Chapter 5

Chapter Five

T he only female at this entire bloody house party who wasn't the least interested in August, save for Eliza of course, was Miss Hazel Dartmont. He'd been hoping that over the course of the afternoon, her dislike of him might retreat somewhat, but standing in the drawing room, waiting for the bell to usher them in to dinner, August knew that wasn't the case.

He wasn't used to being ignored by the fairer sex. One could not be a legendary debaucher of women and a notorious libertine if women shunned you.

But August's overly tall, not-so-desperate spinster studiously avoided him as if he were covered with the pox. If he approached, got too close, Miss Dartmont turned her willowy form in the opposite direction, skirts billowing about trim ankles, blatant boredom with flashes of discreet hostility glittering in her eyes.

August did adore a challenge. Especially one he wanted to bed and who happened to be worth fifty thousand pounds. But her overt dislike of him was a cause for concern.

"Your Grace," Lady Leek said, interrupting his thoughts. "I wished to offer my apologies for the welcome you received upon your arrival. I was appalled. Shocked to the very core."

"Why, my lady?" Lady Leek was the worst sort of society matron, the kind who assumed she must arbitrate all social norms and offer her disapproval if they weren't followed to her satisfaction. If August weren't a duke, he doubted Lady Leek would be so friendly, given his rather immoral past. "If I am not mistaken, this is not your home. Nor are you the hostess."

A tiny bit of red shaded her cheeks at his rebuke. "Nevertheless, Your Grace. I hope Lady Talbot has apologized for Miss Dartmont and assumed responsibility for her behavior," she trilled.

"There was no harm done, my lady. It was merely a shuttlecock, after all."

"You could have been injured," Lady Leek tsk ed dramatically.

"Feathers and cork." August had been hit with much worse. Things that had to be dug out of one's skin. "Harmless."

"Even so." Her thin lips drew into a rosette. "Miss Dartmont is socially inept, Your Grace. Not unsurprising, given her background. Butchers. Drapers. Common laborers. All are counted among her kin. I've witnessed her lack of decorum too many times to count."

"Have you?" August peered at her over the rim of his glass.

"I am involved in several charities which, given their high profile, should not have someone such as Miss Dartmont at the helm—or in attendance at all. Ladies of good family and standing should steer our endeavors. Not one for whom wealth has been accidentally found."

"Lady Talbot led me to believe that not only does Miss Dartmont work tirelessly, but she also donates generously."

Lady Leek could care less about the orphans and widows of soldiers. The only reason she and those of her ilk became involved in such causes was for the prestige. Sitting about gossiping at various functions while giving the impression of doing good. Shunning those she perceived did not belong. In many ways, a charity such as Widows of Fallen Heroes was the same as a gentleman's club, where membership was restricted to only those of a certain class.

Lady Leek did not care for Miss Dartmont's well-funded invasion.

He longed to tell her to bugger off, politely of course, but he couldn't afford to. Her daughter, Coraline, was the second name on Branson's list.

"We are grateful for Miss Dartmont's contributions. I suppose I am only surprised to find her here ."

"She and Lady Talbot are closely acquainted, are they not?"

"Yes, but charities and teas are one thing, a house party, another." Lady Leek placed a hand on his arm. "I'm sure you agree, Your Grace."

"Perhaps Miss Dartmont hopes to make a match." Preferably with August.

"Oh, Your Grace. I hadn't realized what a keen wit you possess."

Lady Leek suppressed what sounded like laughter. Or she was trying to quietly burp. August couldn't really decide.

"Miss Dartmont"—she stifled another amused sound—"is a confirmed spinster. Goodness, just look at her."

Blood hummed along his limbs as he took in Miss Dartmont, gaze trailing over her slender form. He wouldn't even have to hunch down to kiss her properly.

"Even if she were looking for a husband, she would be hard pressed to find a suitor here, Your Grace. Miss Dartmont attracts a more desperate sort of gentleman, as her appeal lies not in her person, but in her purse. Not the sort whom Lady Talbot has invited."

Oh, my lady. How wrong you are.

If there was a small bit of relief to be had in this conversation, it was that the news of August's impoverishment and his pursuit of Miss Dartmont had not yet reached the attendees of the house party. He had the idea that if his overly tall spinster knew, she would bolt back to London like a panicked horse.

"I see," was all August said.

"A lady should be modest and demure, much like my daughter, Lady Coraline. Did you know she is accomplished at the harp, Your Grace?"

"I did not, my lady."

Lady Leek immediately listed Coraline's accomplishments, which also included embroidery, dancing, proficiency in two languages, and running a household, in addition to playing the harp. Needless to say, August's attention wandered back to Miss Dartmont.

