No, she won’t do at all—perfection is boring. I shouldn’t like to be bored with my wife.”
“First, Your Grace, you would need to acquire one.” This, with a pointed look.
“Dear Lady Jillian, I am trying.” The dance was drawing to a close. He had only moments left, and she doubtless would refuse to walk with him if he asked her. “Somehow I suspect that if I were to ask to call upon you, you would refuse me. So I shall not.”
She gave a sigh of relief. “I am sorry to disappoint you,” she said. “But I have no inclination to—”
“Lady Jillian, I believe you have misunderstood,” he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow as he escorted her back toward Lady Ravenhurst. “I meant I did not intend to ask.”
“Your Grace,” she said, her tone laced with annoyance. “I am not seeking a husband.”
“Perhaps not,” he acknowledged. “But then, I haven’t asked you. Yet.” He patted her hand consolingly. “We shall have to see if your opinions can be changed.”
For half a moment her eyes darkened, a shadow of a memory crossing before them. But she set her shoulders and said, quite clearly, “They cannot. I am firm in my convictions, Your Grace.”
“Then testing them will present little trouble, will it not?” He was confused by the tense lines of her face, the sudden clench of her fingers on his arm. “Lady Jillian, I wish only to further our acquaintance. I find you interesting, and I should like to know you better. If you do not wish to wed me, I shall not press you.” He shrugged as if it did not matter terribly much to him. “Perhaps instead you will advise me on what ladies you might deem an acceptable match.”
Relief flickered across her face. She was relieved that he would not press his suit? What sort of woman would turn down a duke if he offered for her? It was beyond imagining. Lady Jillian was a woman of much mystery, and he suspected he would have to unravel it before she would be seduced. He had not expected revenge to be such a chore.
A frisson of shock slid through him as he realized that for a moment he had entirely forgotten his aim. Jillian had made him forget it—she was interesting, and, were she not Westwood’s sister, he might even have liked her.
He could not allow it to happen again. From this moment on she was merely a means to an end, the tool by which he would extract his pound of flesh from Westwood.
Lady Ravenhurst gave a bright smile as they approached. “Your Grace,” she said, with a slight inclination of her head. “You and Jilly looked very well together.”
Had he imagined the huff of displeasure from Lady Jillian? She released his arm, slid away from him as if he had the pox, retreating to Lady Ravenhurst’s side.
“Lady Jillian,” he said, “I thank you for the dance.”