How to Dance With a Duke by Manda Collins Page B

dancers.”
    “Ah.” Christian took another sip of punch, pulling a face as he did so. “Any dancers in particular?”
    Lucas evaded the question. “What brings you here? I thought you’d rather be run through with a dull sword than attend another ball this season.”
    Christian shrugged.
    “I told m’sister I would attend so she’ll have the assurance that at least one of her dance partners won’t step on her toes. I gather she had a bad time of it with Wolsey last week.”
    Lucas winced in commiseration for Miss Monteith’s toes. John Wolsey was a notoriously bad dancer and a great bull of a man to boot.
    “What about you?” Christian asked, turning the question back on his friend. “I thought you were bent on learning something about Will’s Egyptian expedition. Somehow the Bewle ballroom does not seem the appropriate venue for that.”
    “You’d be surprised,” Lucas said, keeping his eyes fixed on Cecily’s twirling form.
    Christian followed his friend’s gaze and let out a low whistle.
    “Aha,” he said with a nod of appreciation. “Well done. It’s quite sensible of you to focus on Hurston’s daughter. She should be able to learn something from her father.”
    “The man’s been ill since he got back,” Lucas said. “And besides that, he is apparently not keen on her interest in Egyptology. I’ve asked around and it’s said that he refuses to discuss anything of his expeditions with her.”
    “Doesn’t mean he did so this time. People are liable to behave strangely when they know they will soon be shuffling off this mortal coil. Hurston might have confessed all to his daughter in an effort to mend fences.
    “Families are a dashed complicated business,” Christian continued. “Though I still think it’s a canny move on your part to concentrate your energies on the daughter. Not only does she seem to be rather intelligent for a female, but she’s also a ripe little piece. Who would have guessed at the curves hidden under those—”
    Monteith broke off his assessment of Miss Hurston’s charms at Winterson’s low growl.
    “You will not speak in such a disrespectful manner of Miss Hurston again,” the duke ground out, his jaw clenched. “Understood?”
    “Absolutely,” Christian responded, raising a hand in appeasement.
    The two stood glaring at one another in awkward silence until Lucas backed down, and stared back out at the dance floor.
    “What was that?” Christian demanded. “We haven’t tussled over a female since Eton, at least. I had no idea you even knew the lady,” he continued, rubbing a hand over his jaw, as if in contemplation of the uppercut his friend would have delivered. “I meant no disrespect.”
    At Lucas’s raised brow, Monteith shrugged. “Perhaps I meant a little disrespect. But I assure you it was well intentioned. I was simply marking my surprise at her … er…”
    “Her beauty?”
    “Indeed.” Christian clutched at the life rope his friend offered. “I’ve never seen her look so radiant. She’s transformed.”
    Lucas declined to mention the head tilt. Perhaps it was a fluke.
    “I am less interested in the results of her transformation,” he said, “than in the reason for it. Why on earth would a bluestocking who has spent three years firmly on the shelf develop a taste for fashion and a desire to waltz with the most eligible gentlemen of the ton ? It makes no sense.”
    “I wasn’t aware you’d made such a study of Miss Hurston’s habits,” Christian said. “Perhaps she tired of sitting out every dance. I know I’d be driven to drink if I had to spend all my time in conversation with the current crop of wallflowers. And don’t get me started on the chaperones. Ghastly.”
    Lucas acknowledged that his friend had a point.
    “But why tonight?” he asked. “I am not ashamed to admit I’ve never even noticed her before today. I suspect that’s been her goal, to remain unnoticed. She was ejected from the Egyptian Club this