"An appealing blend of history, mystery, and romance."
Reviewed by Maria Munoz
Posted March 11, 2012
Romance Suspense | Romance Historical
Cecily Hurston is committed to the study and exploration of
the antiquities of Egypt. Though she has inherited her
passion from her parents, her father has been determined for
years to keep her away from studies of the mind and make
sure she has the interests of a proper lady. He fears that
the intellectual pursuits contributed to the death of his
wife and wants to ensure his daughter does not encounter the
same fate. When her father is incapacitated during the
return trip from an archeological trip to Egypt, Cecily is
determined to complete his work. To do so she must gain
admittance into her father's exclusive academic society
which only admits women married to members. Cecily expects
to marry at some point so why not a member of the society
who can help her reach her objective?
Storming away from the building after being denied
admittance by the society she runs into Lucas Dalton, Duke
of Winterson, who is less than cordial. First he thinks
she's after him for his title. When he realizes she is the
daughter of the man who may be have killed his brother he is
even colder. Dalton's brother worked for Cecily's father
and went missing after the expedition. Now the Duke wants to
know what happened to his brother. Soon Cecily and Dalton
find themselves working together to find her a husband and
discover the truth about what happened in Egypt.
HOW TO DANCE WITH A DUKE, the first book in Manda Collins'
Ugly Duckling trilogy, is an appealing blend of history,
mystery, and romance. The series centers on three cousins
who use the miss-placed dance card of the most popular girl
of the season to facilitate their entrance into society.
This exciting debut novel is full of interesting characters
and engaging plot twists. Cecily is smart and determined
and Dalton is handsome and suitably appreciative of her
intellect. As a bonus, the cover is beautiful. I
look forward to reading the next books in the series.
SUMMARY
SHE'S IN NEED OF A PARTNER
Miss Cecily Hurston would much rather explore the
antiquities of Egypt than the uncharted territory of
marriage. But the rules of her father's exclusive academic
society forbid her entrance unless she weds one of its
members. To clear her ailing father's name of a scandalous
rumor, Cecily needs to gain admission into the Egyptian
Club—and is willing to marry any old dullard to do it.
AND HE HAS ALL THE RIGHT MOVES
Lucas Dalton, Duke of Winterson, is anything but dull. He's
a dashing and decorated war hero determined to help
Cecily—even if that means looking the other way when
she claims the dance card of Amelia Snow, this season's
most sought–after beauty. But Lucas has a reason for
wanting Cecily to join the Egyptian Club: His brother went
missing during one of Lord Hurston's expeditions to Egypt.
An alliance with the explorer's bluestocking daughter could
bring Lucas closer to the truth about what happened...or it
could lead him to a more dangerous love than either he or
Cecily could have imagined....
ExcerptMiss Cecily Hurston battered her ivory-tipped parasol
against the hulking footman who none too gently thrust her
through the doors of No. 13 Bruton Street.
"You cannot do this!" She elbowed him to emphasize
her
point, and smiled in satisfaction at his grunt of pain.
"My
father was a founding member of this club! I demand you let
me in at once!"
"He's the one whot made the rule," the beefy
man
said,
putting her down and fending off further attacks with one
arm as he backed inside and shut the door.
Cecily stood gaping at the closed door.
"He...he...what?
"
"You heard me!" The shout was just audible through
the
heavy door.
She tried again. "Surely in this particular situation
you would be willing to bend the rules a bit..."
But after a couple of minutes with no response, she
heaved an exasperated sigh, and gave the door one last
aggravated kick. The heavy boots she'd worn for
today's
visit protected her toes, but did little to protect her
wounded pride.
She had hoped considering the circumstances that the
members of the Egyptian Explorer's Club would waive
their
ridiculous no-unmarried-females-rule. After all, none of
them had considered that Lord Hurston would suffer an
apoplexy on the return trip from his most recent
expedition. She was an unmarried lady, true, but she was
also—despite her father's best efforts to discourage
her scholarly pursuits—one of the only people in
England capable of translating his idiosyncratic form of
hieroglyphics, which he used for all his travel writings in
an effort to deter would-be thieves. And without her help,
the tale of her father's final Egyptian tour would be
told,
for the first time in his illustrious career, in someone
else's words.
Now she would be forced to go to the Duke of Winterson.
His brother, Mr. William Dalton had served as Lord
Hurston's personal secretary on the journey and might
have
kept his own records of the trip. Unfortunately, in another
bit of bad luck for the expedition, that gentleman had gone
missing during the trip, and had not been seen or heard
from since. It would not be the same as her father's
account, but Mr. Dalton's notes would surely be more
reliable than those of any other man who had accompanied
them to Alexandria. Still, the thought of using anything
other than her father's words was disheartening.
Defeated, Cecily took a calming breath and straightened
her hat, which had been knocked askew in the scuffle.
