Page 8 of The Duchess Audition

It was not as if shouting a woman’s name could harm his reputation any more than disappointing most of the Season’s eligible ladies with that ridiculous ‘audition’.

Just then, he saw her. Or thought he did.

She stood off to one side of the al fresco dance floor, hiding in the shade of a moss-covered pillar topped with a stone vase. That drape of dark hair across the left side of her face bolstered his confidence that it was the same woman, for it was not of the fashion, nor particularly proper, to have so much hair unpinned.

Straightening up and finishing the contents of his punch, he set the glass on the terrace wall and headed toward his potential bride.

She did not seem to notice him at first, though he came to stand no more than a person’s breadth away from her. Something else had her interest: one of the small plants that grew around the base of the pillar beside her.

He cleared his throat. “Miss Longman?”

She jumped, her hand flying to her chest. “Goodness, you scared me!”

Her harsh tone was not at all what he had come to expect from society ladies, who seemed determined to flatter and compliment him.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked with a frown, cold suspicion in her voice.

He observed her with wariness of his own, wondering what on earth it was that his grandmother had seen in her, or if this was some kind of trick so he would look more kindly on the other prospects that she suggested.

Marina Longman was… unusual in appearance, her high-collared dress long out of fashion, the wave of her liberated hair making him wonder why she would seek to hide the side of her face. Indeed, she seemed to peer out with a furtiveness that unnerved him.

Her skin was sun-browned and dotted with freckles, as if she had never heard of a parasol; her features had an angular quality that gave her an otherworldly appearance, with high, plump cheeks that tapered all the way down into a small, pointed chin. A face that was almost a perfect heart shape, if he could only see the other side.

And those eyes…

They had a feline quality and, like a cat, he did not know if she might purr at his proposal or scratch him to ribbons.

“Forgive me,” he said, persevering. “I am Anthony, the Duke of Knotgill, and I wondered if you might honor me with the next dance?”

She physically recoiled, her back knocking into the pillar.

Not exactly what he had anticipated, when there were at least ten other young ladies, younger ladies, in the vicinity who would have been flattered by the request. But his grandmother had warned him that Marina was not an ordinary woman.

In that case, I ought to try a different approach.

He extended his hand. “The next set is about to begin. Come.”

She stared at his hand. “Dance?”

“Indeed.” He waited, certain she would not refuse him.

After all, she had attended the ‘audition’. She had already displayed her interest in him, simply by being there at his house. And when he had written to her uncle, the reply had been encouraging.

Her throat bobbed and she put her hand upon his, dipping her head. “Very well.”

In all his life, Anthony doubted he had ever heard a less enthusiastic response to an invitation to dance. Still, she had agreed.

With his head held high and his determination enduring, he led her to the dance floor as the music for the last dance came to a close. He released her so she could go and stand with the other ladies, while he took up his position with the gentlemen.

There, he smiled at his partner politely, though she did not smile back. Her head remained in that dipped posture, her chin almost to her chest, refusing to look at him at all.

Playing hard to get, perhaps?

The music began again before he could dwell on it, and he swept forward with a graceful flourish, meeting Marina in the center of the dance floor.

He bowed as she curtseyed and, touching palms, they started to turn in a circle. Anthony put a slight hop into his movements, as the dance commanded, while Marina seemed to struggle, missing steps, her feet tangling, her face strained with concentration, though it was not even a difficult dance.

Soon enough, he began to wish he had not asked her to dance at all, but just to converse instead.