She’d widened her eyes until it seemed logical they’d stick that way, begging for the question (The. Question!) with every ounce of her being. Unlike the boor standing at her shoulder, this charming duke, this gallant and utterly wrong rake, knew precisely what a woman wanted.
Was it too much to ask for the unfeeling universe to grant this wish?
The sidewalk and street seemed to stand still around them. Sounds faded away, even the dreary clop-clop-clop of the iron monger’s old cart horse, hauling a load out from the shop’s courtyard. If ever the environs of Mayfair could be said to stop for a deep, hopeful breath, it did at that moment.
And His Grace’s lips turned up, just at the very tips. The gleam in his pale blue eyes brightened and turned mischievous. “If you’ll be there, then I have no compunction whatsoever against requesting your bewitching hand for the first two dances.”
Beryl restrained the delighted squeal. But it surely cost her something ruptured inside. “How delightful! Indeed, yes.” She couldn’t resist another sideways glance.
A strange, mottled shade of brick had worked its way up from Fitz’s perfectly tied cravat and vanished beneath his hat.
There. That would show him she’d not put up with his trifling any longer.
Mischief on Albemarle will be a sequel to Scandal on Half Moon Street. But if you've read Scandal, then you recognized His Grace, didn't you? He's hardly forgettable.
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