The Trouble With Being a Duke by Sophie Barnes Read Free Book Online

the point.
    “I can see that I’ve offended you, for which I’m sorry.” He tightened his hold on her. “I only meant that as strict as the rules of Society are, they do tend to be a bit more lax and forgiving in the country.”
    “I see.” Isabella tried to relax. After all, she might as well, because it really was unlikely that her mother and Mr. Roberts would ever find out. She was there to enjoy herself, and she’d been given the opportunity to do so in the company of a duke. Surely she had to be the envy of all the other ladies present, and that thought alone was enough to make her worries slip away. Tilting her head back a little so she could look up at the duke, Isabella said, “What’s the Hampstead move?”
    A slow smile snuck its way across his face while his eyes brightened with boyish mischief. “It’s a means of distraction that my very good friend Mr. Goodard performed for the first time five years ago at the Hampstead Ball—hence the name.”
    “And what does it entail, if you don’t mind my asking.”
    Kingsborough’s smile widened as he swept her past the orchestra. “I’m not so sure it would be wise to tell you.”
    “Why ever not?”
    He dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “Because it would disclose far more about my intentions toward you than I am prepared to at this point.”
    A shiver raced down Isabella’s spine, all the way to the tips of her toes. The man was speaking of intentions now—toward her, no less. The sentiment was certainly flattering, not only because he was a duke but also because she liked him. She couldn’t help herself, really—not just because of his looks, which were so elementally delicious that Isabella wished she could feast her eyes on him forever, but because he didn’t seem aloof or arrogant but rather grounded instead. It was refreshing— he was refreshing—and the carefree way in which he carried himself only served to make Mr. Roberts’s neatly folded handkerchiefs and perfectly groomed hair look so much more ridiculous.
    Isabella bit back a groan. She was meant to marry Mr. Roberts one day. Even if he had yet to propose, the point was clear. He was much too proper to allow himself to become a permanent fixture in her parents’ parlor without eventually doing what everyone had come to expect. All of this—the glistening ballroom and the man whose company she was presently enjoying—would have to end the instant she returned home. She was dancing with a duke, for heaven’s sake! A man so far above her on the social ladder that there was no point at all in making the wish that was starting to form in her mind.
    If only . . .
    “Are you all right?”
    Isabella blinked. How long had she been woolgathering? “Forgive me,” she said, “my thoughts were elsewhere.”
    “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share them with me?” The smile he gave her as he spoke was of the more crooked variety, dimpling his cheeks in a way that made him look terribly roguish.
    For just about the millionth time since making his acquaintance only ten minutes earlier, Isabella felt her heart flutter in her chest.
    Trouble was the word that came to mind.
    She knew that whatever dreams she dared entertain of a man like Kingsborough courting her would remain exactly that—a dream. As regrettable as it was, she would have to be honest if she wished to avoid heartache, or at least as honest as she could be under the circumstances. “Actually, I was wondering what my fiancé would say if he were to discover that I danced with a dashing duke this evening.” There, she’d told him about Mr. Roberts and would now be able to enjoy the rest of the evening with a clear conscience and without worrying that the duke might show more interest in her than he already had. He would do the honorable thing and walk away—she was certain of this.
    But the dance had not yet ended, and rather than let her go, the duke tightened his hold on her and frowned.