Chapter Three

Sophie steeled herself to be led out onto the dance floor, by a duke no less. Her stomach twisted and turned when he held out his hand. With as much delicacy and perfection as she could muster, she laid her hand atop his and, raising her chin, allowed him to lead her onto the floor.

Several ladies cast startled looks their way, and several gentlemen too. Still, she fought to ignore the noise about her and concentrate on dancing with a gentleman who was as high in society as one could get without being royal.

The realization almost made her cast up her accounts.

She swallowed, took a deep, calming breath, and entered his arms. He was tall, much taller than she first thought upon meeting him. But being so close, feeling the superfine coat beneath her palms and the corded, flexing muscles beneath made her conscious that the gentleman she danced with was a young, virile man.

A very handsome one too.

Sandalwood mixed with a sweet, floral scent bombarded her senses. Did he have it made from the flowers that grew in his hothouse? No doubt, the duke had an array of servants to cater to his every whim.

He swept her into the waltz, and for several minutes she counted and focused on remembering the steps as correctly and perfectly as a debutante should.

Not that she was really a debutante. She was two and twenty, much older than the other young ladies making their debut this year, not to mention she was not as innocent as them either.

She could only hope that her secret, her disgrace, was never found out, or such delightful dances as the one she was having would be no more. To think she could bring embarrassment to her cousin was not what she wanted, not after all Harlow had done for her, and so playing the role of a sweet innocent miss was paramount.

"You're the cousin of Lady Kemsley, and Lady Billington I understand. I know Lord Kemsley well," the duke said, meeting her gaze fleetingly.

She nodded, watching him and marveling at his straight, aristocratic nose and strong jawline. Hunger twisted in her stomach, but not the kind that told her she wanted a repast. Oh no, this hunger was for an entirely different reason and one she ought not to feel. The duke was so far out of her league as to be fanciful. He would not marry a nobody without family or funds. Not to mention everything else she had done to ruin herself.

"They are the best of family," she admitted. "I cannot thank Lady Kemsley enough for all that she has done for me," she said, seeing no reason not to be honest. She was poor and reliant on others for her Season. She would not pretend on that score to be someone whom she was not.

"I apologize if I offended you earlier about your residence. I did not mean to upset you with my question. I forget, you see, that not everyone is the same in this society."

How lovely of him to apologize. It only made Sophie like him even more. "I've never been asked so directly if I were as fortunate as you and others to have a hothouse. But no, we do not, although the now dowager Lady Carr from a nearby estate to Highclere allowed me to use her conservatory when I was not reading to her mother-in-law." A sanctuary for so many years until that fateful evening when she had come across the now-deceased Lord Carr's heir, Baron Saunders, as he was then known. "But now I contend myself with Lady Kemsley's hothouse." She met his eyes and held them. "I'm impoverished, you see, Your Grace. I have no dowry or grand family with connections and wealth. And while I'm grateful that you're dancing with me this evening, I do not want you to think I have designs on you in any way. I know that you're merely being nice."

The duke's mouth gaped before he stuttered out his words of reply. "Miss York, I did not ask you to dance entirely to make amends. I do not do anything that I do not wish to."

"I should hope not," she replied with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I will not follow you about for the rest of the Season, my eyes brimming with longing merely because you were kind to me this night."

A small frown line appeared between his brows, and she fought not to swoon at how delicious he was. Truly, the man was beyond handsome. Was he even aware of the effect he had on women? His thick, dark locks made one want to run their fingers through and clasp them tight. She supposed he would know his allure. He was rumored, after all, to be a wild rake who was never without a bed partner.

He probably knew how to kiss well too.

"I should be honored if you were smitten with me, Miss York, but I thank you for your honesty. In fact, I do not think I have ever spoken to any lady during any Season in London who has been as honest as you have been this night. It is much refreshing."

He pulled her into a tight curve and spun them before they started to waltz down the opposite side of the room.

"You're very welcome, Your Grace," she replied, relishing their conversation immensely. "May I ask if you've been enjoying London? I have not seen you at many balls or parties so far."

His fingers flexed on her hip, and she fought not to shiver. He had large hands, strong too, she would imagine. The idea of him picking her up filled her mind, and she almost sighed.

For all her talk of not becoming smitten by him, she would soon be doing that very thing if she did not get her emotions under control. Or her womanly demands.

"I've only recently arrived, but I'm here, and it is time to search for a wife. Not that I would like for you to make that fact known. I do not need the headache of many mamas throwing their daughters before me. I can choose well enough myself."

"Of course, I shall not say a word. My lips are sealed."

His gaze dipped to her mouth, and he stared at her for several heartbeats. The feeling of need was back again, clawing at her, thrumming through her body like a siren's call to be devilish. To throw all that she had worked so hard to suppress, to hide, and allow it to come to the surface.

He cleared his throat and averted his eyes to somewhere over the top of her head. "Thank you. I'm grateful for your assistance with this."

"You're very welcome," she replied, smiling at him and happy to see his lips twitched in return.

Henry fought to keep his breathing regulated. Who was this woman in his arms who made him want to forget about being the righteous, virtuous duke? He was starting to think that being such an honorable gentleman meant that he could not try to seduce this sweet, lovely woman in his arms, and that realization was not ideal.

He studied her, unable to keep himself from doing so. She was tall, but not such a long meg that she met him eye to eye. The perfect height to clasp one's cheeks, lean down, and thoroughly kiss without stooping.

Would she welcome his kiss?

Possibly not this evening since they had just met, but if they became friends …

He had signed the betting book along with many others, so his interest in her would not cause eyebrows to rise, not among the gentlemen in any case. He never enjoyed ribbing, and his friends would merely think he was trying to make her fall in love with him to win the thousand-pound bet.

A small smile played across her lips, and he watched her. She was so unaware of how beautiful she was. Her words earlier to him were proof of that.

She did not expect anything from him and did not want him to think she had designs on his title.

A knot of annoyance settled in his gut. He did not like her thinking of herself in such a way. Unworthy and beneath him. While financially and socially the disparity of their lives was quite vast, that did not make him above her reach.

Many men as wealthy and titled as he had married women of no rank or fortune. She was not so far beneath him that he would not notice her.

He had noticed her the moment he saw her speaking to Lord Fairbanks across the ballroom floor.

But he also appreciated the freedom she afforded him. Her declaration meant that they could be friends first and foremost. No expectations, no hurt feelings, or misunderstandings. He could get to know her and then decide whether she could be the future Duchess of Holland or not.