Chapter Text
~*~
Gentle Readers of London;
With a new Season upon us,
it seems that it will be filled with fresh
new debutantes and eager bachelors.
We wonder who will catch the interest of the most desirables?
What scandals await? Ballrooms and banquet halls will soon be swathed in a sea of colors and fabrics.
Rumors will abound, lips will gossip and surely we will have at least one hurried wedding before the season is out.
Follow me, gentle readers, to find out whom plucks the first flower and slips a ring upon their finger.
Yours Truly,
Lady Quibbler
~*~
The ballroom of Malfoy Manor was lavishly decorated. Towering vases filled with flowers, freshly cut from the splendid gardens. The air was filled with dulcet tones of the band playing softly as guests arrived for the ball.
None of which Hermione paid attention to. She was no longer a debutante, but rather a wallflower of a few years. She had found no interest in marrying a wealthy member of society. In fact, she had found no interest in any of it.
From a young age, her interest had been hiding away in her fathers library and filling her head with silly dreams and knowledge. As she had managed to slip through for years, unwed, she no longer received as many dance requests or attention at all. Those she had received were from her close friends or more lowly born Lords. Which was ideal, as it kept her circle small and she remained unnoticed.
She was free to wander away to the quietest parts of the mansion, usually that being the library.
Hermione had become familiar with this library in particular, being one of her favorites to lose herself in as soon as she was no longer obligated to make an appearance. She slipped out her wand out of the charmed pocket of her skirts, whispering lumos. The light slid along the books as she made her way down the aisle, trying to remember where had left off. She paused as she spotted the familiar title, lightly plucking the book from the shelf and into her arms.
She made her way towards the settee tucked in the corner, pulling her legs beneath her bottom as she settled into the cushions of the chair. She tucked her wand into her carefully managed curls atop her head, uncaring that she would look silly with the thing lighting the pages.
The faint sounds of the soirée could still be heard through the partially closed library door; sounds of laughter and the chatter of polite conversation.
None of it drew Hermione out of the pages of her borrowed book, losing herself in the story before her instead of the world beyond the library she had little interest in. She could continue this pattern for some years, she knew.
Eventually she would become forgotten altogether, her parents would lose their silly expectations of her future and a wedding. She could become the spinster she yearned to be.
Free of any man and his demands, able to live her life the way she wanted.
It sounded perfect to Hermione.
Draco Malfoy bowed over the petite blonde witch’s hand as the dance came to a close, Daphne Greengrass dipping into a perfect curtsy before him. Her blue skirts rustled against his boots as she straightened, fawning a smile at him. She was a pretty thing, on the younger side and well endowed. Not just in looks, either. Both Daphne and her sister Astoria had massive dowries to lure in potential suitors.
The witches had their eyes set high, aiming for wizards with titles and lands.
And those were far and few between.
There were several notable rakes in attendance this evening, each garnishing their own significant amount of attention; Ronald Weasley was Baron of Barrow Ends, his elder brothers having married and gained higher titles. Theodore Nott was the Viscount of Nott Estate after the death of his father. Blaise, son of a seven times widower, was Earl of Northwoods Castle. Harry had been born into his title with the sudden death of both of his parents, becoming Marquis of Grimmauld. And finally, Draco Malfoy was Duke of Wiltshire, resident rake of Malfoy Manor.
All of them were the most eligible bachelors of the ton and all had escaped marriage thus far. Barely in their twenties, it was expected of them to start to seek a suitable wife to marry but Draco found such things to be a bore. Why on earth would he want to tie himself to a single witch when he could live his life as a free man?
As a Duke, he had wealth at his disposal to live how he wished.
Draco could go where he pleased, at his leisure, doing whatever he wished without the obnoxious responsibilities that came with marriage.
Daphne’s hand lingered a moment too long on his, her lashes fluttering as she looked at him. She was a perfect candidate for someone in his position.
Such a shame he had no interest in forming any attachments.
“I do believe your next partner awaits, Lady Greengrass,” Draco released her hand, gesturing with a nod towards Weasley as he hovered nearby.
Despite Draco’s lack of interest in marriage, there were plenty of other wizards eager to find their match and they practically fell over themselves in an attempt to win the attention of the Greengrass sisters. He strode away from the floor towards the side table, looking to extricate himself from the woman's grasp before she attempted further conversation.
He withdrew the dance card from the pocket of his tailcoat, turning it over between his fingers to look at his expected schedule for the evening. Of course it had filled almost immediately with debutantes, eager at the chance to dance with a Duke. He had been careful to leave a block free, giving him just enough time to step away from the ballroom.