Lovely in a peach-colored gown which set off the light tan of her skin—he had the sneaking suspicion she didn't avoid the sun—Miss Dartmont floated along the edge of the drawing room like some graceful gazelle.

Making August a most hungry lion.

Halting halfway across the room, Miss Dartmont turned towards August, dislike of him rolling off her in waves as she held a glass of ratafia aloft in one slender hand.

He once more trailed his gaze over her lithe form, this time deliberately lingering at that spot between her thighs, before slowly drawing back up to her bosom.

Miss Dartmont's lips parted at his perusal. Outrage, he thought. A tinge of pink colored her cheeks. But she did not lower her eyes. Not Miss Dartmont.

She glared back at him, chin tilted at a murderous angle.

Arousal washed down his thighs so swiftly, his cock twitched. Even without her fortune, August still wanted to have all of Miss Dartmont's long, elegant limbs twisted about his own. That delicious mouth open beneath his. Turn all that simmering hostility into something more useful. And pleasurable.

Lady Leek, still chattering away, oblivious that August's attention had wandered, waved over her daughter, Coraline.

Lady Coraline greeted him politely, eyes cast down in modesty while her mother continued to drone on about her accomplishments.

Eliza was not wrong in her choice of Coraline, August mused. The girl had the makings of a brilliant duchess. Pretty, mannered, connections that stretched the length of the ton . A generous dowry. Not the sum of Miss Dartmont's but enough to at least pull the estate out of poverty.

So, keeping Eliza's advice in mind, when Lady Talbot's butler arrived to usher the guests in to dine, August took the opportunity to escort Lady Coraline in, much to the displeasure of Lord Garland.

Garland, crestfallen, looked as if he might stab August with his stickpin. According to Eliza, the earl and Coraline had formed an attachment, one of which her parents didn't approve. Lord Leek preferred his daughter wed a bit higher. She might love Garland, but she would do her duty and wed August if Lord Leek demanded it.

An unwelcome thought, having a wife who meant to cuckold you almost immediately after the vows were uttered. But a young lady had a duty to her family, just as August did.

He must wed. There wasn't any getting around it.

A light floral scent reached his nostrils while Coraline dangled from his arm, carried to him on the breeze blowing gently through the windows. A cascade of wildflowers swirled around his shoulders before drifting away, leaving behind only an insidious, sharp stab of arousal for Miss Dartmont.

After the guests had all filtered into the dining room and taken their seats, the first course brought out, August chanced a look down the length of the table. Miss Dartmont's profile was lovely in the candlelight as she gracefully arched her neck to sip soup from her spoon. He barely heard Anne, one of Lady Pierce's girls, and Coraline on the other side, trying to gain his attention.

August was far too busy watching his spinster at the end of the table.

Hazel's skin prickled all during the soup course, spoiling her appreciation of the bits of chicken floating about in the creamy white broth. One of her favorites.

Eyeing August from beneath her lashes, she struggled to impose the pudgy, unpleasant child she'd once known in Pensford over the chiseled magnificence of the duke seated at the end of the table. But there had been nothing in his appearance as a child that would have led anyone to believe August would grow up to be so…splendid.

His superior attitude was still intact. That much had not changed. Earlier, he'd narrowed his gaze at Hazel, studying her lovely peach gown with annoyance, as if she'd no right to wear such fine clothing.

How dare he.

Hazel wasn't proud that all it took was one look from August and she was keenly aware of her position—or rather, lack of status. He made her feel as if she was once more the draper's daughter, the awkward girl who was far too tall and freckled to merit much notice. Reduced to a village girl who did not respect her betters.

Stork , once more. Which was ridiculous. Hazel was now an heiress. A woman of consequence. She had ceased caring what others thought of her a long time ago. Or at least, she had until August arrived.

He gleamed at the end of the table like a torch, drawing every female eye in the dining room, including Hazel's. Lady Pierce choked on the duck every time he so much as glanced in her direction, stammering away like some schoolgirl. It was rather embarrassing. Coraline and Lady Pierce's daughter, Anne, seemed about to challenge each other to fisticuffs over him.

Turquoise flashed over Hazel in dismissal.

Stabbing at a sliver of carrot, Hazel hardened her resolve, steel shot into her spine.

The situation was unpleasant, but she wouldn't allow August to dampen her enjoyment of the excellent meal, the invitation of her friend, or the house party. He'd ruined one summer for her two decades ago, and she wasn't about to gift him another.

When the gentlemen finally rose from the table to enjoy their brandies and cheroots, Hazel studiously kept her gaze averted from August. There was no reason to further contemplate the broad expanse of his back and shoulders. Nor the stretch of fabric over his thighs and?—

Hazel shut her eyes, refusing to allow her thoughts to wander.

It is only the surprise at having found August at this house party.

Nothing more.