To Marry The Duke by Julianne MacLean Page A

felt like her legs were going to give out beneath her. She longed to talk to him tonight. Just to be close enough to see the depths in his eyes and the smoothness of his lips. To hear the sound of his voice as he spoke her given name.
    A few moments later he was there beside her, tall and suave, greeting her mother and the banker they’d been conversing with. After the appropriate light discourse, the duke said to Beatrice, “Would you permit me, madam, to steal your daughter away for a moment or two? I would like to introduce her to my younger sister, who is here this evening with my mother, the duchess. My sister wishes to make Sophia’s acquaintance.”
    Beatrice’s face lit up like an exploding gas lamp.
    “Not at all, Your Grace. I’m sure Sophia would be delighted to meet your family.”
    He nodded and offered his arm, and Sophia slid hers around it. They began to cross the crowded room together.
    “I’m glad you came,” he said quietly to her. “I was hoping you would.”
    “I was hoping you would, too.”
    She could have said so much more: that she’d been unable to think of anything but him since they’d parted beneath the portico, and that she wished he would pull her into his arms and kiss her right here, and end this painful, frustrating feeling of “apartness.”
    They approached the young lady he had smiled at at the Weldon ball—the lovely dark-haired girl in the cream-colored dress. Tonight, she wore a becoming shade of blue. So she was his sister. A wave of relief moved through Sophia.
    James touched his sister’s arm. “Lily, may I present to you Miss Sophia Wilson, of New York. Miss Wilson, this is Lady Lily Langdon.”
    Sophia offered her hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lady Langdon.”
    James leaned in very close and whispered so no one else could hear. “The correct form of address is Lady Lily.”
    The feel of his hot breath in her ear sent gooseflesh up her entire left side.
    “Lady Lily,” she amended, noticing that she did not feel the least bit patronized, or that James had been condescending. On the contrary, she felt rather grateful, as if he were on her side and wished only to help her.
    “Please, call me Lily,” the young woman said.
    They both smiled, and Sophia suspected that if she had the good fortune of becoming better acquainted with the duke’s young sister, she would come to like her very much.
    “I do love your gown,” Lily mentioned, and they talked about some of the new fashions while James stood by, listening.
    “Shall we all go out to the buffet table and see what is there?” Lily suggested. “I’m feeling quite famished suddenly.”
    “I’d like that,” Sophia replied. She followed Lily and was pleased that James was coming, too.
    They made their way through the crowd to the long table clothed in white linen and topped with decorative dishes and an Epicurean delight of finger foods. Scalloped oysters, pastry puffs filled with lobster salad, and fresh, colorful sliced fruit and grapes were carefully arranged on silver platters and spilling over the rims of huge china bowls. There were cakes and candies and fancy biscuits iced with butter cream, and sugar sculptures towering in the middle as immaculate centerpieces. Sophia, James, and Lily moved around the table, sampling and talking and laughing, and Sophia wished this night would never end.
    They moved into a smaller drawing room that was less crowded, and Lily and Sophia sat down on a sofa at the far end. James chose a chair opposite them. Beyond them was the conservatory—visible on the other side of yet another hall—all lit up and looking like a great jungle of leafy greens.
    The three of them sat and talked, and Sophia sensed a mild tension between Lily and James, a few looks of annoyance from Lily, the odd contradictory opinion. She wondered if they might have argued over something recently.
    Two young ladies walked into the room and Lily recognized them. “Oh, look, it’s Evelyn and