Page 30 of Winning Her Duke

“His Grace said you were Scottish as well, but you have no brogue,” she mentioned while attempting to allow her partner to lead.

Lord Stormont, who the duke referred to as Kit gave a bright smile. She’d noticed the man seemed to give his smiles freely, but this close she saw something she’d not noticed before. An undercurrent of pain and perhaps worry.

“Ach, aye, lass,” Kit said, with an exaggerated brogue. “I was born in Scotland, but my mother brought me to England as a boy. It was only when I inherited at thirteen that I returned to Scotland. Graham, Lord Penbrook, and I were friends from Eton before I moved and attended Heriot’s with Hale and Julian.”

“I see. That must have been chaotic at such a young age.”

He shrugged. “We all have pains we must bear in silence.”

“That is very true.” It was strange that all of society forced themselves to hide the slightest struggle, when in truth each and every person struggled.

“And you, my dear, are about to be called on to bear one of the worst pains known to man.”

Gia’s eyes went wide as Kit looked over her head toward the corner of the dance floor.

“His Grace?”

Kit chuckled.

“No. Though he looks fit to be tied. I’m sure I will receive a firm dressing down for dancing too closely or smiling or looking in your general direction. It will not be pleasant, but that is not the grim future I speak of.”

He nodded toward the edge of the dance floor and Gia saw Lord Penbrook waiting with a stern frown.

“I daresay the two of you dancing together will likely result in a boxing match, for neither of you will be willing to give up control.”

Gia laughed. “I’m not afraid. After all, I’ve danced with three surly Scots and lived to tell the tale.”

Kit laughed, perhaps more than the joke required. But she realized what he was doing. Riling up the duke for his entertainment.

“You are all truly the worst friends.”

“That is probably the truth. But we all know we can count on the other when needed.”

Gia swallowed thinking that must be a wonderful comfort.

Kit led her from the floor to hand her over to Lord Penbrook. He bowed with a smile she hadn’t expected given his earlier expression. They lined up for the set and they started the dance in silence. If only it had remained that way.

Rather than the good-natured teasing she’d experienced with Hale’s other two friends, the man he called Graham took a different tactic.

“A word of warning to you, Miss Gia.”

“And what is that?” she asked, her brows pulling together. If he attempted to give her dancing lessons in the middle of the quadrille, she would purposefully step on his toes.

“He doesn’t plan to marry. If this friendship is some elaborate ploy to trap him or—”

“Please let me stop you, Lord Penbrook. I assure you, I am not some diabolical debutante attempting to make myself into the Duchess of Roxburghe. Our friendship is only that. A mutual respect of horses.”

“So you say, but as he is currently glaring at me wishing me to drop dead, I doubt he is thinking of your mutual respect of horses.”

Gia glanced over to see Hale had come closer. From this distance, it was easier to see how his gaze tracked their every movement. Was the man concerned the marquess would do something improper right there on the dance floor? Or was his scrutiny something else?

“I’ve never seen him so enthralled with a woman. If your hope is to deceive him, I would ask you to find another mark. He’s had a difficult life and doesn’t need some chit turning his world upside down.”

“As Lord Stormont and I were discussing during our dance, we all have some pain we carry around. I do believe yours puts you on the offensive, does it not?”

The man pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“Julian said you were a witch.” The man’s lip twitched and Gia thought it might be the closest she would get to earning a smile. Then he turned stoic once more. “Please have a care with him, Miss Gia.”