The Duke's Twin novel Chapter 6

"I do believe the duke is interested in you, Becca," Lydia announced the following morning, a merry twinkle in her eyes. They both had come to breakfast early and were seated in the duke's fine dining room, surrounded by portraits of the serious-looking men and women who made up the Wiltshire bloodline.

Rebecca reached for a piece of toast as she tried to quell the sudden excitement rushing through her veins. The duke might actually be interested in her?

"That's nonsense, Lydia. You know full well they both are entranced with you. I saw him after you finished singing. He was enraptured." Rebecca laughed, but it came out a little breathless.

Lydia dipped a knife into a pot of orange marmalade and cocked her head slightly as she stared at Rebecca.

"Oh, he was, but not by me. Becca, he was looking at you the entire time. He didn't look at me even once. I was watching both him and Mr. Beresford while I was singing."

There had been a few times, when she'd been comfortable enough with her playing, when she'd looked up and had seen him watching her, but it couldn't mean he was interested. Many people simply liked to watch someone play the harp, since it was a difficult instrument.

She had been watching him the entire evening the night before, hoping to glimpse that devilish dimple near his mouth when he smiled, but he hadn't smiled. Not until she played the harp. One minute he'd been staring glassy-eyed at the wall as Lydia recited a few verses, and the next moment he was gazing intensely at her. It had taken every ounce of will for her to focus on the music. But she was the one affected by his gaze, not him. He was too handsome. A man blessed with such looks was likely to be a rake, and therefore he could not be trusted to show genuine interest in any woman.

Lydia slid her chair closer to Rebecca's and put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. "Perhaps he sees in you what I've always seen."

"A spinster with no accomplishments and little beauty?" Rebecca half joked, but her words dug deep like poisoned barbs.

Lydia propped one hand under her chin, striking a thoughtful pose. "You know, if you learned to value yourself, I believe you would draw suitors like bees to honey." A devious glint flashed in her sister's eyes. "Why don't we make a game of it?"

"A game?" Rebecca couldn't fathom what her sister meant.

"Yes. I challenge you to pretend as though you are witty and beautiful. I challenge you to make the duke fall in love with you."

"Oh, Lydia, that's ridiculous. You know Mama wishes for you to marry Wiltshire."

"I will only marry Wiltshire if I decide I wish to," Lydia replied. "And the Becca I know never backs down from a challenge."

Lydia was right. Rebecca didn't like to back down. A part of her thrilled at the prospect, ridiculous as it was. She wanted to pretend she was like her sister, perfect and desirable. So long as it was just a game, well, there was no harm in that, was there?

"It's fine," she whispered to her sister. Resisting their mother's schemes never ended well.

"See?" their mother said, dusting crumbs from her hands. "It's settled. Now eat quickly. There are husbands to catch!"

Lydia rolled her eyes, and Rebecca stifled a laugh. Their mother was like a compass pointing toward eligible bachelors rather than north.

After breakfast they joined the men outside. Both Wiltshire and Mr. Beresford were dashing about the bright-green lawn, rackets in hand as they battled each other in badminton. It amazed Rebecca that the two tall, muscled gentlemen could take such a delicate little shuttlecock and turn it into a deadly missile. Whenever one brother scored against the other, they exchanged a boast or retort that made her laugh.

After studying the duke and his brother closely, she catalogued more ways in which they were different. Miles was perhaps half an inch taller, his face slightly leaner, and he moved with more precision and focus. The duke, however, had a natural rolling gait and a relaxed leonine grace to his movements that fascinated her. He seemed entirely at home in his body, and for some reason that made her flush with wild, uncontrollable thoughts.

She pressed the back of her hand to her face, feeling the heat beneath her skin as she watched the duke remove his coat and toss it down. His white shirtsleeves billowed in the breeze, and she could just see the hint of his muscled arms where the sunlight shone through the thin fabric.

"Game!" cried Mr. Beresford, leaning over, hands on his knees as he panted for breath. "Well done, sir."