Her feet twirled, tapping lightly on the carpeted floor. She clasped her hands anxiously under her chin, her fingers aching to be nibbled. Despite her nerves, she couldn't afford to act like a savage in front of Breanna, or she'd get a painful lecture.
Her body pushed out from the plush velvet of the Chesterfield. She leaned forward, her back arched. The conversation she had been having with her mother had conveniently moved from the dining room to the open floor of the living room.
She was waiting. Waiting for the Duke.
It had been a while since he had gone in with her father, and she was growing thin with worry. Whatever they discussed in there worried her, especially if the count had already given his blessing, but she did not mind. She could always refuse the Duke's offer of marriage, or delay answering him altogether, as she'd done with Prince Laith so far.
