Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

A bigail could only stare at the man, shell-shocked. She was quite certain she'd never seen him before — he was definitely someone she'd have remembered. He kept looking at her, his brows lifted.

Before Abigail could respond, he grasped her hand firmly and led her onto the dance floor. She stumbled slightly, caught off guard by his sudden action.

As they began to move in time with the music, Abigail looked up at him, confusion and apprehension in her eyes. "Why did you do that, Your Grace?" she asked.

He smiled wryly. "I was saving you from yourself, my lady. Your behavior was becoming quite... indiscreet."

Abigail's eyes flashed with indignation. "I assure you, I need no saving," she retorted, though humiliation sent a flush up her cheeks, her skin heating up.

In that case, please accept my apologies," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Charles Rowling, the Duke of Grouton."

"Abigail Wilkinson," she replied curtly, still bristling from his earlier comment.

As they continued to dance, Charles studied her intently. "Tell me, Lady Abigail, where are you from? Surely not London."

Abigail stiffened, her chin jutting out defiantly. "And why do you assume that, Your Grace? Is it so hard to believe that I could be from the city?"

Charles chuckled. "If you were, you would know better than to behave in such a manner. Your actions tonight have been quite... unconventional. No, I am quite certain that you are not well-acquainted with the finer rules of the ton."

"Enlighten me then," Abigail said, a challenge in her voice. "What exactly have I done that is so scandalous?"

"Well, let's see," Charles began, twirling her out of his arms and back before speaking, his voice low and measured. "You laughed far too loudly, you were excessively blunt in your speech, you removed your gloves in public, and you approached a gentleman and requested a dance. Need I go on?"

Abigail let out an exasperated sigh. "It is ridiculous! There are so many rules! How is one supposed to keep track of them all? Especially when no one bothers to explain them to you!"

It was true, she thought with a frown. And she was quite certain that Harriet or Hugh ought to have done so — but she had to admit that she had not really given them much of a chance.

Charles's expression softened slightly. "I understand your frustration, my lady. But if you want to navigate the treacherous waters of the ton, you must learn the system."

"The system?" Abigail echoed, raising an eyebrow. "You make it sound like a business."

"Perhaps you are right," he said with a laugh. "You see, to play the game, you must first know the rules. Only then can you find the small windows of opportunity to bend them, to have a little fun. But you must be careful, discreet."

A glimmer of understanding dawned in Abigail's eyes. "Is that what you do, Your Grace? Play the game?"

Charles grinned, a roguish glint in his blue eyes. "Indeed, Lady Abigail. And I pride myself on being quite skilled at it."

Abigail could not help but laugh at his self-assured tone, the sound ringing out clear and unrestrained. "I see now," she said, shaking her head. "You are quite the rake, are you not, Your Grace?"

Charles found himself captivated by her laughter, the way it transformed her face, making her even more alluring. He twirled her around the dance floor, enjoying the way her eyes sparkled with mirth.

"A rake, you say?" he teased, pulling her a bit closer. "I prefer to think of myself as a man who knows how to enjoy life's pleasures."

Abigail's eyes widened slightly at this, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "And what pleasures might those be, Your Grace? Scandalizing innocent young ladies on the dance floor?"

"Among other things," Charles replied with a wink. "But in all seriousness, my lady, I do believe you have the potential to take the ton by storm. You just need a little guidance, that's all."

"And I suppose you're offering to be my guide?" Abigail asked, her tone skeptical but her eyes alight with interest.

"If you'll have me," Charles said, dipping her low as the music swelled. "I can teach you the ins and outs of society, help you navigate the treacherous waters of the season."

Abigail considered his offer as he righted her, her mind racing with possibilities. On one hand, the Duke of Grouton was clearly a man with a reputation, a rake who delighted in flouting convention. But on the other hand, he seemed to genuinely understand the workings of the ton, and his advice could be invaluable.

She frowned, however.

"What would you want in return?"

