perhaps the answer to his stated aversion to loving his future wife had something to do with why he could not initially be found earlier on this evening...?
Ellie knew that many gentlemen of the ton had mistresses, women society dictated they could never marry, but for whom they often held more affection than they did their wives. Perhaps he had such a woman in his life? A low-born woman, or possibly a married woman of the ton, whom he could never make his duchess, but for whom he had a deep and abiding love?
Yes, perhaps that was the explanation for his stated desire for a loveless marriage. ‘Would such a situation not be unfair to your future wife?’ she ventured softly.
He looked down the length of his nose at her. ‘Not if she were made aware of the situation from the onset.’
She gasped. ‘Surely no woman would accept a marriage proposal under such cold and unemotional conditions?’
He gave her a pitying smile. ‘It has been my experience that most, if not all women, would maim or kill in order to marry a duke and love be damned.’
‘But—’
‘The hour grows late, Eleanor, and I believe we have talked on this subject long enough for one evening.’ Justin abruptly placed his empty brandy glass down upon the mantelpiece before turning away, no longer in the least amused by this conversation. ‘If I might ask that you send word to me tomorrow regarding my grandmother’s health?’
‘I—of course, your Grace.’ Eleanor seemed momentarily disconcerted by the abrupt change of subject. ‘Hopefully I might also be able to inform you of her change of mind in regard to my attending the Royston Ball.’
Justin grimaced. ‘You are an optimist as well as a romantic, I see.’
A faint flush darkened her cheeks even as she raised her chin proudly. ‘I would hope I am a realist, your Grace.’
He gave a slow shake of his head. ‘A realist would know to accept when she is defeated.’
‘A realist would accept, even with your generous offer of providing me with a dowry, that I am not meant to be a part of society. Indeed,’ she continued firmly as he would have spoken, ‘I have no ambitions to ever be so.’
Justin raised his brows. ‘You consider us a frivolous lot, then, with nothing to recommend us?’
He found himself the focus of dark-green eyes as Eleanor studied him unblinkingly for several seconds before giving a brief, dismissive smile. ‘There is no answer I could give to that question which would not result in my either insulting you or denigrating myself. As such, I choose to make no reply at all.’
It was, Justin realised admiringly, both a clever and witty answer, and delivered in so ambiguous a tone as to render it as being at least one of the things she claimed it was not meant to be!
Again he found himself entertained by this surprisingly outspoken young woman, to appreciate why his grandmother was so fond of her; Edith St Just did not suffer twittering fools any more gladly than he did himself.
He gave her a courtly bow. ‘I greatly look forward to being your escort to the Royston Ball.’ And it was true, Justin realised with no little surprise; it was diverting, to say the least, to anticipate what this young woman might choose to do or say next!
Her eyes widened in alarm. ‘My escort?’
He shot her a disarming grin. ‘Another request from my grandmother.’
‘But why should I be in need of an escort, when I already reside here?’
Justin smiled. ‘Because a single lady, appearing in society for the first time, must be accompanied by her nearest male relative and guardian, and it appears I have that honour.’
Panic replaced the alarm in those deep-green eyes. ‘Everyone would stop and stare, and the ladies would gossip speculatively behind their fans if I were to enter the ballroom on the arm of the Duke of Royston!’
‘I believe that to be the whole point of the exercise, Cousin.’
‘No.’ Eleanor gave a decisive shake of her head, several red curls fluttering loosely about her temples as she did so. ‘If I am to be forced to attend, as you believe I will be, then I absolutely refuse to make such a spectacle of myself.’
He raised haughty brows. ‘Even though you will have the honour of being the first young woman whom the Duke of Royston has ever escorted anywhere?’
She looked startled for a moment, but recovered quickly. ‘That only makes me all the more determined it shall not happen.’
Justin’s smile widened at her stubborn optimism. ‘I do not believe there is any way in which you might prevent it—other than your possibly falling down the stairs and breaking a leg before then!’ He laughed in earnest as he saw by Eleanor’s furrowed brow that she was actually giving the suggestion serious consideration. ‘Would it really be such a bad thing to be seen entering the ballroom on my arm, Eleanor?’ he chided softly as he crossed the room to stand in front of her. ‘If so, then you are not in the least flattering to a man’s ego.’
‘I do not believe your own ego to be in need of flattery,’ Ellie murmured huskily, totally disconcerted by Justin’s sudden and close proximity. Indeed, she could feel the warmth of his breath ruffling those errant curls at her temple.
‘No?’ Long lean fingers reached up to smooth back those curls, the touch of his fingers light and cool against the heat of her brow.
Ellie swallowed before attempting an answer, at the same time inwardly willing her voice to sound as it normally did. ‘How can it, when you are the elusive but much-coveted prize of the marriage mart?’
She sounded only a little breathless, she realised thankfully, at the same time as she knew her disobedient knees were in danger of turning to water and no longer supporting her.
‘Am I?’ A smile tilted those sculptured lips as those lean fingers now trailed lightly down the warmth of her cheek.
Her throat moved as she swallowed before answering. ‘Elusive or much coveted?’
‘Either.’
Ellie found she was having trouble breathing as his fingers now lingered teasingly close to, but did not quite touch, the fullness of her lips. Suddenly she possessed both dry lips and a throat she necessarily had to moisten before attempting to speak again. ‘This is a ridiculous conversation, your Grace.’
‘Ah, once again you seek to put me firmly in my place with the use of formality,’ he murmured admiringly.
‘I do no such thing!’ Ellie attempted to rally her indignation—not an easy task when the soft pad of the duke’s thumb was now passing lightly across her bottom lip, and sending rivulets of excitement to the tips of her breasts and an unaccustomed warmth to gather between her thighs. ‘Your Grace—’
‘Justin,’ he correct softly. ‘Or Cousin Justin, if you prefer.’
‘I do not,’ she stated firmly, knowing that if she did not stop his teasing soon she would end up as a boneless puddle at his highly polished, booted feet. ‘It is late, and I— Perhaps there is some—someone anxiously awaiting your returning