Draco slipped the card back into his pocket as he swiped a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, taking a sip of the as he made his way to the hallway. His black dragonhide shoes clicked on the floor with each step as he moved away from the noise of the crush. He nudged the door to the library open with his elbow, glancing over his shoulder once more to see if he had been followed.
Assured he was alone, Draco slipped unnoticed into the cavernous space. He paused at the faint glow that lit the corner of the library, shifting his body sideways to glance down the aisle with a raised brow.
A woman sat there, tucked away into the settee with her wand shoved into her brunette curls. She was the source of the light in the room, the glow from the tip of her wand illuminating her and the book in her hands. He couldn’t see her face at this angle, only the spine of her book.
Hermione turned the page as she shifted in her seat, turning her body sideways to kick her legs out from under her as they started to grow numb. She leaned back against the arm of the settee, her legs hanging over the opposite armrest as she slipped lower into the chair.
Someone cleared their throat and she immediately sat upright, her finger tucked into the pages of the book to mark her page as she whipped her head around to the sound. A man she only vaguely recognized as someone well above her station stood there, his brows raised at her as she pushed her skirts down to cover her ankles. She hastily reached up, jerking her wand free of her curls and extinguishing the light.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Came his slow drawl as he lifted the glass to his lips, brilliant silver eyes laughing at her over the rim. “This is usually my haunt to escape the festivities.”
Hermione let her eyes make a quick assessment of the intruder; a wizard of her age, someone of high station. Likely someone she had intentionally avoided due to his standing but yet he gave her a nagging sense that she had seen him before. She paid little mind to paintings amongst the halls of these Manors, yet she had the feeling he would be one she might see. He was quite tall, naturally so. His black leather dragonhide shoes were flat rather than heeled, such as some men wore. His trousers were black, tailored to hug well defined calves and thighs.
Not that she should notice such things.
Her eyes slipped higher; black waistcoat with a green handkerchief folded into the breast pocket. His vest was silver, mimicking the shade of his eyes. Her gaze finally met his, white blonde hair falling forward to shade those eyes she had just been comparing to his clothing moments before. His lips quirked in a smirk as a perfect brow arched.
By then Hermione realized she had been silent during the entire time she had taken in his appearance. She rose to her feet as she felt the heat creeping along her cheeks, “My apologies, My Lord. I must have consumed too much of the wine and just lost myself for a moment.”
Silver rings caught the light as he lifted his glass to his lips momentarily, covering his amused smirk, “Lost yourself…in a book?”
She bit the inside of her cheek as she drummed her fingers along the cover of the book, “Precisely.”
The man remained standing before her, his head tipping ever so slightly to the side as he considered her. She was patiently waiting for him to grow bored and leave so she could return to her sanctuary. The moment only lasted seconds, but that was entirely too long for Hermione. She moved towards the bookshelf, slipping the book back into its home before she turned back to the wizard.
“It seems my uninterrupted time has come to an end,” Hermione pointed out coolly as she started to walk towards the door. Which meant towards the man she was trying to evade, “If you’ll excuse me, I find myself wanting to return to the festivities to indulge in some more wine.”
He tapped his ring against the glass as he silently watched her, silver eyes keen as they swept across her face, “You have no interest in the soiree, do you?”
Hermione paused at his blunt words, unsure how to answer such a direct question. She looked up at him, “No. Tell me, how many witches do you find stowed away in the library at such events?”
“None,” Came his response, his tone low and quiet. He held her gaze as he turned slightly, motioning towards the door. “I apologize for my intrusion. But by all means, don’t let me keep you from filling your dance card.” His free hand came out to flick the dance card hanging from her wrist, arching that brow again.
She scoffed as she withdrew a step, “I keep mine clear so I can slip away, My Lord.”
“I wish I could say the same,” He didn’t have to follow her, his arm was long enough to cross the distance to lift her card, “It’s a struggle to keep a block to myself.”
“I’m sure you thoroughly enjoy the attention of all the desperate debutantes,” Hermione replied, watching as he unclasped the band from her wrist and turned the blank card over in his hand. His silver eyes lifted to hers as he withdrew his wand, tapping it against the card. A name scrawled across the first line, as if written by his own hand. She frowned down at the card, watching as he easily reattached it to her arm.
“I don’t,” came his all too cheerful response, “They are quite droll. But alas, now you can spare me one dance from them and silently suffer with me.”
