To the Duke’s eyes, Ivy was elegance personified; her delicate green gown emphasising her colouring, yet doing so in a subtle way that could not be condemned as garish. His gaze rested on her as she moved quietly to their side.
“A personal welcome, Miss Ivy?” He lifted his brows with a smile. “You are very kind.”
She nodded, dropping a curtsey. “Not really, your Grace. I’m here to warn you both.”
“Oh? About what?”
Prudence blinked. “Is everything all right, Ivy?”
“It was…until the Streatfords arrived.”
“Damnation.” An oath was surprised from the lips of the usually controlled Duke.
“I have a few other words I might also suggest, your Grace.” Hobson arrived with a bow, ready to accept their outerwear. “Sadly, my suggestions as to a solution to the matter in question were turned down by my mistress.”
His face revealed little, but the Duke managed not to chuckle. He could only imagine some of the inventive ways Hobson might have found to manage the Streatfords.
“I thank you for your enthusiasm, Hobson. And I appreciate the thought.” He leaned forward, turning away from the ladies. “I might just call upon you later, if matters degenerate.”
Hobson lowered his head respectfully, spine rigid. “It would be my honour, your Grace.”
“I take it the dishonourable Albert is here too?” Prudence’s lips curved into a very respectable sneer.
Ivy nodded. “Sorry. Yes, he is. But even now, we’re working on a plan for your protection, Prudence.”
She blinked, then looked intrigued. “You are?”
“With your Grace’s permission,” began Ivy, linking her arm through Prudence’s and leading her toward the ballroom.
“You have it,” he mumbled, following them and trying to hear what Ivy was saying. But the sound of the small orchestra playing a lively waltz masked most of her words, and he sighed, knowing he’d just have to wait and trust that her affection for Prudence would indeed protect her.
As soon as they appeared, three young ladies swarmed them, seizing Prudence and bearing her off with smiles and laughter.
Within moments, she was part of a merry crowd on the far side of the ballroom, and minutes after that she was being swept around the floor in the arms of Matthew Davenport.
“Aha,” smiled Ivy. “The plan has begun.”
The Duke blinked. “And that would be…”
She wrinkled her nose and then chuckled. “At a guess, I would think that it’s to keep Prudence fully occupied with her friends, both for dances and food, thus eliminating any chance of the dishonourable nincompoop from making a nuisance of himself.”
Glancing over the crowd, the Duke glimpsed Lady Streatford, who had apparently observed their arrival. She was rising, clearly drawing a bead on his own person.
“In that case, may I request that you include me in your plan?” He held out his hand to Ivy.
“What?”
“Dance with me, Miss Ivy.” He grabbed her. “Now.”
Understanding flooded her expression. “Of course, your Grace. It would be my pleasure.”
She was in his arms and amongst the dancers with barely a whisper of her gown, sliding to the rhythm, matching his steps and smiling up at him, displaying all the proper charm expected of a well-bred young lady waltzing with a Duke.
Only he could see the imp of mischief dancing in the back of her laughing green eyes. There were several freckles dusting her nose and cheeks, tiny red curls escaping from her smoothed hair, and the curve of her lips accentuated their lush rosy fullness.
He was getting used to his body tightening around this woman, but still found it a shock when he responded to her in a way that was unique in his experience—with what could best be described as a momentary stutter in his heartbeat.
His arms pulled her a little closer. “I enjoy dancing with you, Miss Ivy.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I—er—thank you, sir. I also enjoy these moments. We seem to be well suited, in spite of your height.”
“Or your lack thereof,” he teased.
She weighed that comment. “True. I cannot pretend to be anything other than short.”
“And yet here we are, turning and progressing in perfect step with each other.” He demonstrated the validity of that statement by whirling her into a fast turn.
“Oh my,” she whispered, her eyes glued to his face. “Indeed yes.”
“We must have at least one more dance, so that I may count this evening as a success, in spite of the Streatford threat.”
She blinked, then nodded and eased away from him just a little. It was as if he’d inadvertently reminded her of where they were. He cursed his wayward tongue, but the damage was done.
“Is she watching?” Ivy raised her chin.
“Like a hawk over a mouse,” he answered scathingly. “Damn woman hasn’t taken her eyes off myself or Prudence since we walked in.”
“How can people be like that?” Prudence sighed as they turned to reverse down the length of the ballroom.
He took advantage of her abstraction to pull her back into his arms more closely. “It’s bred into many of them, you know. Raised to believe they’re better than everyone else.”
“You’re not like that,” she answered promptly, then gasped at her own temerity. “Forgive me, that was an appallingly personal comment and quite out of line…” Her cheeks filled with colour.
“I’m taking it as a huge compliment, so don’t you dare apologise.” He smiled down at her. “Any time anyone tells me I’m not like the Streatfords, I am thrilled beyond measure.”
She couldn’t help the laugh his words engendered, and as he saw the delight and amusement flood her expression, something stirred inside him. Something that sent a tremor through him, nearly made him stumble, and took a good portion of the breath from his lungs.
What the devil was that?
Chapter Five
There was no question that Ivy
