To Win a Widow - Alexa Aston Page 0,6

around. Heaven forbid that the ton learn that she tried to help Dez and Anna elope and got caught up in the crossfire. Her father was always so concerned about the family name and wouldn’t want it tainted by the knowledge that his young son had tried to run off to Gretna Green with his neighbor’s eighteen-year-old daughter. Just look at how Torrington had abandoned his own sister for years. Until he needed Mathilda. Dalinda wondered if once her father washed his hands of his daughter he would do the same to his sister.

“Yes, my lord,” she said, not wanting to bother with conversation.

The earl’s eyes gleamed. “Well, I must say that you are looking better than ever.” Then he licked his lips and she thought she might be ill.

“Would you do me the honor of dancing the opening number with me?”

“Yes,” she responded succinctly and he signed his name to her card.

“Very well,” he said, a satisfied smile crossing his face. “I will see you shortly.”

As he turned to walk away, Dalinda was suddenly swarmed by a good number of bachelors, all vying for her attention and begging for a dance. She turned her dance card over to them, bile rising in her throat at the prospect of not being allowed to wed someone of her own choosing and close to her own age.

The musicians began tuning their instruments and Lord Smothe appeared again. He placed her hand on his sleeve and led her onto the dance floor. Her flesh crawled at his touch. They danced what had to be the longest Scottish reel imaginable. By the end, he was huffing loudly and his face was so red that she doubted he would last the evening. She didn’t want to wish death upon anyone. But if the earl died, it would be ever so convenient for her.

“Your father wishes us to have supper with him,” Smothe told her as he led her from the floor.

“I have already promised the supper dance to another,” she said. “It is understood that I should dine with my partner.”

The old man grabbed the dance card attached to her wrist with a ribbon and frowned. “Hmm. You’ll simply have to tell him you are otherwise engaged.” He chortled, amused by his play on words, thinking her unaware of the situation.

Lord Smothe captured her hand and kissed it, almost causing her to gag. “Until later, my lady.”

Dalinda couldn’t stand being in the ballroom anymore. The press of people. The swirl of colors. The heat from too many being in too small a space. She had to escape.

Turning, she fled the ballroom. She thought to go to the retiring room but couldn’t bear the thought of being asked about her recent illness and recovery. Or where Anna might be. Everyone knew the two of them to be inseparable.

Instead, she rushed down the hall until she couldn’t hear music anymore. She paused in front of a door and decided to go inside. She needed time alone to think.

Hurrying into the room, she closed the door behind her. A cheery fire burned in the grate at the far corner of the room. Moving toward it, Dalinda held out her hands, trying to warm herself from the cold dread which filled her.

“I won’t do it,” she said stubbornly. “I won’t let him ruin my life.”

Then the tears came, tears which had threatened to flow ever since Aunt Mathilda revealed what tonight held in store. Dropping to her knees, Dalinda wept copiously, her sobs racking her body.

“It’s so bloody unfair,” she said aloud.

A hand appeared before her face, holding a handkerchief. Though startled, she grabbed at it, mopping her eyes.

“Thank you,” she murmured, afraid to look up and see who had caught her at such a weak moment.

“You are most welcome,” a deep voice said.

Dalinda shot to her feet.

Standing beside her was the Duke of Gilford.

Chapter Three

“Your Grace? I am so very sorry,” she apologized. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” the duke said, a twinkle in his eyes. “You should be dancing, Lady Dalinda.”

“You . . . you know my name?”

He frowned. “Were we not introduced earlier this evening? Why, it couldn’t have been an hour ago that you went through my receiving line.”

“Yes, but . . . you’re a duke,” she sputtered.

“I am,” he agreed pleasantly. “One who happens to possess an excellent memory for both names and faces and linking the two together.” He tilted his head, studying her a moment. “I fear you are all out of