Page 137 of The Dueling Duchess

Cecile turned to Whitfield and said, “I’m sorry, but I must—”

“Of course, you must go.” He snagged her hand and kissed the back of it, his eyes on Guy. “We can finish this discussion later, at our leisure.”

Cecile cut him an odd look but didn’t linger.

Once she’d gone out of earshot the baron turned to Guy, a smirk on his handsome face. “Here you are, Darlington. Again. Interrupting and pulling Cecile away for one silly reason or another. Again.”

“She didn’t look too sad to leave you.”

“No, but then she knows I am not an inconstant bounder who will run off and get betrothed to another woman while I am out of her sight.”

Guy would have liked to know how Whitfield had learned about that. Indeed, he would have enjoyed beating an answer or two out of him. But now was neither the time nor place.

“She did not appear to be pleased with whatever you were saying to her, Whitfield; that much was evident to everyone in the ballroom.”

Whitfield returned his glare, his face hard and determined. “Not that it’s any of your affair, but I was offering to make her my wife.”

That gave Guy pause.

He eyed the younger man with grudging respect. “I can’t say that I wish you any luck, Whitfield. But you’ve certainly risen dramatically in my estimation. May the best man win.” Guy turned and made haste toward the retiring room; he needed to find Cecile before she found Marianne and asked—

“Looking for me?” The familiar voice came from inside a small alcove as he passed by.

Guy stopped and met Cecile’s mocking gaze. “Er, I wanted to—”

“I know that Marianne did not need me.”

“And yet you left Whitfield, anyhow?”

“I wanted to get away from Nathan but was not sure how to do so without drawing attention. You just gave me a good excuse.”

Guy smiled.

“Not that you should be proud of yourself for all the fibbing you do.”

“No, ma’am, absolutely not.”

She snorted and shifted, a pained expression flickering across her face.

“What is it?”

“My feet hurt.”

She sounded so angry that Guy chuckled. “That isn’t so unusual. Do you want to find somewhere to sit for a while?”

“What time is it?”

“Just after two.”

“There are still several hours to go, aren’t there?”

“Yes, I’m sure the revelry won’t stop until five or maybe six. But—”

“But?” she prodded.

“We don’t have to stay to the end.”

“What do you want to do?”