Page 29 of Never Dance with a Duke

What he would give to see her that happy always.

Tearing his attention from Nicolette, he inspected the room.

Mother had outdone herself.

Even her beloved Pomeranians were nowhere to be seen.

If there were fewer than thirty of the most influential haut ton elite here, he’d forgo brandy for a fortnight—a sacrifice, indeed. How she’d managed it in less than a week, he couldn’t conceive. Several other members of The Sinful Lord’s Secret Society were also present, though now that many of the peers were married, they weren’t nearly as sinful.

Nicolette glanced up at that moment, and across the distance, their gazes meshed and held.

Dark blue melding with cornflower blue.

As he strode directly to her, he couldn’t break the provocative connection, even though it was sure to garner attention and provoke conjecture.

Mathias didn’t bloody well care. His heart and soul hummed with excitement.

He supposed he must’ve acknowledged the greetings sent his way; after all, his closest friends were here, but he didn’t recall doing so.

His entire focus was on Nicolette.

She drew him to her like a magnet to steel or the pull of ocean waves to the shore. Neither had any control over the forces that compelled them together.

Becoming pink tinted her cheeks, but she didn’t look away, either.

Brave darling.

She’d never affected coyness or diffidence with him. Only honesty and genuineness, as pure as her soul. Utterly exquisite in an ice-blue gown, which made her ivory skin glow and her blue eyes sparkle, a soft smile bent her pink mouth.

Mathias bowed before her. “Miss Twistleton.”

“Your Grace.”

“I trust the books I had delivered, met with your approval,” he said with a teasing grin.

The other afternoon, when he’d been in Piccadilly for a business meeting, he’d found himself wandering into Hatchard’s, of all places. What was more, he’d asked the clerk to discreetly gather five romance novels that were most popular with young ladies.

With a knowing dip of his head, the diminutive man had returned five minutes later, wrapped the books in nondescript brown paper, and tied the bundle with a string.

Mathias had paid for the volumes and gave the clerk Nicolette’s direction. “May I borrow a pen?” he asked, withdrawing one of his cards.

“Of course, Your Grace.” The eager clerk had produced a quill and ink.

Mathias pondered for a moment before putting the nib to the card.

I hope you find these more diverting than publications about dog training.

With warm regard,

Westfall

His actions were, in truth, beyond the pale, but somehow, he knew Nicolette wouldn’t be offended, but rather, pleased at the gesture.

Looking at her now, the color blossoming across her cheeks, he knew he’d been correct in that assumption.

“They did, and they proved most—diverting.” Nicolette angled her head. “Thank you.”

They continued staring at each other until Megan cleared her throat. “Mathias?”