“I am a man born in a house in Edinburgh, who dinnae ken he had a duke’s blood in his veins, aye,” Gerard said icily and nodded his head. Something in his manner seemed to frighten Mr. Withers, for he took the smallest of steps back. “Have ye been readin’ the scandal sheets, Mr. Withers? Or just listenin’ to the gossip?” The accusation made Mr. Withers take another step back.
“Oh, everyone talks of you,” Mr. Withers said with something of a flamboyant wave of his hand. His cuffs were excessively lacy and his coat so elaborate, he was plainly something of a dandy.
Gerard raised an eyebrow in Charlotte’s direction.
Is this the kind of man ye like, Charlotte?
He willfully did not want to believe it. Not when she was staring at him in such a way, her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling with each one of those fast breaths.
“I suggest if you do not want to hear what people say of you, that you avoid such events as this.” Mr. Withers’ words made Charlotte turn the color of beetroot. Lady Susan fluttered the fan so fast now that it was becoming a blur. “Your Grace,” Mr. Withers added the note of respect as a plain afterthought.
“A man without courage may run away.” Gerard met Mr. Withers’ gaze briefly. “But I am nae one of them.” He held out his hand to Charlotte, determined to get her away from Mr. Withers at once. “Lady Charlotte, would ye dance with me?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Your Grace.” Charlotte’s mouth was dry. She wasn’t sure what was making her feel worse. Was it the anticipation of possibly dancing with the duke again? Or was it the horror of this awkward and rude conversation passing between the two of them? “We have danced already tonight,” she tried to remind him politely.
Take the hint, Your Grace. To dance together again would not be appropriate.
“What of it?” he asked, not looking away from her.
“We have danced already,” she said again, more firmly this time. She fiddled with her dance card, not putting it away, for there was a temptation lingering in her gut. What would she give to return to the dance floor with him and be at ease as they had been minutes before, teasing one another, standing close together?
He took the dance card from her grasp, delicately, testing the waters, and she made no effort to stop him. He flicked a glance Mr. Withers’ way, one which was so belittling, that Mr. Withers’ attempt to stand tall looked rather feeble.
Pointedly, the duke drew a line through Mr. Withers’ name with a pencil and wrote his name instead in the space.
“This is… is… prepost—” Mr. Withers began, but the duke cut in.
“You will notice that the lady has made no further objection,” the duke said simply. He stepped toward Charlotte and returned the dance card to her wrist for her. His fingers brushed the bare skin there. She had been about to object, to say how improper all of this was, but the feeling of his fingers made her heartbeat flutter and the words died on her tongue.
Mr. Withers huffed and turned on his heel, walking off and disappearing into the crowds of the assembly rooms.
The duke couldn’t hold back his smile of triumph as he turned to Charlotte and offered his arm. She was tempted to refuse. He had made such a scene now, that she could feel Susan’s glare burning into the back of her neck. Yet if she refused him, the scene would be made even worse.
“You have backed me into a corner, haven’t you?” she whispered tartly, threading her arm through his and allowing him to escort her away. She glanced back at her aunt, but Susan’s face was a perfect picture of fury, her lips pressed together in the thinnest of lines.
“Nay corner,” the duke whispered, escorting her away from the corner and closer to the dancers.
“You know two people should not dance together more than once in a night. I am sure I have told you as much in one of our lessons.”
“Ye may have mentioned it in passin’.”
“Do I need to remind you of it?” she asked accusatorily, pulling on his arm so that he looked at her.
“And is that appropriate?” He nodded at her pull as he raised his eyebrows. She huffed and loosened her grasp, but he raised a hand and placed it over hers on his arm. The touch was too gentle, too soft. Her heart started thudding loudly again.
“I thought you did not want to be talked about anymore,” she reminded him. “Well, congratulations, for this will be a spectacular failure.”
“What do ye mean?”
“I mean,” she pulled them to a stop at the edge of the dancefloor, “that dancing together for a second time would certainly make people speculate about a…” She trailed off and looked around, checking no one was listening or paying attention to them. “A courtship.”
“A courtship? Me?” He laughed heartily. “Have nay fear, lass. Nay one would think I would court ye.”
She bristled.
“What do you mean by that?”
