A Bet On Hearts [Romantic Comedy]

Chapter 23: Her Duke, A Libertine

October 1811

Leopoldine Langdon savoured the unfolding event, though it would have pleased her even more were it not for her son's antics. Seizing a rare moment alone with him, she drew him aside and studied his countenance closely, her gaze betraying a mother's concern.

"I cannot condone your actions," she remarked sternly, her tone tinged with disappointment.

"Pray, Mama, what actions do you speak of that seem to darken your spirits?" Roy inquired with a hint of sarcasm, his brows arching.

"Do not act a fool," his mother admonished sharply. "Cease this charade of interest in Miss Whitcombe at once. I did not raise a rake who toys with a lady's affections and makes promises he has no intention of keeping!"

Royston sighed softly and fought the urge to roll his eyes. "My dearest mama, I assure you, Miss Whitcombe and I share a pleasant acquaintance, nothing more. I've given her no cause for false hopes. Our recent conversation revolved around the quality of the cuisine here, and I must admit, I couldn't in good conscience promise her that the fare at my estate would surpass it. Our cook appears to have had a career in bootmaking before wielding a ladle. However, it seems the young lady has developed a fondness for me, though I cannot guarantee that our paths won't lead to matrimony."

Polly shook her head at her son's audacity. "I can only hope that when the time comes, you'll stand up for what's right and prevent a grave injustice from occurring."

With those words, she gracefully took her leave, leaving her son to contemplate the ominous tone that lingered in the air. Polly remained resolute in her decision to distance herself from Roy and Mina, redirecting her attention to the duke who had shown a keen interest in her. If either of the young people became ensnared in scandal, or perhaps both... well, that would be their own doing, and they would face the consequences accordingly, employing a swift rectification.

Later, after the afternoon repast, Polly found herself alone with Ciarán behind the locked door of the drawing room. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he observed her furrowed brow. She would not expect him to withdraw the key from the keyhole to grant them the utmost and uninterrupted privacy – daring proposals were one thing, but this...

"You should exercise more restraint in your behaviour," she remarked, her tone tinged with reproach, but his smirk only deepened.

"Nothing pleases me more than when my quarry unknowingly steps into my carefully laid snare," he replied with a hint of amusement.

He moved closer, his hand poised to touch Polly's cheek, but she grew flustered and turned away from him.

"Indeed, it appears I am but prey in your eyes," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Polly, I find great enjoyment in our conversations," Ciarán began, his voice genteel and composed. "Yet, whenever I attempt to draw closer to you and be more intimate, you seem to retreat. Then, just as suddenly, you return, igniting a fire within me, only to withdraw once more. Such a game might have provided me with amusement in my younger years, leading me to seek entrance to your chamber and claim you as mine..."

A shiver of pleasure coursed through Polly as she felt his hand upon her lower back.

"You're an enigma to me, Polly, " the duke continued, "yet I can sense a young lass that's beneath that façade, yearning to break free from constraints and indulge in pleasure... but the old woman restrains her out of fear. What, then, do you propose to do about it?"

As she remained silent, he gently guided her with his hand still resting on her back.

"You maintain a curiously quiet demeanour, my dear," he continued in a soft tone, fixing his gaze with hers. "I perceive a hint of apprehension in those captivating eyes of yours – is it still a matter of distrust towards me, or... a lack of trust in yourself?"