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

she placed her hand upon his arm and allowed him to guide her back to the dance floor.
    Isabella enjoyed the quadrille immensely, mostly because it allowed for more conversation time with Mr. Goodard than the country dance had done. Desperate for a bit more information about the man whose company she really craved, she turned to Mr. Goodard for answers. She worried he might be reluctant to say too much, but she quickly discovered that once Mr. Goodard started talking about his childhood exploits with the duke, there was no stopping him. It was delightfully entertaining, especially when he spoke of the treasure they’d buried in the garden one time while playing pirates. The gardener had dug it up years later and believed it to be real.
    “I do believe we ought to go and save him from Lady Deerford’s clutches,” Mr. Goodard suggested as soon as the dance ended and he finished another story involving a trench they’d dug around the duke’s tree house one year, pretending that it had been a moat.
    Determined to ignore her better judgment, Isabella was just about to agree when a gentleman she’d not yet met appeared, blocking their path. He was just as tall as Mr. Goodard and almost as handsome, though there was something in his eyes and the way he smiled that put Isabella immediately on edge.
    “Ah, Lord Starkly,” Mr. Goodard said in a bored tone of voice. “I was rather hoping to avoid you this evening.”
    Pinning Isabella with his gaze, Lord Starkly didn’t as much as glance in Mr. Goodard’s direction as he said, “Yes, I imagine you were. But then again, it’s not you I’m here to see but the lovely lady whose company you’ve been keeping. Perhaps you’d be so good as to introduce me to her.”
    Heat scurried across Isabella’s flesh. Not the good sort of heat that she’d felt in the duke’s company but rather the kind that made her feel like a little trapped rabbit, about to be flayed. She sensed Mr. Goodard’s indecision, but propriety apparently won out, because he finally managed to say, “Miss Smith, this is Lord Starkly—Lord Starkly, I present to you Miss Smith.”
    “A pleasure,” Lord Starkly murmured as he took her hand in his, raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles, lingering there for one second . . . two seconds . . .
    Mr. Goodard coughed and Lord Starkly straightened himself, releasing Isabella’s hand with a roguish slowness that could only be defined as most outrageous.
    “Would you please do the honor of partnering with me for the next dance, Miss Smith,” Lord Starkly asked, the corner of his mouth rising to form a crooked smile.
    Heaven above, she’d never seen someone look more arrogant in all her life. He knew she could not refuse him without being rude, for he was a nobleman while she was a mere “Miss.” She turned to Mr. Goodard, gazing up at him as she prayed he’d see the imploring look in her eyes that said Please rescue me from this scoundrel.
    “I don’t believe that’s possible,” Mr. Goodard said as he looked about the ballroom. “For she has already promised to dance the next set with another gentleman.”
    “Oh? With whom?” Lord Starkly asked, his eyes narrowing as he leaned toward Mr. Goodard.
    “With . . . er . . .” Isabella watched as Mr. Goodard continued to look about, realizing that he was trying to find somebody for her to partner with. “With me.”
    “What?” Both gentlemen turned their gaze on Isabella. She wasn’t surprised, for her question had sounded like a croaked squeak.
    “That’s right,” Mr. Goodard announced. “We were simply taking a small reprieve to quench our thirst, but since you’ve delayed us, I daresay we’ll have no time for that. Come along, Miss Smith.”
    Finding it difficult to believe what had just transpired, Isabella stumbled after Mr. Goodard, leaving behind a very angry-looking Lord Starkly. “You cannot do this,” she said as they arrived back at the dance floor. “We’ve already