Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

" Y our cook is splendid, Lady Talbot. I agree." August gave a slight bow to their hostess.

Maria leaned closer to give him a glimpse of her bosom, a small frown crossing her lips when his gaze failed to linger.

Hazel found it disturbing that such a large man could move about so silently. There should be a warning when he approached. A heavy footstep. A grunt. Something more than the delectable scent of lime and linen.

"How did you manage to escape your admirers, Your Grace?" Hazel asked him, all wide-eyed innocence. "From here, they seemed quite enthralled."

August looked down at her with a half-smile on his lovely mouth. "Oh, they were, Miss Dartmont."

Maria shifted and stepped, not so lightly, on Hazel's foot. "I will give my cook your compliments, Your Grace."

"My lady," he said to Maria, brilliant eyes not leaving Hazel. "I was hoping you could assist Lady Leek. She seems confused about the amusements you have planned for the remainder of the house party. I confess I could not reassure her. Would you do so?"

"Oh." Maria peered at Lady Leek and Coraline, who were watching from the other side of the room. Both women were frowning. They certainly appeared to be confused.

"Oh, of course, Your Grace." Maria shot Hazel a look before sailing off in the direction of the two women, effectively stopping Lady Leek before she and her daughter could take another step.

"How kind of you to assist Lady Leek, Your Grace."

"I am often helpful, Miss Dartmont."

Somehow, Hazel doubted that.

August's gaze dipped to her mouth, lingering as if he'd noticed some flaw.

She immediately raised a hand, to brush away a nonexistent drop of ratafia from her lips but stopped as he spoke. "Allow me, Miss Dartmont." A light touch trailed over the corner of her mouth, sending ripples down her skin, tugging and pulling in a gentle manner, before disappearing.

He had his back to Lady Leek and Maria, sufficiently blocking their view of Hazel. If Garland hadn't fallen asleep in the garden, he might have seen the improper brush of August's thumb along her mouth. But no one else.

"Your Grace," she bit out, hating that such brief contact had left her breathless and not disgusted. "I doubt you came to speak to me about the excellent duck served—or the Glastons." Setting aside the ratafia, Hazel decided she'd had enough, if the mere touch from August aroused her.

Aroused her? She was only incensed at the impropriety.

Setting down the glass with an unsteady hand, she said, "Have you come to chastise me for the shuttlecock?"

August drew in a slow breath, the rise of his chest stretching his coat along those splendid shoulders.

Hazel leaned to the side, spying Lady Leek, who looked as if she might have an apoplectic fit. She was attempting to free herself from Maria without being rude and reclaim the Duke of Courtland.

"I understand you are from Bristol, Miss Dartmont."

She straightened, chin tilting up to meet his eyes. Such a glorious color. But devoid of any recognition, just mild confusion. Hazel imagined August would look much the same if his valet were to misplace his favorite cravat.

"I am." The beat of her heart picked up a pace. His scent was a distraction. The solidness of August, alluring. She wanted to bury herself in his coat.

I am not attracted to him. I've had too much ratafia.

"My estate is nearby. Windhaven. Well…" He shrugged. "A half day's ride." August paused again. "I find it interesting we have not met before."

We have met. You were nine and quite terrible.

"When would you have had occasion to meet the daughter of a textile merchant, Your Grace?" she replied smoothly ignoring the way her body kept stretching towards him. "I doubt we revolve in the same circles."

You tossed mud at me and called me Stork.

"Yet we find ourselves at a house party together," he said. The green in his eyes deepened a shade, once more lingering over her mouth. There was no mistaking that carnal look. She'd had enough lovers to recognize it.

Hazel took a step back from the deliciously tempting duke, because…well…it was August. And the insistent hum plucking at her skin in his presence seemed a betrayal of Hazel's thirteen-year-old self.

"A mere coincidence, Your Grace."

August cocked his head, studying her. "You remind me of someone, Miss Dartmont."

"Do I?" Hazel wanted to kick him. Perhaps that would shock August into recalling their previous acquaintance, but she wasn't sure of the protocol for declaring a duke to have been a spoiled, childish bully. Probably unwise to ruin Maria's house party by doing so.

"We didn't meet in London?" he said. "Are you sure, Miss Dartmont?"

"Positive," she said, more rudely than she intended. "I'm sure I would've recalled, given your?—"

"Reputation." The word had his jaw tighten. "Even rakes reform, Miss Dartmont," he murmured, the low growl rolling over her skin.

And horrible children grow up to be rather splendid looking dukes.

"Do they? Forgive me, Your Grace, but I find rakes, reformed or not, to have little appeal."

The color of his eyes shifted, darkening until they resembled the depths of the ocean. She'd angered him.

Good.

Easier to fight this unwelcome pull towards August when reminded of the unprincipled life he had lived. She doubted he'd reformed much. There were plenty of women in the countryside to debauch.

"What most concerns you, Miss Dartmont? That I may not be reformed? Or your inability to resist seduction?"

Hazel's mouth popped open at the sheer audacity. "You?—"

"Are correct," he said straightening at the arrival of Lady Leek and her cloud of overly floral perfume. She positioned herself directly in front of August, giving Hazel her back.

Peahen. I can see over your head.

"Your Grace, we are to have bowls and archery on the lawn tomorrow," Lady Leek breathed, taking his arm. "I'm told you are splendid at both, as is Coraline." She cast a challenging look at Hazel, daring her to disagree.

"I am adequate at both, my lady." His eyes never left Hazel.

Hazel wanted to hug the disapproving matron, who had unwittingly come to her rescue. August had been… flirting , leaving Hazel uncomfortably warm and entirely unsettled. Because she was not attracted to him.

"Your Grace." Hazel lowered herself. "Good evening. Lady Leek." She willed him away to the other side of the room. Chess with Garland was not an option, given his brandy-induced state, but perhaps Everhurst would enjoy a game. Anything to not have to suffer another moment in August's company.

He inclined his head, another flirtatious grin teasing at his mouth. "Good evening, Miss Dartmont," he murmured, before allowing Lady Leek to drag him away.