Hermione was silently fuming as she reentered the ballroom, the dance card on her wrist feeling like a dead weight. They were charmed so the names only crossed out after the completion of a dance and would continue to reappear at each following event until the dance was fulfilled. She glowered down at the slip as she lifted it between her fingers, the letters dancing under her gaze.
Her frown increased as she took in his name; Lord D. Malfoy.
It couldn’t be the Duke, could it?
Perhaps he had a brother. She looked over the rim of the card, her eyes immediately finding the tall lord through the crush of nobles. He was unmistakable, dominating the room with his presence. Debutants and eager mothers swarmed around him, trying to gain his attention. He had a pleasant smile, perhaps a bored expression settling on his face as he let his eyes travel over the witches' heads to scan the crowd.
Eventually his eyes found hers and he raised his glass in acknowledgement before lifting it to his lips, hiding a faint smirk as he turned away from her.
The letters of his name flashed on the card, indicating their dance was approaching.
Hermione hadn’t been forced to dance in weeks and she wasn’t going to do so now. She detested it, having been compelled from a young age to learn the steps. She could do them in her sleep and she had no interest in doing them during the day. She was a wallflower and she loathed the idea of being in the center of a crowd. She had fulfilled her obligation to her parents of making an appearance at this soiree and she now could leave without raising questions.
She stayed close to the wall as she made her way towards the foyer, slipping by everyone unnoticed.
Which is what she liked.
To be unseen.
Draco watched the witch as she minced her way around the outskirts of the ballroom, barely noticed by anyone as she slipped past them. A carefully curated behavior, he was sure. When he had found her in the library, she was barely noticeable there. The only indication he had not been alone was from the glow of her wand.
Without that, he would have overlooked her.
The woman was not necessarily plain in appearance, but her beauty was subtle. Subdued. Her gown didn’t help, either. It was a muted plum color, which complimented her olive skin tone but helped her melt into the shadows. Most of the witches at these events wore extravagant gowns of brilliant shades to draw the eye, makeup painted onto their faces. Most of the witches here were in search of eligible wizards to wed, hoping to marry into wealth and titles.
Most witches.
Not the witch who had refused to give her name before leaving him in the library to ponder her lack of interest.
Most witches fawned over him, fluttered their lashes and cooed inappropriate things beneath their breath.
Apparently, this wallflower was not like most.
Draco pretended to nod his head in agreement to something that the witch in front of him said, slipping his dance card from his pocket to look at the list of names magically inscribed there. Most were crossed out by now, but the newest addition was flashing gold. It was indication he was supposed to go claim the dance.
She may not have given her name willingly, but the moment Draco had signed her dance card her name had appeared on his. It would remain there until he completed his obligation. His silver eyes scanned the letters quickly, frowning over her name. He had never heard of Miss H. Granger before. Perhaps she was a new arrival in the town, or a witch from lower standing. His circle tended to put him with the same group, such as the Greengrass’s, Parkinson, Nott. Granger was not a surname he recognized.
“Please excuse me,” Draco murmured to the witch at his side, his keen eyes catching the subtle movement towards the door where his next dance partner was heading to. He didn't wait for a response as he dipped away from his current company.
He was able to cross the room with minimal interruption, pausing only briefly to greet others. Miss Granger slipped through the doorway into the foyer just ahead of him, speaking to the valet to summon her carriage. She turned at the sound of his shoes clicking on the tile, her polite mask of indifference settling into place.
“Miss Granger,” Draco called to her as he neared.
If she was disappointed that he knew her name, she hid it well.
“My Lord,” She greeted him, looking away as she waited for the valet to return, “I fear I must be leaving. I won’t be able to join you for our dance this evening.” It could have been her imagination, but she swore she heard him scoff at her remark.
The heavy wooden double doors were swung inward magically as her carriage rolled to a stop at the base of the stairs. Granger spared him a subtle glance from beneath her lashes as she pulled her satin gloves on as her valet stepped down from the carriage to open the door for her.
“Feeling a bit lost again?” Draco replied as he followed her to the landing, his eyes traveling to the front of the carriage where a horse would normally stand. Nothing seemed to be drawing the carriage, the harness hovering in mid air as if charmed there. He wondered...His attention was drawn away from them as she spoke.
“I seem to be finding my way home just fine, thank you.” Granger started down the stairs, pausing for a moment as she noticed his gaze, “Thestrals, My Lord. I’m sure you’ll find a book in your library about them. Fascinating beasts. Only those who have seen death may see them.”
