“Jones, don’t be a bore,” Priya said.
“What? We’re all friends here, aren’t we?” He smirked at Persephone. “You could give my sister lessons, eh?”
She blinked, momentarily astounded at his manners. Then she smiled gently at Ivy. “I am quite certain your sister does not need my help.”
Ivy looked as if she might very much like to crawl under the carpet, thank you very much. Eugene nudged her with his shoulder and sent her stumbling a foot.
“But I should be glad to get to know her better, of course,” Persephone said tightly.
“That means go away, Jones,” Priya added. She turned her shoulder and refused to look at him again until he slunk off, ears red but with a laugh thick with bravado.
“Mind you don’t use all her tricks, sis,” Eugene tossed loudly over his shoulder. “Rather risqué, wouldn’t you say? For a lady, I mean.”
Persephone jammed a petit four into her mouth, sparring herself the need to answer. She had no wish to be ungrateful for the duke’s celebration, truly, but if someone else asked her about Conall in that arch, knowing manner, she might stab herself in the ear with a fish fork.
One more wordabout Persephone in that tone and he was going to plough his fist into some blighter’s face.
She sailed between their comments as if she barely heard them, as if they were utterly boring. But he saw how they affected her, noticed the tightening at the edges of her mouth, the tension in her shoulders. She never defended herself.
It was making him feel quite feral.
He clenched his teeth at Lady Louisa’s arch comments, mostly because he couldn’t toss her into the fishpond as he longed to. She was saved, though she did not know it, by the duke. He stood up, and there was a pause in the conversations, even the birds in the oak trees seemed to quiet. “Where’s my god-daughter and my undeserving godson?”
Conall inclined his head from where he was leaning negligently against a thousand-year-old marble. He’d long ago learned that the trick to being considered a proper rakehell involved kissing a lot of ladies’ gloves and leaning against the furniture. No Corinthian worth his salt stood straight. It was bloody annoying. But effective.
“A toast,” the duke said.
Conall knew the exact moment Persephone realized she could escape the attention of the guests. She stood straighter, her spine rebelling. He envied her that. Her smile was genteel, calm. A lie from end to end.
He moved through the crowd with exaggerated languidness, to draw more of the attention. He felt like a proper idiot, but the slight softening of her shoulders was worth it. When he reached her, he extended his arm with a flourish. “Shall we?” Someone sighed, a fluttery envious sound.
“Do I have to?” Persephone muttered under her breath.
“I’m afraid so.” He grinned at her. She had no idea how adorable she was. He would take her honesty and her reclusiveness and her slightly obsessive determination over any other lady of his acquaintance ten times over. Perfumed, drowning in pearls and diamonds and polite pretty smiles; they were nothing compared to her muttering and usually muddy hem. What a thing to realize, while being watched by dozens of gossips and possibly one murderous traitor.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said hastily, apologetically, as her hand closed over his sleeve.
“I know. It’ll be quick, I promise.”
“I’m sorry. It’s ridiculous that you have to do this. With me, I mean.”
“Percy,” he said, firmly enough that she actually looked at him. Good. “There’s no place else I’d rather be.”
She fought a blush even as her smile turned wry. “I can see why you have the reputation you do,” she said. “You’re very good at all that smoldering.”
He wanted to argue with her, to set her straight but this was hardly the time or place. “I practice in the mirror at least an hour every day,” he said instead.
She snorted a little laugh, and he felt an unreasonable amount of pride that he’d made her do so with so many eyes upon them. The duke smiled at them both as he lifted his glass in a salute.
“Congratulations to you both on this very fine occasion,” he said. “May you know many years of love and happiness. You have my unwavering love and support, as always.” His gaze rested pointedly on the well-known gossips. “And Northwyck, I know I can rely on you to take care of Lady Persephone, who is like a daughter to me.”
“Oh, well done, Pendleton,” Conall murmured. She now had the protection of both his name but also the duchy, clearly and publicly. He lifted his own flute. “She is a true treasure. May I endeavour to deserve her, Your Grace.”
“Oh honestly,” Persephone said through a stiff, polite smile starting to rust at the edges. A lady behind them sniffled into her handkerchief.
“Too much?” he whispered back to Persephone, smiling the same smile he generally reserved for violins.
She only rolled her eyes at him.