Free Duchess in Love by Eloisa James Page B

Fury polished her tone to a smooth honey. “I understand your embarrassment,” she cooed. “Because it is embarrassing, some would even say humiliating, to experience an unreturned lust, is it not?”
    He smiled at her, one eyebrow raised. “Then why on earth are you engaged to that man?” He nodded toward Sebastian.
    Gina gasped.
    It was much more comfortable to have her in a state rather than himself. “Do you know, a flush really isn’t very attractive on a red-haired person,” he said with an air of discovery.
    Bonnington approached, holding a glass of sickly yellow liquid. Gina walked into the ballroom, giving him a melting smile.
    Cam was amused to see that the slightly hunted look in Bonnington’s eyes only increased. If she wasn’t careful, she’d flush that partridge too early.
    â€œI have been longing for some refreshment. Unfortunately, I am beginning to find this assembly has become quite tedious.” She paused. “Perhaps it is the sedating effect of reacquainting oneself with childhood playmates. I’m sure you won’t take offense at that, sir. I’m afraid that I’ve quite lost my taste for the nursery.” She favored Cam with a cool smile. “Shall we stroll into the garden?” She slid her hand into Bonnington’s elbow with a jolt that brought her body up against his jacket.
    Cam watched with hooded eyes as Bonnington automatically edged back so as to achieve a proper distance between their bodies. “I trust you will excuse us,” he said.
    Deep in his eyes Cam saw a glimmer of manly panic that made him feel much kinder toward the fellow. After all, why judge a man based on his finicking deportment in public? Some of the most polite fellows he knew were outrageous in private.
    If anything, he should feel sympathy for the poor blighter. Caught, he was. He watched as they strolled away. Unfortunately, Bonnington had gotten himself into the mess by proposing. He would soon find himself walking down the aisle of St. James and, in the natural course of marriage, would be driven around the bend by his wife.
    A jaundiced, beery voice sounded at his ear. “Hello there, duke,” it said.
    Cam looked about.
    â€œRichard Blackton, second cousin on your mother’s side,” the man said, swaying and catching his balance with the ease of a habitual drinker. “Recognized you at once. You look just the same as your father, you know. What’re you here for, then? Annulling the one marriage, are you? Going to take on younger game? Why don’t you try one of Deventosh’s daughters? They’ve got red hair too. Not so many women with red hair in the ton, you know. If you have an penchant for the color, well, beggars can’t be choosers.”
    Cam’s head had begun to pound in an unpleasant fashion. “I am honored to meet you,” he said.
    The drunk looked confused and said, “What? What’d you say, son?”
    â€œI am ravished with pleasure to meet you.”
    That silenced him. “Foreign manners,” he said, looking suspiciously at Cam. “Foreign manners and red hair. I need a brandy.” And he turned and tottered back to the decanters lining the sideboard without another word.
    Cam retreated to the chambers allotted him by Lady Troubridge, trying to dismiss a nasty suspicion that wascreeping into his mind. Marissa had black hair. Midnight black. So black it was…black.
    Gina had hair the color of a ripened orange.
    Perhaps he did have a penchant for red hair. It was a bewildering thought and didn’t fit his vision of himself as an Englishman who lived in a cheerfully godforsaken country and fashioned plump naked women out of marble, a man who spent most of the day covered with gray marble dust.
    There was no room in his life—in that life—for an irritating duchess.
    For a wife.

7
The Afflictions of Memory Following Lady Troubridge’s Ridotto
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