Chapter 7
This collar was stifling, but Cash shouldn’t be surprised. He’d endured more than a few of these excruciating evenings since the Dumpkins house party had begun, each one more boring than the last. Not for the first time, he damned himself for agreeing to Matthew’s demand to find a new wife.
He didn’t want a new wife. He wanted Athena.
No. Thinking of her this evening will not help you.
Even though she was the one making him so miserable. If he hadn’t spent the afternoon naked in her arms, showing her with his body exactly how much she’d come to mean to him, then perhaps this blasted formal attire wouldn’t seem quite so confining.
The memory of her laugh, her smile…it was going to be all he could think of as he danced with whatever young miss the Countess of Dumpkins threw at him this evening.
Why in damnation had he agreed to this? Surely the Countess would understand if he bowed out one week and sent his regrets.
Of course she would; the woman was almost comical in her attempts to impress him.
She wanted the bragging rights associated with an important duke making a marriage match at her party.
But rather than encouraging him, this summer had taught Cash he didn’t want one of the ladies at the Dumpkins party. He wanted a woman who could laugh easily and accepted his son as her own. One who made him want to forget his duties, rather than hide in them.
You’re thinking of her again, aren’t you?
Well, why not?
Grimacing, Cash resisted the urge to tug at his collar again and tried to focus on whatever the local laird was saying to the third man in their little group.
Luckily, the man’s son—wasn’t he the Viscount Blabloblal?
—was offering up all the necessary responses, which covered Cash’s abysmal lack of manners.
You’re going to have to tell Matthew you don’t want to marry.
That actually wasn’t entirely true. The last month had just helped him remember what he did want in a companion, wife or not.
He should’ve asked Athena to be his mistress when he had the chance.
Tomorrow.
He’d meet her and Callan at the river tomorrow, and he’d ask her then. He’d have the cook pack a special picnic—he’d learned over the weeks that Athena had a sweet tooth—and he’d wait until the lads were in the water, and he’d ask her then.
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. Most men considered jewels and townhomes when planning to engage a new mistress, but here he was thinking of sweet cream and pastries and the summer sun.
But first, he had to get through this evening. Oh well. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d danced one dance with a debutante then bid his farewells to the hostess, would it?
Honestly, not all of the young ladies were bores.
There were a few that were too…bubbly for his tastes, which made him feel ancient.
A few were pleasant enough but were far too interested in other male guests for Cash to assume they were actually interested in him, which bothered him not one whit.
Now that he considered it, Blabloblal—the man he was supposed to be listening to, damnation—was currently engaged to one of those young ladies.
But he just wasn’t interested in any of the young ladies paraded in front of him thus far, despite his mother’s best attempts to see him paired off. In fact, he agreed with Athena that most of Society had their heads stuck up their—
You’re thinking of her again.
Blast!
It was likely bad form to be thinking of one’s soon-to-be-doxy while impassively eyeing the buffet of marriage-minded young misses spread out on the dance floor.
I thought you decided not to marry?
Scowling once more, Cash didn’t even bother to curtail his movement as he lifted his hand to rub at his temples. Did he care if his companions thought him rude? No. He was often thought of as rude, but dukes were allowed to be rude.
“What do you say, Cashard?”
Blabloblal’s question, asked with a faint smirk, jerked Cash’s attention back to the conversation, and let him know the other man knew he wasn’t paying attention. Luckily, the viscount had better manners than he did; enough to take pity on Cash and re-frame the query.
“I was just commenting to my father that the Countess has put together a stellar crop of young offerings, eh? And as near as I can tell, the house party has been a success.”
“That’s right,” grunted Laird Oliphant. “Many of the girls have found themselves fiancés, which is apparently the point.”
Although Cash didn’t respond, Blabloblal chuckled dutifully. “Seeing as how I was lucky enough to be one of those ‘found fiancés,’ I cannae say I complain. I will be forever grateful the Countess put on such an affair.”
“Melanie—I mean, Lady Dumpkins—loves to host this revel,” the laird—who was apparently on more intimate terms with the Countess than Cash had realized—admitted.
“She is proud that she can take credit for matching young ladies to the right men.” He leaned closer and winked over the rim of his champagne flute.
“Where ‘the right men’ means men with funds and titles, of course.”
“Of course,” murmured Cash, his gaze sweeping the room, wondering how quickly he could make his excuses.
