Page 19 of Never Dance with a Duke

One plus one plus one equaled courtship in the bon ton’s mind.

You’re doing this for Megan, she reminded herself. You don’t give a pig’s farthing what these people think.

Not entirely true.

As much as Nicolette would like to believe that falsehood, she couldn’t lie to herself. She did care, and it angered and frustrated her that she did.

“They’re really quite awful, aren’t they?” Mathias’s sister, Megan Bridgham, whispered. “Like vultures on carrion.”

Yes. Horrid, judgmental hypocrites.

The sweet-faced woman, appearing younger than her seven and twenty years, subtly angled her dark head toward the other patrons’ boxes.

“I rather feel like an insect pinned to a board,” she confided softly. “I’m tempted to pull a face or stick out my tongue in the manner my sons sometimes do just to shock them.”

Nicolette giggled into her hand before saying out the side of her mouth, “I should very much like to see their reactions if you did.”

Already, she liked Mathias’s sister a good deal.

Megan honestly didn’t seem to care a flip for what any of the other theatergoers thought. A pretty woman with dark brown hair rather than midnight like Mathias, she had the same bright blue eyes he possessed. She also had a charming dimple in her left cheek that showed when she smiled, which she did often.

“What are you two whispering about? Should I be concerned?” Westfall’s deep voice interjected from behind them. He’d leaned forward so that his breath caressed Nicolette’s bare shoulder.

God, help her.

She swallowed and sent her fan in rapid motion, creating a welcome cooling breeze.

“Nothing of interest to you, dear brother,” Megan said smoothly, giving Nicolette’s hand a covert squeeze. “Simply an observation about…insects.”

“Insects?” Incredulity leeched into his voice. “Are we watching the same play, for I definitely do not recall a single mention of an insect of any kind.”

“Shh, Mathias,” Megan scolded. “You’re distracting me, and you know it’s been years since I visited the theater.”

“These insects are swathed in silks, satins, velvets, feathers, and jewels, Your Grace,” Nicolette murmured, turning her head slightly to the side to speak to him. “They also have a propensity to wear too much perfume, form unkind opinions, and unabashedly stare.”

“Aah,” he said, drawing the word out as comprehension dawned. “I see. Did I tell you how lovely you look this evening, Miss Twistleton?”

Again, his warm breath brushed over her skin, and every pore raised in sensual awareness. Why must she be so responsive to him?

“You did, Your Grace.”

Twice already.

“Hmm,” he murmured into her ear. “Do call me Mathias. You did once before, and I very much liked that.”

A frisson of awareness bathed her from her nape to her toes, raising every hair pore in the process even as her bones threatened to turn to jelly.

Goodness, he must stop that.

What would his sister and Nicolette’s mother think?

What would all the snoops watching his box think?

Nicolette shook her head. “Indeed, not.”

She was having a difficult enough time maintaining a degree of formality and distance between them. Addressing one another by their given-names would not do. Though, when she thought of him, he was Mathias and not the duke or his grace. Still, that was her secret, and as long as no one else knew, no harm could come of it.

“Not yet,” he said in a tone as rich and sweet as warm chocolate. “But you will, I assure you.”