Tall, Duke, and Dangerous (Hazards of Dukes #2) - Megan Frampton Page 0,103

wound their way through the guests, dispersing what appeared to be tiny bites of food and the occasional glass of champagne.

There was a string quartet playing quietly in the background, obviously just something to pass the time until the evening’s main event—the reading of the lurid material.

“Mr. Wittlesford will be reading in about an hour,” the baron said, as though privy to Thaddeus’s inner thoughts. He hoped not, actually, since in addition to wondering when the reading would be, Thaddeus was also wondering how early he could leave and still be polite to his hosts.

“Meanwhile,” the baron continued, “we have refreshments and beverages and plenty of other guests. I don’t suppose you have met—”

“Baron!” a lady said loudly. She was about ten feet away, with a few people in between them, but her voice was piercing enough to make Thaddeus wince. Or more specifically, to make him wish he could wince, but he couldn’t, because it would be rude to do so.

“Lady Scudamore,” the baron replied, turning to the lady, who was pushing her way through the crowd, dragging two ladies behind her.

Lady Scudamore was a middle-aged woman with a strong jaw and a commanding figure, even though she was short.

The ladies she had trailing after her, Thaddeus could now see, were younger, both likely in their twenties. The more beautiful of the two wore a bright gown of white satin, her golden hair glinting in the candlelight. The lady had a serene expression, her pale blue eyes looking not at Thaddeus but somewhere over his shoulder.

The other woman was short, with darker hair than the first, strands of it falling onto her face. Rather than staring fixedly in one spot, as the first woman was, her eyes were darting around the room as though she were cataloguing everyone within.

And then her gaze shifted to him, and he saw her look at him openly and brazenly, raking her eyes up and down his body until she settled on his face. There was something so active and engaged in how she looked it was appealing, even though the judgmental part of him thought she was forward.

He didn’t intend to, but he couldn’t help but notice how enticing her figure was; more lush than the other woman, who was slender and perfectly formed. This woman’s bosom was impossible not to notice, the curved white mounds nearly spilling out of her pale blue gown.

He felt an immediate visceral response to her, something so nearly crude he was startled at his reaction. This lady wasn’t someone one would make polite conversation with; she was someone a person would hunger after, making it impossible to speak at all.

This woman was someone he would have to steadfastly avoid.

He liked things and people he could place in their appropriate boxes: soldier, servant, wife. His friends mocked his adherence to efficiency and routine, but it was what made him good at being first a captain and then a duke. Someone who didn’t fit, who made him question his own reactions, was too dangerous to his state of mind.

“Good evening, Baron. Baroness.” The older woman spoke, taking hold of the first lady’s arm and keeping her gaze fixed on Thaddeus.

“Lady Scudamore, a pleasure.” The baron gestured toward Thaddeus. “Your Grace, may I present Lady Scudamore? And her daughters, Lady Jane and Lady Lavinia?”

All three ladies curtseyed, and when they rose, the first lady—Jane, it seemed—still had that serene expression, but Lady Lavinia’s lips had curled into a mischievous smile, revealing a deep dimple in her cheek. Her presence felt like a tangible thing. Probably his immediate and visceral reaction was a blend of desire and envy—he wished he could be as vibrant as she seemed to be. To engage everyone around her with enthusiasm and electricity.

Another item to add to his list, perhaps?

“Good evening, ladies,” Thaddeus said, bowing. “A pleasure to meet you.”

The younger ladies murmured something indistinct in reply, but their voices were drowned out by their mother. “Are you here for the reading? It is our own Percy who is the author.” She leaned forward as though imparting a secret. “Naughty boy, we had no idea he was writing such books.”

Lady Lavinia made a quickly smothered noise as Lady Jane’s cheeks turned bright red.

“Percy Wittlesford is the author of Storming the Castle,” the baron said. “Have you read it?”

Thaddeus shook his head. “No, I don’t get the opportunity to read for pleasure.” And if I did, I wouldn’t read books like those.

“His books are quite—” And the