Page 30 of Never Dance with a Duke

With a start, he pulled himself together and greeted the other women, all too aware of the knowing glances they exchanged.

Good. The sooner word spread that Mathias had more than a passing interest in Nicolette Twistleton, the better.

“Darling, you’re late,” his Mother chastised, approaching him and offering her powdered cheek.

He kissed the soft skin, breathing in her lemon and verbena fragrance. “Do forgive me, Mother. I regret something unavoidable detained me.”

“Of course, dearest.” Bending her mouth into a tolerant smile, she patted his forearm. “Selby explained that an urgent humanitarian issue delayed you. So like you to attend to another’s needs before your own.”

Humanitarian—?

Oh.

God, love him. Selby was brilliant. Mathias made a mental note to increase the majordomo’s wages.

Everleigh, the Duchess of Sheffield crossed to them on her husband’s arm. “Griffin and I were just discussing our ball next week with your mother, Westfall. We do hope you will attend.”

After the scandal involving Crispin, Duke of Bainbridge, and Jessica Brentwood at the ball Mathias and his mother had hosted in late April, he’d sworn off attending or holding balls this Season. Or next. Or ever, for that matter.

However, that debacle had unexpectedly ended rather well. Bainbridge had married Jessica, the woman he’d secretly been in love with for years, and the two were presently enjoying their wedding trip.

He could well empathize with his friend, who’d harbored a secret affection in much the same manner Mathias had. The major difference was that Jessica Brentwood, unlike Nicolette, didn’t eschew and eviscerate anything with trousers that dared to show her more than passing interest.

Glancing at Nicolette from beneath half-lowered lids, Mathias impulsively decided now was as good time as any to make his intentions formally known. He did, in truth, mean to court the enigmatic Spiteful Spinster. If only others knew her the way he did, men would be clamoring to make her their wife.

He wasn’t entirely positive when he’d made the decision. It was almost as if it had developed on its own after he’d held Nicolette in his arms, and deciding she should be his wife felt as right as anything ever had.

What Mathias did know was that he loved her, wanted to see her smile, and her eyes glow with joy, wanted to hear her brilliant witticisms, and wanted to be the man who healed her heart and spirit.

He didn’t doubt he could do that if she’d allow him to.

Bending his mouth into his most charming smile, he answered her grace. “Only if Miss Twistleton agrees to save me a dance. Or two.”

His mother threw him a dumbfounded glance before she turned her keen regard to Nicolette. Was that a pleased smile teasing the corners of Mother’s mouth?

In an instant, he realized his colossal mistake in essentially publicly declaring himself.

Nicolette stiffened her spine and clasped her hands so tightly, the knuckles turned white. Her practiced mask of indifference slipped into place, transforming her right before his eyes. She fashioned one of her insincere smiles, and his heart plummeted to his feet like a millstone.

Ah, hell.

“Ah, but, Your Grace,” she murmured. “I never dance with a duke.”

The Duke and Duchess of Sheffield’s Ball

1 June 1810

Surrounded by several of her friends, Nicolette laughed at Sophronie Slater’s retelling of the first time she’d ridden astride.

“I could scarcely walk for a week, so chaffed were my thighs,” the American said, between giggles, revealing her slightly crooked front teeth. “The next time, I wore special, soft leather trousers I had made just for the occasion, much to my dear papa’s chagrin. He says the practice of a female riding astride is too masculine.”

“I’ve never ridden astride,” Nicolette confessed. “Though I’ve always wanted to try. I have trained with weapons, however, and admit I quite like fencing. I’m not as fond of firing a gun. It does rather ruin one’s gloves.”

Those, too, were considered masculine undertakings.

Nevertheless, she and a few of her friends had taken it upon themselves to learn shooting and fencing, and even how to throw a dagger with considerable accuracy. In truth, more as a means of self-defense than anything else.

For all of her mother’s desire to see her happily married, she’d never forbid Nicolette the unusual training in weaponry. Mama also balked at the constraints put on women by men—some well-meaning and others merely controlling.