Chapter 7 #2
One moment she had been speaking with Lady Branson near the refreshments table, enjoying a rare stretch of peace, and the next Damien was standing beside her as though he had materialized from thin air.
Again, Seraphine turned her head and eyed him suspiciously.
“You do realize this is becoming alarming,” she said as he calmly accepted a glass of lemonade from a passing servant.
Damien lifted a brow and took a sip before asking, “What is?”
“The way you keep appearing,” she replied.
A faint smirk touched his mouth.
“I walk,” he said.
“No, you stalk,” she teased.
“I am merely… supervising.”
Seraphine let out a long-suffering groan and shook her head. The man had an answer for everything. Unfortunately.
His gaze drifted toward Lord Whickham, who stood some distance away speaking with several gentlemen.
Immediately Seraphine knew she was about to dislike whatever came next.
“Whickham is not suitable,” he said as his gaze drifted towards the gentleman in question.
There it was.
Seraphine folded her arms across her chest and looked up at him with exaggerated patience. “Of course he isn't.”
“He isn't,” Damien replied without the slightest hint of irony.
“What terrible flaw does he possess?” she asked.
Damien took a thoughtful sip of lemonade before answering. “He loses his temper during card games.”
Seraphine blinked at him. “What?”
“He becomes quite irritable.”
“During cards?” she asked. She stared at him for a long moment, waiting for the rest of the explanation. When none came, she said, “That is your objection?”
“It demonstrates poor self-control,” Damien replied, as though he were discussing a matter of grave importance.
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “You cannot be serious, Your Grace.”
“I am entirely serious,” he said with a scowl. “He becomes cross when losing at cards. Nay, he becomes furious.”
“Most gentlemen become cross when losing,” she said. “I fail to see how this affects a marriage.”
Damien looked at her as though she was being deliberately obtuse. “It indicates a temperament problem. He shouted at a deck of cards.”
“How alarming,” she said dryly.
“It is. If something so simple can set him off then he will not be able to keep his temper in check with his wife, or children,” he said.
Seraphine shook her head and continued down the garden path beside him.
The man was infuriating. Every time she thought she had discovered the limits of his absurdity, he somehow managed to surpass them.
Folding her arms across her chest, she shot him a look.
“No candidate survives your inspection.”
“Incorrect,” Damien replied smoothly.
She glanced sideways at him. “Name one.”
“I am working on it. Give me time,” he said.
That answer was enough to make her stop altogether. Turning sharply to face him, she planted her hands on her hips. “So far, your assistance has consisted entirely of frightening away every man who speaks to me.”
Damien looked mildly offended by the accusation. “I frightened away two.”
“You punched a third one,” she said.
“He deserved it, of course,” he said.
With an exaggerated sigh, she resumed walking. “At this rate, I shall become a nun before finding a husband.”
“What do you mean by that?” he asked.
Oh no. I should not have said anything.
“I am merely referring to what happens to spinsters. They become nuns.”
To her surprise, his expression softened. The teasing vanished from his face, replaced by something unexpectedly earnest. “That will not happen to you. I told you I would help.”
The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard. She slowed slightly. “I know.”
“Then trust me to deliver the right gentlemen,” he said quietly.
Trust him to choose for me.
The notion was ridiculous. Unfair. Entirely unreasonable. And yet, disturbingly tempting.
Before she could dwell on it, Damien spoke again. “The evening's soirée.”
She frowned. “What about it?”
“I shall provide three suitable options by then,” he said.
The confidence in his voice was infuriating. And, rather annoyingly, reassuring.
“Fine,” she said at last. Damien laughed quietly before wandering away once more, leaving Seraphine feeling inexplicably unsettled.
As though the conversation had not gone at all as she intended.
The remainder of the afternoon passed pleasantly enough. While guests gathered beneath a shaded terrace for refreshments, Seraphine found herself seated amongst several young ladies.
The conversation began innocently. It quickly became less innocent. Specifically because Damien happened to walk across the lawn.
Lady Hannah spotted him first. “Oh.”
The single syllable carried enough meaning to fill an entire novel. Several ladies immediately turned. Seraphine resisted the urge to do the same. Mostly because she already knew exactly where he was. Not that she had been paying attention.
Obviously.
Lady Katherine sighed dramatically. “How is it possible for one man to look annoyed all the time and still be handsome?”
The ladies erupted into giggles. Seraphine focused hard on her tea.
“He never smiles,” another lady agreed.
“He does,” Hannah said dreamily.
“Rarely,” Lady Katherine agreed with a wistful sigh, lifting her teacup to her lips.
“And that makes it better,” Lady Hannah declared, earning several murmurs of agreement from the others.
Seraphine nearly choked on her tea.
Better? How could that possibly be better?
She lowered her cup and stared at the ladies as though they had collectively lost their senses.
Lady Katherine leaned forward conspiratorially. “The dimples,” she said, placing a hand dramatically over her heart.
Several ladies sighed in unison.
Actual sighs. Good heavens.
“The dimples are most unfair,” Hannah agreed with a laugh. “Completely unfair and disarming.”
Unfortunately, she had noticed the dimples herself. Entirely against her will, of course.
“No, it’s the eyes,” another lady whispered, glancing across the lawn towards Damien as he spoke with a group of gentlemen near the terrace.
“The green ones? Oh indeed,” Lady Katherine said eagerly, leaning forward in her chair.
“Exactly,” the lady replied with an emphatic nod. “Those eyes.”
A fresh round of sighing followed, accompanied by dreamy smiles, and exchanged glances.
Far too much sighing.
She wrapped both hands around her teacup and stared into it as though it might provide an escape.
A library would do. A thunderstorm would do.
At this point, she would happily take either.
“And he is also very intimidating,” she said, lifting her gaze at last.
Several heads turned towards her. Lady Hannah laughed and waved a dismissive hand. “That is part of the appeal.”
Seraphine frowned. “Why?”
“Because,” Hannah said, lowering her voice conspiratorially as she leaned closer, “if he looked at another lady the way he looks at you, she would probably faint.”
Seraphine nearly dropped her teacup. She caught it just in time and stared at Hannah in horror. “What?”
Several ladies exchanged knowing smiles.
“Oh, do not pretend,” Lady Katherine said, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Seraphine replied quickly, setting her cup down before she truly did drop it.
The lie came far too easily. Mostly because she desperately needed it.
Lady Katherine grinned. “The Duke pays rather a lot of attention to you.”
“He does not,” Seraphine said at once.
“He absolutely does,” Hannah countered, folding her arms as though presenting an undeniable fact.
Heat crept steadily into Seraphine's cheeks.
They are ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.
As though beckoned by the conversation itself, Damien glanced in their direction from across the lawn. Their eyes met for the briefest moment.
Immediately, she looked away. Far too quickly. The ladies noticed.
Of course they noticed.
Their laughter followed almost instantly, and Seraphine could feel their amused stares lingering upon her. She forced a polite smile and endured the teasing, though inwardly she wished the ground would kindly open beneath her feet.
Yet beneath the embarrassment lurked an uncomfortable truth she did not wish to examine too closely. She did not particularly enjoy hearing them admire Damien. Every sigh and compliment seemed to irritate her more than it ought.
Which is absurd. Entirely absurd for that seems remarkably close to jealousy.
The Duke of Wexford was arrogant, infuriating, overprotective, meddlesome, and impossible. She ought to be delighted if one of them wished to marry him.
Instead, for reasons she absolutely refused to examine, the thought left a very unpleasant feeling in her chest.
One she pointedly ignored.
Good thing he refuses to marry anyone…including me.