“Of course I've heard of Thestrals,” He muttered to himself as he tipped his head, his attention returning to her as she crossed the gravel. He had never seen them; her carriage being case and point to that. Most members of polite society did not use them as the depictions in texts tended to be quite frightful in appearance.
Granger turned as she reached her carriage, her brow arching as she gripped the door, “That’s what I said, yes. Have an exhausting—I mean wonderful— evening, My Lord.” She ducked into the carriage without waiting for a response, the valet closing the door sharply behind her. With a snap of reins against the invisible creatures back, the carriage leapt into motion. Draco was left standing on the landing, watching her leave as his dance card vibrated obnoxiously on his wrist to indicate he had missed his dance.
Hermione stripped off her gloves as she made her way to the stairs, taking two at the time to the second floor of her parents' townhouse. Despite her parents not being titled, the Granger family was indeed quite affluent for their standing. She had a handsome dowry, but the lack of a titled family helped create anonymity for her. She wasn’t from a line of nobility like the Greengrass sisters, or a well known one like the Weasley’s.
Had she been born into any other affluent family she would have been thrust into the limelight and forced into a marriage by now.
The thought made her skin crawl.
So many witches, married young, expecting to follow their husbands wishes and bear children like broodmares.
Ugh.
No, that wasn’t the life Hermione dreamt of.
She wished to be free, to finish her higher magical education. She was self taught in many areas, expanding her abilities by what she found between the pages of books. But it wasn’t the same as a formal education, taught by wizards who had a vast wealth of knowledge and years of experience.
Her dear friend Ginevra— Ginny, for short— was the youngest of the noble Weasley family and had debuted this year, alongside the youngest Greengrass sister, Astoria. Hermione had high hopes that with these witches being the season's desirable debutantes, she would be able to completely extricate herself from such silly affairs as balls and soirées. That she could slip away entirely into obscurity.
She only needed to last this one final season, and next year she would be crossing from her tender teens into her twenties. And officially she would become undesirable.
Hermione scoffed as she entered her room; such a silly thing, to think a witch in her twenties was no longer considered of marrying age.
They were old, spinsters.
No, the eligible bachelors and rakes only wanted the innocent and fresh young debutantes.
Such silly drivel, the lot of it.
She could hardly wait to be done with all the pomp and circumstances.
Come next spring, Hermione would be leaving London to travel abroad and be free of the archaic expectations thrust upon her merely because of her gender.
She tugged the silk choker from her neck, casting it aside as she started to untie the laces down the front of her gown. She just had to survive the season, unnoticed, which she was sure she could do just as she had before.
By hiding in the libraries.
Because no one sought her there.
Hermione stepped out of her gown as it slipped away, her fingers fumbling with the laces at the back of her corset. Just one more bloody year of having to dress like the proper lady. Once abroad she would have more freedom to wear things of comfort.
Perhaps, dare she hope, trousers?
She threw herself down onto her bed with a sigh, the silence only interrupted as the dance card still tied about her wrist hummed with vibration against the sheets. She lifted her arm above her, the card dangling in front of her face.
The only name on the card was flashing, taunting her.
Lord D. Malfoy.
A wrench in her carefully laid plans.
What did the wizard hope to gain by accosting a dance from her? He was the first to stumble upon her in the library in two entire seasons. She had already made it through most of the night without a single offer— only granting one to her friend Harry, the Marquis of Grimmauld and Ginny’s brother, Ronald. They always offered, perhaps because they thought it polite. Which it was, Hermione enjoyed their company immensely. But as friends of the family, people no longer seemed to expect a proposal from either of those bachelors.
Everyone knew they merely did it out of kindness.
But Lord Malfoy?
What was his angle in all of this? He had jested he didn’t want to suffer alone. Did he despise these events as much as her?
It all seemed unlikely; even she had heard of him and his reputation as a rake. A scoundrel amongst the ton. He had flaunted his mistress last year at the soirees and balls, causing a subdued uproar— because polite society never could be overly scandalized when a Duke engaged in nefarious activities. They had to dip their heads and accept it, no matter how inappropriate it was.
Because the Duke was above their stations.
More barbarity.
Hermione dropped her arm to the bed, the vibration continuing obnoxiously. It wouldn’t quit until she fulfilled the dance with the wizard. She tugged it off her wrist, casting it aside with a groan.
It was almost as bad as a howler: she had never ignored one before as her dance card usually remained bare, but she heard tales of how the darned things escalate with each missed opportunity to fulfill the now obligatory dance.