Charles merely laughed at this, his mouth curling in what seemed to be delight. "You are not as naive as I thought," he said simply, and Abigail lifted her chin.

"I am many things, Your Grace, but naive has never been one of them," she lied easily.

"What if I do not want anything in return? Simply the pleasure of helping a damsel in distress?" His retort came swiftly, and Abigail's cheeks flushed.

"I am certainly no damsel, Your Grace," she said quickly and the stoic mask cracked a little to show the hint of a smile.

"I am not sure of that," he said now. "You seem to be drowning in the rules of society."

Once again, Abigail felt her cheeks grow hot and she crossed her arms over her chest with a dark frown.

"Just because I do not quite fit in," she said carefully, "does not mean I am drowning. And I feel sorry for you if you do not see that some people dare to think outside of the confines of society."

Charles lifted a brow at this and clapped his hands together. "Brava," he announced with a grin. "You have some bite. You may still survive in this society yet."

Despite herself, Abigail felt quite proud of his praise and she lifted her chin.

"You still have not told me why you extended the offer," she said, and his gaze darkened again.

"Perhaps it is because I know what it is like to feel as though society looks at you and sees only the shallow picture of who you are," he said at last and she looked at him suspiciously.

"I hardly think someone could look at you and see a shallow picture," she countered and he sighed.

"You'd be surprised," he muttered simply, and suddenly the hint of joviality on his face faded. For some reason, it was the dark frown and the deep scowl that convinced him that he may have her best interests at heart after all and she looked at him earnestly.

"While I appreciate the offer, Your Grace, I am not some wide-eyed innocent. I have a mind of my own, and I intend to use it."

Her voice was cool and Charles grinned, his eyes sparkling with delight. "I would expect nothing less, my lady. I have a feeling our courtship will be quite... stimulating."

Abigail's face turned hot at that and she shook her head quickly, nearly stepping on his toes in her surprise.

"Courtship?" she said softly, taking great care not to shriek. "I thought… I thought you were only helping me as a friend?"

Charles shook his head with a deep, rumbling laugh that echoed through the ballroom.

"Certainly you are not that naive, my lady," he threw her own words back at her and she let out a shuddering breath.

Courted by him? It was unthinkable. He was too intimidating, too serious.

"I am sorry, Your Grace," she said firmly, her face still crimson. "But frankly, I find your offer insulting."

As the music came to an end, Charles stepped back and bowed, his gaze never leaving Abigail's face. "Until our next lesson, then," he said, his voice low and full of promise.

"No," Abigail said firmly, her arms crossed over her chest. "I am sorry, Your Grace," she said with a dark frown. "But I doubt we shall see each other again."

Before she could do as much as walk away, another woman appeared in front of her dressed in a bold blue dress, her bright crimson hair curled upon her head. She cast an indignant glare in Abigail's direction before turning to Charles. "Your Grace," she simpered, batting her lashes. "I believe you promised me a dance."

Abigail scoffed at this rudeness. She caught sight of Charles's less-than-pleased expression as he led the woman away and the pair started twirling on the dance floor at once — seemingly perfectly suited for one another.

Meanwhile, Abigail made her way to the edge of the ballroom, her heart racing and her mind awhirl. The Duke of Grouton had proven to be far more interesting than she anticipated, with his quick wit and roguish charm.

As she reached for a glass of champagne from a passing footman, Abigail could not help but overhear the whispers and titters of the other young ladies.

"Did you see her? Dancing with the duke like some brazen hussy!"

"I heard she asked Lord Kensington to dance first. The poor boy looked positively scandalized!"

"She took off her gloves! Can you believe it?"

"What can you expect from a girl with no breeding? Her manners are utterly provincial."

Abigail felt her cheeks burn with anger. She knew she didn't fit in with these prim and proper debutantes, with their perfectly coiffed hair and their delicate sensibilities. But she refused to let their cruel words break her spirit.