Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)(75)
Author: Tessa Dare

Once she reached the bottom of the staircase, she sought refuge behind a cluster of potted palms and scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Where were Minerva and Susanna? She knew she’d resolved to go this alone, but she didn’t feel so brave anymore.

And then—

Griff.

He strode toward her, wearing an immaculate black tailcoat and carrying a wicked gleam in his eye. So assured, so handsome.

Oh, the flutterings. She had flutterings all through her. They were so strong, they just about carried her away.

“I didn’t think you’d attend,” she breathed. “I was hoping, of course. I just wanted to see you again. To tell you I’m sorry, and that you were right. I was afraid. I’m still afraid, to be honest. I don’t think I can do this at all. But if you—”

He didn’t let her finish. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She was seized by a pulse of pure terror. It didn’t matter to her if the rest of the gathering scorned her. But if even Griff would cast her out . . .

He didn’t cast her out.

He took her by the hand.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, more gently this time. “The most beautiful woman in the room does not belong in the corner with the potted palms. Come out from there. Or else Flora did all this for nothing.”

She pulled up short and stared at him. “You. It was you. You sent Flora. And the gown. You didn’t sack her at all.”

A little smile played about his lips. “You wouldn’t have come if I’d asked.”

Of all the tricks. She couldn’t believe it. “I thought you were furious with me.”

“I was furious with you. For about . . . ten minutes. Perhaps a full quarter hour. Then I came to my senses.” He tugged her forward. “Come. We have a bargain to complete. There’s someone to whom you should be properly introduced.”

Not the Prince Regent, she prayed.

Worse.

He steered her straight toward the Haughfells. All three of them—mother and daughters—were united by the grim sets of their mouths and their refusal to even look at Pauline.

What was Griff playing at now?

“Lady Haughfell.” He bowed. “What a happy coincidence. I know you’ve been longing to further your acquaintance with Miss Simms. And here she is.”

Sheer horror flickered across the matron’s powdered face. “I do not think—”

“But this is ideal. What better time or place? In fact”—he took a dance card and its small attached pencil from the older Miss Haughfell’s hand—“let me write down the key details. Just so there can be no question in the scandal sheets tomorrow. Miss Simms hails from Spindle Cove, a charming village in Sussex. Her father is a farmer, with thirty acres and some livestock.”

As Pauline looked on in amazement, he narrated the entire tale for them. His mother’s kidnapping ploy, their arrival in Spindle Cove. Pauline’s appearance in the Bull and Blossom—sugar-dusted and muddied. His visit to her family’s cottage and their eventual bargain. He spared no detail, but told the story plainly and with good humor. Occasionally, he noted an important fact on the dance card:

Bull and Blossom.

Thirty acres.

One thousand pounds.

“You see,” he said, “I brought Miss Simms to London to thwart my mother’s matchmaking schemes. She was supposed to be a laughable failure. A hilarious joke.”

One of the Misses Haughfells began to giggle. Her mother smacked her wrist with a folded fan.

“No, no,” Griff said. “Do laugh, please. It’s most amusing. A barmaid, receiving duchess lessons. Can you imagine? The best part was the diction training. My mother was forever drilling Miss Simms on her H’s.”

“Is that so?” Lady Haughfell arched a brow. “I don’t suppose she made much progress.”

“Oh, but she did. Show them, Miss Simms.”

Pauline smiled. “Hideous. Ham-faced. Hag.” She looked to Griff. “There. How was that?”

“Brilliant.” He beamed at her.

“Write it down?”

“Of course.” As he scribbled the epithets on Miss Haughfell’s dance card, he went on talking. “But you haven’t heard the funniest bit, Lady Haughfell. See, I thought I was playing a trick on my mother—and all London—but it turns out, the joke was on me.”

The matron stiffened. “Because you have lost what remained of your family’s honor and society’s good opinion?”

“No. Because I fell desperately in love with this barmaid and now cannot imagine happiness without her.” He looked up and shrugged. “Whoops.”

All three Haughfells stared at him in mute, slack-jawed horror. Pauline wished she could have a miniature of their expressions to keep in a drawer forever and pull out on dull, rainy days.

Griff sharpened the pencil stub with his thumbnail. “Let’s make sure to have that down. It’s important.” He spoke the words slowly as he inscribed them. “Desperately . . . in . . . love.”

“Don’t forget the ‘whoops,’ ” Pauline said, looking over his shoulder. “That was the best part.”

“Yes.” He looked up, and his dark gaze caught hers. “So it was.”

They stared into each other’s eyes, utterly absorbed in affection and silent laughter.

The moment was perfect. He was perfect. Teasing, wonderful man.

“Is that a waltz they’re playing?” Griff suddenly asked. He stared at the marked-up card in his hand before handing it back. “Pity your card is full, Miss Haughfell. I suppose I’ll dance with Miss Simms instead.”

He led her to the center of the ballroom and slid one arm about her torso, fitting his hand between her shoulder blades. Together, they joined the waltz.

Almost immediately, other couples began to disappear. One by one, at first. Then two or three at the same time. And the more alone they grew, the less self-conscious she became. Soon it felt positively magical. Here they were, dancing under the full weight of society’s disapproval. And it felt as though the orchestra and canopied ballroom and general resplendence of the setting had all been arranged just for the two of them.

“I suppose I’ve fulfilled my end of the agreement,” she said. “I’m not going to be the toast of London tonight, nor any night.”

“No. You won’t.”

With that, she thought surely Griff would put a stop to the dance, but he didn’t. He just twirled her into turn after turn.