Smoothing her dark hair back from her brow, adjusting her
gloves, and yanking her pelisse firmly into place, she
turned to face the street below.
Unfortunately her ejection from the club had not gone
unnoticed.
His exquisitely fitted attire and gleaming, silver-
topped walking stick marked the man gazing up at her as a
gentleman. And he was handsome enough to give her pause.
Bright blue eyes surveyed her from a face that might well
have been stolen from a classical statue, aquiline nose and
all. While not normally one to have her head turned by a
pretty face—in her experience handsome men, like her
cousin, were a selfish breed—even Cecily felt her
breath momentarily stop at the sheer elegance of the
gentleman below.
But when he raised his beaver hat to reveal a head full
of closely cropped dark curls, she had the uncanny sense
that he laughed at her.
"Are they not accepting visitors today?" he
inquired
politely—as if he hadn't watched Cecily's forcible
removal from the establishment moments earlier.
On her guard, she tried to determine his intent. Was he
laughing? Or was he merely obtuse? Probably the latter, she
thought to herself. In her experience handsome gentlemen
were also lacking in common sense.
As if reading her thoughts, he raised a gloved hand.
"I
assure you, madam, that my query is sincere. I thought
perhaps your..." he cleared his throat, as if trying to
determine what to call what had just occurred at the door
behind her, "...exit," he settled upon, "Was due
to the
Society's closure."
"No," she responded, making her way down the first
few
steps leading to the street below. "They are closed only
to
me." She paused at the next to last step, and looked the
gentleman up and down, in a rude gesture that would have
earned her a boxed ear from her old governess, Miss
Milton. "I feel quite sure that someone of your..."
"Sophistication?" he suggested, making no move to
ascend
the stairs, and effectively blocking her descent.
She took one step down, bringing her to eye level with
the stranger. He did not look like the sort of man who
would have business with the Club.
Perhaps reading her expression, his sharpened gaze was
replaced with a look of playful challenge. "Breeding?
Looks?" he enquired.
Tired of their game, and if truth be told a bit unnerved
by his attentions, she pushed past him into the street
below.
"Sex," she said, stalking away.
But, to her dismay, the gentleman followed her.
"I beg your pardon," he said, shaking his head as
if
to
clear it. "I think I misheard you."
The man was wits-to-let, however appealing his dimples
might be, Cecily decided. Pausing, she looked him squarely
in the eye and repeated, "I said that I feel quite sure
someone of your sex should have no difficulty gaining
entrance to the Egyptian Explorer's Club. Now, if you
will
please excuse me, sir."
She continued on her way and was annoyed, but not
surprised, to find him trotting along at her side, though a
slight limp in his left leg slowed him down a bit.
"Of course that's what you meant," her
unwanted
companion said. "I had not realized that the Club was
not
open to females."
"Yes, technically, that is correct," Cecily said,
tersely. "If you would excuse me, sir..."
"Indeed, I am quite certain ladies are allowed into
the
club because my sister-in-law has mentioned several times
that she has attended lectures here."
His conversational tone indicated that he had no
intention of leaving her to go on about her business. With
a sigh of surrender, she kept walking. By the time she
reached her waiting carriage, she decided, he would likely
have given up and left her side.
"Then your sister-in-law must be married to a
member,"
she replied, deciding to keep her tone brisk to discourage
further conversation.
"That is true," he said companionably. "My
brother
was a
member so that probably explains it."
When they had walked several hundred feet in silence,
however, Cecily could stand it no more.
"Sir," she said, stopping, "I do not know who
you
are,
but as you can see I am in a bit of a hurry and as we have
not been properly introduced it is highly irregular for you
to escort me down Bruton Street."
She did not add that if she were to return to her
carriage with a strange gentleman accompanying her she had
little doubt that her maid would carry the tale back to her
step-mama. A circumstance she desperately wished to avoid.
"You disappoint me, madam," the gentleman said,
shaking
his head. "Surely the Amazon who kicked both the footman
and the door of the Egyptian Explorer's Club is not
concerned with a matter as conventional as the
proprieties."
"Yes, well, the Amazon was overcome by pique outside
the
Egyptian Explorer's Club," she said tartly, resuming
her
brisk pace. She did not add that it was all very well for a
man to ignore the proprieties. He did not have to rely on
the goodwill of a distant cousin and a step-mama to keep a
roof over his head.
"Your irritation was understandable," her escort
responded. "But you are not overcome by annoyance now,
and
yet if I were not here, you would be walking unescorted
down Bruton Street for all the scandalmongers of London to
see. So you are hardly a reliable source for what does and
does not constitute proper behavior."
Cecily opened her mouth to object, but he interrupted
before she could speak.
"However, if you are so concerned about our lack of
proper introduction, then let us by all means dispense with
that nonsense."
