitched at hearing her name. Not a hint of recognition. Fair enough, she supposed—Pensford had been a lifetime ago. But you'd think he could recall the name of the family he'd had tossed out after whining to his uncle.

Hazel sat back in the chair with a grunt, still drumming her fingers.

What a terrible stroke of bad luck. Hough's presence would be vastly preferable.

The very worst part about this entire surprise, besides the fact that Hazel hated surprises, was that August— The Duke of Courtland —was bloody magnificent.

There wasn't an ounce of spare flesh on his large, overly muscled—her pulse fluttered again— form . The unattractive features he'd possessed in childhood had morphed into unsurpassed male beauty. So attractive it was hard to look at him. Strong jaw. Perfect aristocratic nose. A slash of high cheekbones just below those mesmerizing turquoise eyes.

Maria had claimed that few women would refuse the Duke of Courtland despite his tattered reputation, and after seeing him, Hazel didn't doubt it.

I do not find him appealing.

Her perception of his magnificence was merely shock at seeing August as a grown man. When Hazel regarded him again, he would appear as any other gentleman.

Hazel dared a glance to the other side of the terrace, taking in August's commanding stance. Coolly superior, his bright hair shining in the sun?—

Damn. Still bloody splendid.

Disgusted, Hazel looked down at herself and set aside the racquet. Physically, she was very much as she had been at thirteen. No bosom to speak of. Arms and legs far too long. Still freckled. Hair and eyes of unremarkable color.

The day of the vicar's picnic was hazy except for the satisfaction she'd felt at punching August in his stomach. The rest of that summer, before her family had been unceremoniously urged to leave Pensford, had been a series of minor skirmishes with August. Mud tossed. Pebbles thrown. Tripping each other. Hazel had often made the sound of a snorting pig whenever he'd walked past. August had squawked like a stork in response.

She tried to picture the man on the terrace strutting about, flapping his arms at her like wings.

"Care for a refreshment, Miss Dartmont?" Everhurst strolled over and placed his racquet on the table. "A lemonade, perhaps?"

"A lemonade would be most welcome, unless there is something else?" she asked hopefully.

"I believe only lemonade, Miss Dartmont. The punch is gone. Unfortunately." He walked to the refreshment table, returning in a moment with two lemonades. Taking the chair across from her, he took a sip. "You made quite an impression."

Lady Coraline was speaking to the Pierce girls, all three cast lingering glances at August. Adoration colored their pretty faces.

Ugh.

"Not a good one, I suppose." She took a swallow of the lemonade. "Shall we call our match a draw?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm willing to name you winner simply for having lobbed the shuttlecock at Courtland's head in such a way that it bounced off Lady Talbot's bosom."

"Purely accidental, my lord." Hazel grinned. Now that she knew Maria's ducal guest was really August, she wished the shuttlecock had been a bit more solid. "No skill required."

"You don't seem terribly upset to have swatted a duke."

"I'm sure Courtland will survive the insult."

"Bold words." Everhurst cocked his head. "You don't think highly of titles, do you Miss Dartmont? You're rather unimpressed with dukes." His lips curved flirtatiously. "Or viscounts."

"Entirely untrue in the case of viscounts. I will confess, my lord, that I find it silly for everyone to bow and scrape to someone just because of a title."

"Present company excluded, of course."

She really did like Everhurst. He was delightful.

"I value a person's character far more than the accident of their birth. An opinion I formed when I was little more than a child and have had reinforced, given my experiences in London." She took another swallow of lemonade. "Do you know Courtland? The rest of Lady Talbot's guests swarmed for an introduction, but I noticed you did not."

"We are acquainted. I attended Eton with Courtland and his cousin, Edward." A small frown appeared as if he disliked the thought of Courtland. "Edward inherited the title at the death of his father but died himself a few years later. The fish he was eating hadn't been properly deboned. He was dining alone and choked to death. The title went to his cousin." Everhurst discreetly tipped his chin in August's direction.

Hazel's eyes widened. "How terrible." Gasping for breath with no one around to save you, all because your cook hadn't found all the bones in your fish.

Everhurst's attention moved over her shoulder, eyes softening for an instant. "I had the pleasure of dancing with Lady Eliza at her come out. Though I doubt she recalls."

Hazel turned slightly, catching sight of Maria, who was attempting to shepherd the duke and Lady Eliza inside and pull them away from Lady Leek.

August looked up at her, brow furrowed. He appeared annoyed but not overcome with memories of her or Pensford. "Forgetfulness abounds at this house party." Hazel returned her attention to Everhurst.

"The last time I saw Courtland was in London after Edward's death. A chance meeting outside a…" He hesitated. "A club. I didn't address him as he wished. He was quite angry with me," Everhurst said in an absent tone, his eyes still fixed on Lady Eliza.

"I'm not surprised," she said, though Everhurst wasn't listening. Even as a child he had demanded proper respect, often requiring those below his station to refer to him as Lord August. So pompous for a child. Becoming a duke had doubtless made him worse.

"Will you excuse me, Miss Dartmont." Everhurst stood abruptly. "There is a matter requiring my attention."

She nodded, assuming the ‘matter' was Lady Eliza. "Thank you again for the game of shuttlecock, my lord. I hope Lady Eliza recalls your dance."