The One With the Duke’s Wayward Ways (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #38)

Chapter 1

Pru

“What are you looking at?”

Pru eyed her twin knowing she couldn’t escape the question, much to her chagrin. However, if there was any chance the inquiry had been made less out of curiosity and more to make conversation, a vague answer should suffice. So, on that hopeful assumption, she went with, “That man.”

“Which one? The one over there laughing?” Temperance tilted her head in the general vicinity of Pru’s assessing stare.

“More like, the one making all of them laugh.” The man to whom she referred was surrounded by—practically—a gaggle of men. She was unfamiliar with most of them, including the object of everyone’s attention. But my was he magnetizing to look at.

“Mmmmm,” her twin hummed appreciatively and raised teasing brows at her. “He’s quite handsome.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” His chiselled jaw. Sharp, attentive eyes.

Shoulders to fill out his jacket. Dark carefree locks.

Large hands. With one ring, glinting in the candlelight.

Pru ignored her twin’s skeptical glance and verbalized her initial assessment of the man.

“To intentionally amuse others is always a desirable trait to find in a man.”

Tempy snorted, “Knowing you, you have a list of all the traits you desire in a man.”

“Of course, I do. Don’t be ridiculous. How else would I find a husband?”

“Love?” Tempy cooed. “Your heart.”

With a scoff, Pru plowed on. “Just look at all the men watching him. Waiting for him to speak. Expecting him to make them laugh.”

“And he’ll do it, too.”

“I know.” Pru cast her sister a side look. “He’s like you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Charming. You’re very charming, Tempy. When you want to be.”

“You have to say complimentary things like that to me. I’m your sister,” Temperance said, wrapping her arm around Pru’s waist in a short embrace.

“I wouldn’t say that about our other sisters Fidelia or Verity.”

“That’s because they’re not that charming.” Tempy winked.

“My point exactly. It’s a rare and admirable trait to have.” Pru scratched softly behind her ear and then tucked her hands into a folded clasp at her waist. “I’m not charming either. I can’t enthrall a group of people and make them laugh.”

“Perhaps not. But do you want to?”

Pru shrugged. “At most, I can give them a series of interesting facts.”

“You are quite knowledgeable when it comes to books. I’m sure you could enrapture the masses.”

“If by masses you mean, men, then I’d have to disagree. But if by enrapture you mean, pester, I could capitulate."

“Oh, Pru. You’re far too critical of yourself.”

“I’m realistic—oh my, do you see that?” Pru pointed to a piece of fabric dragging on the ground affixed to a woman’s slipper. Or perhaps it was the hem of her skirts.

Tempy giggled. “Leave it. Corisande deserves something embarrassing to happen to her.”

“Oh, but I can’t. That is quite ungainly. I would hate for that to be me and have no one do anything.”

“Well, I would never let you walk around like that. I’m your sister, and I’d always be looking out for you.”

“Of course you would.”

“But this is Corisande…why are we friends with her again? She’s certainly more of an enemy given her proclivity to gossip.”

“Some people you just have to play nice with, no matter how unkind they are in return.”

“I suppose…” Tempy ruminated, clearly unconvinced.

Corisande was making her way through the crush at the ball with the fabric napkin stuck to her skirts and no one was doing a thing about it.

“So far it seems as though no one has noticed. I’ll be quick about it.

” Pru took a few steps toward her, but just as she lifted her toe to step down on the napkin, Corisande was on the move again.

“Corisande,” she called out in hopes of stopping her. The task of extricating the napkin would be so much easier if she wasn’t working with a moving target.

Even though Pru was quite certain she had spoken with enough volume to catch Corisande’s attention—but not with too much volume so as to make a scene—her frenemy neither glanced over her shoulder nor showed any indication of slowing down.

She was headed straight toward the huddle of men laughing at the one charmer in the middle of them.

Oh botheration.

But then, to give Pru the perfect opportunity and save her from this clumsiness, Corisande stopped to snag a drink from a passing tray.

Pru picked up the pace and lifted her toe as discreetly as she could, but where she intended to land on fabric appeared as a hard floor.

Corisande was already on the move again.

In slight exasperation, Pru turned back to look at Tempy, only to find her sister’s fan covering what she could only assume was stifled laughter.

But she was in it now. Really, as much as she didn’t particularly like Corisande, she also didn’t wish any awkwardness upon her.

Women had such a hard time as it was to snag the right husband for themselves, and it was always so competitive.

Pru wanted to add nothing to the typically hostile forces between her fellow women.

One last chance arose as she hurried—as quickly as she dared—behind Corisande. An acquaintance stopped Corisande in a pleasant greeting, and Pru stole her chance. With all the agility she possessed—which truly wasn’t much—she raised her slippered toe and pounced on the napkin.

To which, her toe said, No, this is not the way we normally take a step. And then slid forward further under Corisande’s hem. And of course, being as it was her toe, her leg followed, as did the rest of her body.

Bumping into Corisande hadn’t been the plan. Nor had spilling ratafia on Corisande’s gown been the plan.

Alas, life was making plans without her. Again.

“Oh my!” Corisande gasped. “What have you done?” She turned angrily toward Pru.

“I’m sorry. I was—”

“My gown is ruined.”

“The napkin—” Pru pointed lamely to the ground.

“I’ll find one myself. You’ve done enough.” And she stormed off, most likely to the retiring room. A gaggle of women behind her. Where they came from, Pru didn’t know. Why none of them had spotted the pet napkin, she also didn’t know.

But she did know two things.

One. The pet napkin, as it were, was now masterless. Laying innocently on the ground.

Success had never felt so hollow.

Two. The laughter from the charmer’s group had only grown louder since she last took note of it.

And that’s when she looked up.

She caught his eyes. Staring directly at her. Her heart stopped. Her stomach rioted. Her mouth dried out, leaving space for air. Pure air—but solid like a rock—resided in her mouth, while perspiration was making a run for it like her body had the plague.

And that’s exactly when everything changed.