He halted, and out of habit Cecily stopped as well. He
made her an elegant bow and Cecily dropped into a curtsey.
Which felt exceedingly foolish in the middle of Bruton
Street, but then this entire day had devolved into a series
of foolish vignettes, one more insane than the last.
"Winterson, at your service, madam," he said
curtly,
as
if he did not like revealing his name to her.
She looked up abruptly.
"Winterson?" she asked. "The Duke of
Winterson? Why
on
earth didn't you say so before?"
***
Lucas should have known better. The first lady he'd
encountered since his return to London with more than a
passing acquaintance with her own brain, and she turned out
to be just like every other woman he'd met since coming
into the dukedom.
Title-hungry.
It shouldn't have mattered so much, but it did. As
Major
Lucas Dalton he had certainly never hurt for female
company—though he acknowledged that the scarlet
uniform did its part—but once his uncle and cousin
had died, leaving him to assume the title, he had found
himself the object of an unseemly amount of female
attention.
Discovering that his fiery Amazon was just another
avaricious harpy was a disappointment, but hardly
surprising given his recent interactions with the fairer
sex. A different sort of man might have embraced his sudden
popularity with enthusiasm, but Lucas had never aspired to
more than the life of a military officer. Though there were
some parallels between serving as an officer and serving as
a peer of the realm, the differences at moments like these
were as vast as an ocean.
"Indeed, I am Winterson." He cast one last look at
her
shapely form, and mink colored curls, and suiting his
actions to his words, turned to walk away. "Now, if you
will excuse me, I have just remembered a pressing
appointment with..."
A firm hand on his upper arm stayed him. He cast a
speaking look, one even his raw recruits would recognize,
at the place where her fingers gripped his coat.
Flustered, as he had intended, she let go of him at
once. "Please, your grace, I beg your pardon. But do not
go. I have been looking forward to making your acquaintance
for some time."
I'll just bet you have, darling.
Aloud, he said, "Yes, well, I am in a bit of a hurry,
miss." And without waiting to hear what she said, he
stalked back the way they had come, aware that his limp was
more pronounced when he hurried, but not really giving a
hang.
"But, wait," she followed after him. "Your
grace,
pray
do not run away..."
He halted abruptly, and dammit if she did not grip his
arm again.
"I am not running away," he said between clenched
teeth. "As I told you a moment ago, I have a previously
forgotten appointment. And stop gripping me by the arm!"
"If you are not running away then why will you not
stop
a moment and allow me to introduce myself?" she snapped,
her cheeks flushing and her bosom heaving in a show of
temper that was, if truth were told, quite becoming.
Perhaps her reasons for ignoring the proprieties were
less about ignoring convention and more about where she
stood on the social ladder. He took a moment to examine her
attire, and noting her plain hat and the drab color of her
gown decided that she might be an impoverished widow. His
mood brightened considerably at the thought. An unmarried
miss might want him for his title, but a widow might be
willing to accept a less permanent arrangement.
Another few minutes to hear the lady out would hurt no
one, he thought.
At his continued silence, however, the lady lost
patience. Throwing up her hands in disgust, she began to
walk away.
"I had thought perhaps you and I were after the same
thing but at this point it doesn't matter. You may have
your arm back, your grace. I will importune you no
longer."
Ah. So he was right. She had been importuning him. But
not for marriage—that was the important thing.
Now he was the one rushing after her, and even with his
injury, his stride was so much longer than hers he was able
to overtake her quite easily.
"I beg your pardon for my boorish behavior, Miss...or
Mrs...?" his voice rose with the question as he mentally
crossed his fingers that she would fall into the latter
group.
Stopping, she once more dropped into a curtsey, and
extended her hand to him. "Miss Cecily Hurston."
Dammit.
Lucas closed his eyes. When he opened them, she was
still there.
"Of course you are," he said wearily. "The
daughter
of
Viscount Hurston, no doubt?" He had been trying to
arrange
a meeting with that gentleman for weeks now. The family
claimed the viscount had lost the power of speech, but
Lucas wouldn't believe it until he saw the man for
himself.
"Indeed," she returned. "Now you see why I was
so
eager
to stay you, your grace. We have much to discuss."
Even as he considered using her to get to her father, he
dismissed the idea. She would have no influence over the
man. It was common knowledge that Lord Hurston disapproved
of everything about his daughter. Look at the reception his
friends at the Egyptian Club had given her.
"I am afraid, Miss Hurston," he said calmly,
"You are
mistaken. What could I possibly have to discuss with the
daughter of the man who will not even grant me the courtesy
of a face to face meeting about the disappearance of my
brother?"
His momentary flight of fancy over, for the first time
in his adult life, Lucas Dalton, Duke of Winterson,
dismissed common courtesy completely, turned on his heel
and walked away.
To his relief, Miss Cecily Hurston did not follow.
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