Blabloblal didn’t seem to be in a hurry, however.
Why should he, when the lovely young woman he was engaged to—that was her, over there in the red, chatting happily with the book-loving wallflower, although Cash would be damned if he could recall either of their names—was sending Blabloblal flirtatious smiles?
“I am just pleased my Tiffany had a reason not to go hunting for ‘the right man’ before she found me,” Blabloblal chuckled. “She kenned who she wanted from the beginning, just took us awhile to get around to it. We can weather the scandal.”
“Aye, and speaking of scandal, my daughter’s one of the ones no’ matched. Ye’re dancing with her tonight, Cashard.”
The man’s wry tone, and the fact he addressed Cash directly, had the younger man’s eyes narrowing as he tried to pick back through the previous minutes’ conversation. Something about a scandal, wasn’t it?
“Really?” he murmured noncommittally, then turned to place his almost-untouched flute on the tray of a passing footman. “How delightful.”
While Blabloblal snorted quietly, the laird turned toward the large double doors. “I ken she’s here, because I dragged her myself. But she’s avoiding her obligations, and likely found a friend to— Och, here they are!”
Cash glanced once across the room at the gaggle of females who’d just entered. Gaggle? Herd? Flock?
A flock of women?
A swarm? A horde of women? A brood?
No, a murder of women.
Cash straightened, tugging on his waistcoat, although he knew he looked impeccable. Best to get this over with…
Slowly, as if his mind couldn’t quite accept what his eyes had glimpsed, his gaze was dragged back across the ballroom to where the flock-gaggle-horde-murder was pulling a reluctant member toward him.
She was wearing orange, which really wasn’t the most ideal color for a woman with hair her shade, was it?
Strangely, that was the only thought Cash’s mind seemed capable of producing at that moment.
She was lovely, and she was wearing orange, which didn’t make sense. No red-head should have the right to look lovely in orange, but she did. She looked lovely in that dress.
She looked even better out of that dress, Cash knew.
Hell, she looked remarkable in one of those ridiculous swimming costumes, and in a simple blouse and skirt, and in—
He blew out a breath, seeing the exact moment she looked up and realized who he was.
“Your Grace, may I present Lady Athena Oliphant, daughter of the Earl of Oliphant.” The Countess of Dumpkins became flustered, and leaned closer to her charge. “Or should I call him Laird of the Oliphants?”
Still holding Cash’s gaze, Athena murmured, “He is Laird Oliphant, but aye, an earl as well.”
“Oh, excellent!” The older woman bustled back into position.
“Athena, dearest, this is the Duke of Cashard— Blast, no. I did that wrong, did I not? Oh, do forgive me, Your Grace. You would think I would have this introduction business down after so many times.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head, tugging Athena closer with her hold on the younger woman’s arm.
“Lady Athena, His Grace the Duke of Cashard.”
Would the woman ever cease prattling?
Judging from Athena’s wide-eyed, slightly panicked stare, she was as surprised as he was at finally learning one another’s full names and titles, and he decided to put them both out of their misery.
With a perfunctory bow, he murmured, “My lady,” and offered her his arm.
As the Countess bustled off happily to stand beside the laird, Athena carefully lifted her hand to rest against his forearm. Her touch was so slight, he barely felt it, and knew she was poised to flee. But even under her gloves, and the layers of fine wool he wore, he could feel her warmth.
Had felt her warmth. That very afternoon when she’d been wrapped around him.
When he’d been inside her.
The orchestra started, and of course, it was a waltz. It was never not a waltz, although to be fair, he suspected the Countess planned it accordingly so he’d have the most time to spend touching her eligible young misses.
But Athena stood stiffly in his arms; her hand barely brushing his shoulder and her hazel gaze locked past his left ear. He could see the sparks in her eyes and knew she was angry.
As angry as he was shocked?
His movements mechanical, he began to dance. This was a far cry from a proper waltz, and Cash wouldn’t be surprised if he began to trip over his own feet. Or her ridiculous gown.
It wasn’t until after their first turn that she finally broke the silence, still not looking at him. “Cashard,” she hissed accusingly.
And he understood her complaint. “If I were to have friends, they would call me Cash.”
“No’ Adolphus?” Her angry eyes flicked once to his, then away. “I assumed ‘Cash’ was yer last name.”