“ Merde,” Hermione muttered loudly as she kicked off her slippers before diving beneath the coverlet, dragging the silk sheet over her head.
She loathed the idea that tomorrow would be another bloody soirée, except this time including a grand feast at which she had to partake in before being able to slip away.
With the evening drawing to a close, Draco found himself able to slip away to his office. The room was impressive in stature; all rich dark hues from mahogany woods to blackened shades of greens and reds. The furniture were family heirlooms from decades past, hand carved and heavy pieces. Drapes and linens made of black leather and silk. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes and ledgers. A small collection compared to the Manors library.
He had done as expected of him and made the rounds, greeting the notable members of the ton. He had danced with the debutantes and eligible witches.
By the sound of the card buzzing in his pocket, all except one.
How annoying.
Draco moved to the sideboard, digging out a bottle of Firewhiskey and pouring himself a glass. The liquid stung the back of his throat as he tipped it back, downing the whole shot at once.
He had no idea what possessed him to fill his last dance slot with her name— because he rather loathed dancing— but he had an impulse. Perhaps because he had stumbled upon her doing exactly what he had been seeking to do. Or perhaps because she exhibited a glib tongue and sharp mind.
He drummed his fingers against his empty glass, debating on if he should indulge in another.
Most witches and wizards hastened to make his acquaintance, eager to please him. To befriend him. To ensnare him into marriage.
But this witch, Hermione Granger— he had only retrieved her name because it had appeared on his card, she had not offered it— didn’t seem at all affected by his title. Even after she had undoubtedly learned of it from her dance card, she had dismissed him with all the cool grace his mother employed.
It had caught Draco off guard.
He had yet to meet a witch who didn’t fawn over him.
Not to mention he had never heard of her or seen her before. Draco wondered if this Miss Granger was someone with a reputation. A past indiscretion, perhaps? They tended to be shunned from polite society to the point of falling into obscurity.
Pouring himself that second glass, he moved to sit in the heavy winged chair before the quiet fireplace. Draco motioned with his hand to stroke the coals to life with wandless magic, a mere moment later a fire growing and spreading its warmth throughout the room. He nursed his drink as he rested his chin on his palm, setting his glass against his thigh as he crossed his ankle over his knee.
The card buzzed again in his pocket and he dug it out, holding it up between two fingers. The low light of the fire caught the writing, illuminating the only name that remained unscratched off. He flicked it away, the card fluttering to his desk to join the pile of unanswered calling cards for events throughout the week. Draco rarely responded to them, merely showing up on a whim— usually with his mother’s insistence that he make an appearance. The dance card could be heard rustling against the letters, the sound similar to a colony of honeybees.
Draco sighed as he polished off his drink, rising to his feet to answer its obnoxious call. He flicked it to the side and rifled through the invitations, finding one set for tomorrow's date at the Weasley Estate home. He should attend in hopes that he could cross off the witch's name from his card.
He should attend to pacify his mother and father in his search for a wife, but he hardly intended to look for one.
Perhaps a mistress, but not a wife.
“Bloody hell, why not?” Draco set his glass down on the desk and swept out of the room, eager to fall asleep in his bed and rest up before attending another achingly boring function.
The dining hall at Barrows End was magically expanded to fit the dozens of guests in attendance, candles bobbing through the air to cast a warm glow about the space. It created a romantic atmosphere; the perfect setting to draw people together in intimate accord. With Ginny debuting this season, the Weasleys were eager to wed off their youngest and only daughter.
Hermione found herself near the middle of the expensive and elaborate banquet table, seated across from Ginny. There was no seating arrangement at the Weasleys’ luncheons or soirées, but there was the unsaid expectation that one must sit besides either their spouse or one who is available to be wed.
How delightful.
She was grateful when Ginny’s brother, Ronald, slipped into the chair beside her with a pained groan. They were childhood friends, being of the same age and having grown up together. Hermione smiled at him warmly, one of the few wizards she was always glad to see. The Baron was a handsome man, having just returned from his military service to the Crown. His skin was now deeply tanned, muting the freckles that marched across his face. His usually brilliant red hair had also become darker from the constant sun exposure.
He was one of the few who knew of Hermione’s true intentions to skate her way through the seasons, unnoticed. Ron gave her adequate cover when she was recruited to dance, taking her on the floor himself so she would be spared the company of any wizards trying to make her acquaintance.
Which was far and few between.
