Free The Trouble With Being a Duke by Sophie Barnes Page A

to marry. An awful acknowledgement, she told herself, since this made Mr. Roberts no more dear to her than a man she’d just met.
    The duke, on the other hand . . . well, she’d known him for an even shorter duration than she had Mr. Goodard if one considered that Mr. Goodard had made his acquaintance known to her first. But there was something about the duke that Isabella was finding hard to resist. It was an eagerness to know who he was as a person, what his childhood had been like and which experiences had made him the man he was now. A crazy sensation, she realized, but one she could not seem to rid herself of regardless of how much she tried to focus on Mr. Goodard’s handsome face instead. It was no use. Her thoughts invariably returned to the duke.
    Isabella sighed.
    “Are you all right?” Mr. Goodard asked as he stepped toward her, took her hands in his and spun her around while the other dancers waited for them to resume their places. “You don’t look as if you’re enjoying yourself, which is unusual, since ladies in my company always look as if they’re enjoying themselves.”
    That brought a smile to Isabella’s lips. “I imagine you must be used to blushes and batting eyelashes wherever you go.” She made an attempt at a lovesick gaze. “Is this better?”
    Mr. Goodard frowned. “Now you’re just mocking me.”
    “I wouldn’t dare,” Isabella quipped as she gave him a sly smile. She accepted his hand again, and they moved past the other dancers.
    Mr. Goodard raised an eyebrow. “Sarcasm? No wonder he likes you.”
    “Who?” Isabella asked, instantly aware that her dance partner had just said something that he’d probably not intended for her to hear. The look of surprise on his face confirmed it.
    “What?” He looked about as if seeking a means of escape, but of course there was none—not unless he planned on being particularly rude.
    They returned to their places as the music faded, and Mr. Goodard bowed, while Isabella curtsied. He then offered her his arm and led her away from the dance floor.
    “Who likes me?” Isabella asked, determined to squeeze that little bit of information out of him.
    “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Mr. Goodard said as they walked across to the refreshment table.
    “But you just said . . . I mean, when we were dancing . . .” Mr. Goodard raised an eyebrow as he picked up a glass of lemonade and handed it to her. She breathed a sigh of defeat. “Oh, you’re insufferable.”
    A cheeky smile graced Mr. Goodard’s lips. “I know,” he said. He looked away from her and added, “Oh look, there’s Kingsborough right now. He’s coming our . . . oh, dear.”
    “What is it?” Isabella asked, craning her neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the duke.
    “It looks as though he’s been detained by Lady Deerford.” Concern crept into his eyes. “From what I’ve been told about the lady, I do believe this could take a while.”
    Disappointment flooded Isabella. It was ridiculous. She barely knew the duke, had spent no more than an hour in his company and would never see him again once the evening ended. Hoping for something more with him was impossible, and if he ever discovered who she really was—a lowly woman who lived in a simple cottage on the wrong side of town—he’d never forgive her. Especially not if she continued this charade and allowed him to think that the only thing standing in his way was a man she wasn’t even engaged to yet. No, she had to find a way to avoid his company for the remainder of the evening—for both of their sakes. She turned to Mr. Goodard. “Then how about if we pass the time with another dance? Is that not a quadrille starting?”
    Mr. Goodard hesitated a moment and then smiled with mischief. “Indeed it is, Miss Smith. Shall we show the others how it’s done?”
    There was humor in his eyes as he spoke, which brought an instant giggle from Isabella. “Most definitely,” she said as