Free The Unexpected Duchess by Valerie Bowman Page B

of Claringdon.
    “This is it,” Garrett said under his breath, giving Lucy a warning glance laced with an encouraging smile.
    Lucy shrugged. “I’m perfectly ready whenever he is.”
    Within a matter of minutes, the riotous crowd had jostled the two of them together toward the middle of the ballroom and Lucy looked up into the daring, handsome face of the Duke of Claringdon.
    She curtsied. “Your Grace.”
    “My lady.” He bowed and brushed his lips across the knuckles on her gloved hand. She shuddered. Not fair. She snatched her hand away as if it had been burned.
    The crowd quickly filled in around them.
    “Seems we’ve garnered quite an audience,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and circling her. “What shall we discuss?” He arched a brow in a challenge.
    She gave him her best false smile. “You’re so clever, Your Grace. I defer to your expertise in picking a subject.”
    He eyed her warily. “Sarcasm becomes you, my lady.”
    She smirked. “So I’ve been told.”
    “Why don’t you dance with me first and we can think about it?” he offered.
    She nearly snorted. “Dance with you? No. Thank you.”
    One brow shot up. “Ah, now that’s surprising.”
    She regarded him down the length of her nose. “What is?”
    “Why, with your reputation for wordplay, I’d have thought you’d find something infinitely more clever to say in response to a gentleman with whom you do not wish to dance than, ‘No. Thank you’.”
    He was mocking her. Her face heated. Her ears were no doubt turning red. “You think you can do better?”
    He inclined his head in acceptance, a devilish smile on his firmly molded lips. “I know I can.”
    She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
    He grinned and raised his voice so the audience would hear him. “This shall be the wager then. I shall come up with a plethora of more inventive ways to turn down a dance than ‘No, thank you.’”
    “How many?” she asked, still trying to quell the riotous emotions in her middle.
    The duke turned and called out to their audience. “Does anyone have a pack of cards?”
    “I do!” Lady Haverty offered, calling to a footman to bring cards posthaste.
    The wait was not long. The footman hurried back with the cards while the entire ballroom appeared to converge upon their little enclave. In the meantime, Cass and Jane gave Lucy encouraging smiles and then faded into the crowd with everyone else.
    The duke took the cards from the footman and presented them to Lucy with a flourish. “My lady, pick one, if you please.”
    “What for?” Lucy asked, valiantly attempting to keep the rising panic from her voice. What was he up to?
    “Whatever card you draw will be the number of responses I invent.”
    Lucy arched a brow. “And what if I draw a royal?”
    “Twenty,” he answered simply, as if he did this sort of thing on a regular basis.
    She eyed him warily but hovered her hand over the stack and plucked a card from the center. She flipped it over. “The King of Hearts,” she announced with a satisfied smile.
    A muffled ooh made its way through the crowd.
    “You wouldn’t be interested in the best two of three, would you?” he asked with a jaunty grin.
    Lucy shook her head and smiled back at him. “Twenty sounds perfect to me.”
    He winked at her. “How did I know you would say that?”
    She shrugged. “Lucky guess?”
    “Very well,” he agreed. “I shall come up with twenty better ways to refuse a dance with a gentleman than your ‘No, thank you.’”
    Lucy tapped her slipper against the parquet floor. She had no choice. He’d made the challenge and she must see it through. Wise of him actually, to keep her from being the one to use her tongue. Quite wise indeed. “Very well. I accept. Let’s hear them.”
    “Ah, wait. First, we must decide. What shall be the forfeit?” he asked, plucking nonchalantly at his ivory cuff.
    Lucy arched a brow. “Forfeit?”
    “Yes. What shall the winner