“Why must your Mama host these silly affairs which require me to attend?” Hermione grumbled under her breath as she leaned towards Ron.
He slanted her a smile, patting her hand on the table, “Oh, hush. You know you have a grand time no matter how much you hem and haw over it.”
“Hmph,” Hermione rolled her eyes as she straightened in her seat, “Only because I’m in such fine—“ the chair beside her scraped out and she turned as the Duke of Wiltshire, Draco Malfoy, sat down with a flourish next to her, “—Company. Excuse me for a moment, Ron.” She pivoted in seat, “Your Grace, I’m afraid that seat is reserved.”
The Duke looked at the table, making a show of searching for the name cards that were clearly absent at this event, “I don’t believe it is.”
“I assure you, it is She insisted as she narrowed her eyes on him. She gestured politely with a hand towards the farthest of the end table, “Perhaps you would be more comfortable down over there. All the way, just there besides Miss Greengrass.”
He didn’t even make an effort to look at the petite witch she gestured at as he plucked the linen from the table, shaking it out briskly and then settling it across his thigh. The wizard looked impeccable in his evening attire, his black jacket crisp, complemented with a black shirt and a silk forest green cravat that was neatly folded at the base of his throat.
“Hm, no. I’m quite comfortable here. But thank you for your concern,” The Duke motioned for the wine, the bottle drifting lazily towards him from down the table. He tapped his empty glass and the bottle tipped forward, filling it to the brim with a bubbling red wine.
Hermione ran her tongue along her teeth as she cleared her throat, “My Lord—” She grunted as she felt an elbow dug into her ribs and foot simultaneously kicking her from beneath the table. Ginny flashed her a warning look from behind her fan as she lifted it high enough to shield her from the Duke.
“ Hermione,” Ron’s voice was in her ear, “He is a Duke. You must mind your tongue.”
She bristled at his words, “Ronald. I simply cannot—”
“Yes, Miss Granger. You should probably listen to the Baron,” The Duke’s drawling voice chimed in from beside her, a brow arched high as she turned to face him. A smirk adorned his sharply planed face, his steel gray eyes sparkling with amusement at her expense.
Of bloody course he had overheard their hurried whispers.
“You should have sat elsewhere and this would be a non-issue,” Hermione replied lightly as she flicked her napkin off the table, looking away from him pointedly.
“And miss this delightful conversation?” He chuckled as he leaned down to her ever so slightly, “You underestimate me, Granger.”
Hermione smoothed her napkin across her lap as she spared him a glance, “I don’t think I do and I would prefer you to go converse elsewhere.”
“Such a sharp tongue,” The Duke tutted quietly as he rapped his ring against the stem of his glass, “Don’t worry. I’ll let you converse with your Baron. I only intend to claim my dance from you once the feast has to come to an end.”
She scoffed loudly, drawing a curious glance from their neighbors. Ron was studiously ignoring them now as his tray of food slowly settled down before him. The plates drifted lazily through the air until they found their owners. Hermione’s finally arrived, settling onto the table before her with a gentle plop .
“I have no intention of fulfilling that dance, Your Grace,” She whispered out of the corner of her mouth as she lightly picked up her fork. She looked down at her plate with a sharp clearing of her throat, indicating she was no longer interested in carrying on the conversation.
The Duke did not receive the hint, or perhaps he simply decided to ignore it.
The latter seemed the most likely as he spoke, “You cannot refuse it.”
She stabbed her fork into the chicken forcefully as she bit out, “Watch me.”
Another jab to the ribs from Ron’s elbow. She made note to have a discussion with the irritating wizard later.
What was the Duke’s sudden fascination with her? Bloody hell. She just wanted to disappear into the floorboards.
“A challenge?” He slipped his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat, withdrawing the dance card from the previous day. He held it upright between two fingers in the air. Her name flashed brightly across the top. “I see it’s no longer vibrating. Perhaps because of our proximity to one another, it’s expecting us to fulfill our obligation.”
“An obligation I did not agree to nor did I wish to have,” Hermione lifted her wrist, her dance card hanging limp. The only name on her card was his.
She had to note that it had subsided its vibrations as well, or perhaps she had simply tuned it out for the entirety of the day. Her eyes slipped past the card to meet his as he looked at her, one corner of his lips tugging upward into that ridiculously arrogant smirk of his.
“It seems we have only two options, Miss Granger; either remain next to each other the rest of the evening or we can just have the one dance and be done,” The Duke said in a low voice.
“ Merde.”