How to Dance With a Duke by Manda Collins

in evening dress the Duke of Winterson was magnificent. His clothes weren’t showy like those of the dandies. They were elegant. His black coat was offset by a silver waistcoat, its embroidered threads echoing the glinting ruby in his cravat. In deference to his injury, he leaned on an ebony walking stick, its head topped with a silver ornament.
    As if sensing her eyes on him, he looked up and their eyes met. Just as she had that morning. Cecily felt a thrill low in her belly. Annoyed by the blush rising in her cheeks, Cecily looked at her hands, and saw the three words on the dance card. Smile. Bat. Tilt.
    Of course! It was a primer for flirtation.
    Cautiously, like a toddler taking her first steps, she repeated the words in her head before putting them to use. She smiled, though it felt like more of a grimace. Maintaining the expression, she blinked. Rapidly. Then, still smiling, she tilted her head to the side, just as she had seen Amelia do countless times.
    Her quarry stared for a moment. Then, a hint of amusement on his lips, he raised one black brow, and lowered his head in a slight bow. Not enough to draw attention to himself, but certainly enough for her to see.
    It worked! Sort of.
    Their little scene was ended when a pair of simpering debutantes crossed in front of her, blocking her view. Just as well, Cecily thought. She wasn’t quite sure what came after “tilt.”
    *   *   *
    Still, she was eager to try out the technique on the dandies. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped forward.
    “Dear me,” lisped he of the peacock vest. “I feel as if I should know you, my dear, but I’m da … er, dashed if I can remember where we’ve met. I can’t imagine I would forget a f—a face like yours. Lord Marcus Fulton, at your service.”
    He executed a perfect bow and kissed the air above her hand before she even knew she’d extended it.
    “Pay no attention to this blackguard, m’dear,” said the chestnut-haired gentleman with the splendid cravat. “I believe it is I you came to slay with your expressive eyes.” He took her hand and elbowed Fulton none too gently out of the way.
    “Sir Thomas Ashcroft,” he crooned, making sure to meet her eyes as he hovered over her hand. “The pleasure is all mine, my lady.”
    Cecily was momentarily at a loss for words. Being at the center of such scrutiny was both exhilarating and unsettling. But remembering the three little words, she smiled, batted, and tilted and was gratified to see that they seemed pleased with the effort.
    “Pay these two fools no heed, Miss Hurston,” the third gentleman—he of the golden hair and lacy cuffs—said, stepping forward. “They haven’t the combined manners of a pair of pigeons.”
    Without appearing to do so, he somehow managed to cut out his two friends, and before she could even wonder how he’d known her identity, he had taken her gloved hand in his. “I’m sure you don’t remember me, Miss Hurston, but I’m Lord Alec Deveril. We met at the Symington musicale several weeks ago.”
    Of course she remembered him, Cecily thought with an inward laugh. He was one of the most handsome men in the ton. And if that hadn’t been enough, Juliet had been enamored of the man ever since he rescued her from a horse that had gotten away from its rider in the park some weeks back. She could speak of little else for weeks afterward.
    But the most salient reason Cecily had for remembering Lord Alec Deveril had nothing to do with his handsome looks or his kindness to Juliet. He was, in fact, the first name penciled onto the pilfered dance card, and a prominent member of the Egyptian Club.
    She smiled, batted, and tilted.
    He smiled back. Lovely!
    “Of course I haven’t forgotten you, Lord Deveril,” she said. A sudden fear that she’d not be able to carry out her ruse gripped her. There was no reason on earth for Deveril to forget he’d promised the first dance to Amelia Snowe; he seemed perfectly sober. Still, this was her only