The Duke And His Mate

Chapter-4 The Blue-Eyed Girl

Could time really stop?

Maxwell had always wondered if that phenomenon was somehow plausible. But there was no evidence to prove that. However, as she gazed down at her, both equally startled, he found his evidence right there.

Time does stops.

It stopped for him. Right there at that moment, just as her small, delicate frame collided with him. And surprisingly, his first instinct was to hold her close to him. When she gazed up at him with her blue eyes that reminded him of the sky on a bright sunny day, of happiness and hope, this entire world right there stopped for him. He gazed down at her and something inside him unfurled cautiously. Like nature waking up from the dead as the spring arrives. He could feel a mystifying shift inside him, as if she was holding him down to her.

She.

He had never seen her ever before. Never in his life ever before. But as he breathed in her scent, his heart curled and unfurled languidly as if finally coming back to life. Her scent felt so unbiddenly familiar like it was bottled up somewhere inside of him and had finally escaped now, filling his entire being with a warmth that he had never felt ever before. His sense of scent was extremely, extremely strong, but he could wager on his life that he had never ever experienced this scent before. And yet somehow it felt familiar to his soul. It was sweet, so sweet, like flowers growing in meadows. Like the earth after rain.

Maxwell was baffled. It might have been a matter of a few seconds but everything happened so fast inside of him. Like something inside him changed and shifted rapidly as they both gazed down at each other. The warmth of her body seeped into his cold, lifeless heart demanding every ounce of his attention. She was gazing back at him with wide, fascinated eyes. Even though it was highly inappropriate in a situation like this, neither of them could muster up the strength to move. At the very least, he couldn't.

"Are you alright?" The words popped out of his mouth and he was surprised at how soft and cajoling he sounded.

"Yes," She answered. Her voice was like twinkling bells to his ears. "I...." But before she could complete, another heavy and yet familiar male voice pierced through their little bubble, heaving him back onto his brutal actuality.

"Durst!" He reluctantly let go of her and he could sense that she was mortified, undoubtedly with the eyes of the entire room engrossed upon them. He couldn't care any less but he hoped they didn't spin a false tête-à-tête on her. The poor girl slipped. It was not the end of the world. Certain that she was fine, apart from her obvious embarrassment, he raised his eyes to greet the handsome gentleman who approached him.

"Featherstone," Maxwell gave him a polite smile.

He was expecting Benedict Featherstone here. It was the only reason he agreed to his aunt's incessant demands that he escort her to Lady Pembroke's ball, whoever she was. He hated any kind of public occasion or gathering because he had no idea what might trigger him and pull out the part he loathed. People annoy him, plain and simple. But still out of politeness and because the adamant woman wouldn't get off his back, he decided to accompany her. Only on the condition that he wouldn't stay there for more than half an hour and she wouldn't start introducing him to all those predators like mothers.

"I did not expect you here," Benedict smiled warmly. "Your grace,"

"Neither did I," Maxwell said. "Please, I didn't expect you to address me so formally," Benedict grinned and nodded his head. He was a charming man. Tall and muscular, built with an air of confidence and yet with a disarming playfulness. His blue eyes twinkled every time he smiled.

"Oh, I forgot," He turned his eyes to the girl, who was watching them curiously, her face red. Maxwell was surprised and even a bit annoyed, much to his startlement, as Benedict examined her at arm's length, looking somehow concerned.

"Are you alright there?" He asked, looking concerned. The girl slowly nodded her head, her eyes flitting back and forth between the two men. Satisfied, he turned back to him once again.

"Durst, this is my dear sister, Emelisse," Benedict introduced with a bright smile.

What?

He looked extremely proud, while Maxwell was somehow rendered speechless. This was his sister? The little sister he always talked about? Judging by their matching blue eyes, it did make sense. Maxwell fought hard not to blatantly stare at her because there was something just absolutely queerish about this sudden burst of sensations and feelings that she evoked in him. It threw him a little, no, it blew him off. And as if that was not enough...she was his best friend's sister.

He needed to steer clear of her starting from this very moment.

The familiar, annoying voice inside of him furiously protested at that and he knew this was going to be an extremely grueling assignment to accomplish.

"Emelisse, this is Maxwell Durst. The friend I always talk about," Benedict added. "And the newly crowned Duke of Marholm,"

Emelisse raised her beguiling eyes to his face and gave him a smile. It completely enraptured him, making his heart pound in his ears. And only he knew how extremely hard it was to reciprocate that back when his first human instinct was to fight her away from him. But the other part of him was extremely pleased to meet her.

And he knew her all of what...ten minutes?

"Of course," Emelisse said, her voice just as soft and warm as her smile as she bowed. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your grace. My brother told us a lot about you. He thinks extremely highly of you, if I may add,"

"He undoubtedly exaggerated himself, Ms. Featherstone," Maxwell said politely and was thrown uncomfortably when a smile found its way on his lips. However, it felt good to know that he does know how to smile.

"Oh, well, what have we got here?" Maxwell's aunt materialized from somewhere distracting them. She was followed by two other ladies.

The one on her left with dark hair and an array of jewels dangling down her long neck was comparatively younger than the one on her right. She was more subtly dressed but elegant nevertheless and, judging by her blue eyes, Maxwell kind of deduced that it had to be Lady Featherstone. Her facial features also accentuated those of her daughter.

"My dear, nephew," She smiled brightly. "It's time to make some acquaintances. This lovely lady here is our host for tonight, Lady Pembroke," She pointed to the younger one whose hazel eyes appraised him with great interest as they greeted each other.

"Delighted," She said, fanning herself delicately with her ivory brisé fan. "You are definitely a sight for the sore eyes, my grace. Pardon me, I am known for being a little...unceremonious sometimes,"

Maxwell had no idea what to say to that, so he gave her a small smile and nodded. Uncomfortable was starting to lose meaning when compared to what he was feeling. Overcrowded and suffocated were the right words as everyone's eyes fell on him, appraising him with such fascination as if he was some prize to be won. And all the while he could feel her presence as she silently stood and watched the chaos unfold. It was so pronounced that he wasn't sure if that was what was making him so uncomfortable and not the unnecessary attention bestowed upon him. She was doing nothing but he could still feel that intangible pull inside him, that annoying voice continuously pressing him to pay attention to her instead.

"And this is my very intimate confidante, Lady Featherstone," His aunt pointed to the elderly, elegant woman on her right. He guessed right. It was indeed Benedict's mother.

"My lady," Maxwell curtsied and added a polite curl of his lips.

"Your grace," She reciprocated and Maxwell noticed she had an equally amiable smile like her daughter. "I have heard so much about you. Benedict couldn't stop talking about you when he got back home. It's a delight to finally meet you,"

"Benedict has been extremely gracious in painting my character, my lady. I am just an ordinary man," Maxwell said, feeling uneasy. If only she knew who he really was she would be running for the hills. The thought left a nasty taste in his mouth.

"Benedict is a true judge of character then," his aunt chimed in.."Ladies and gentlemen, present here, may I have your attention please?"

Oh hell...

"Oh no, please..." Maxwell protested, but his aunt chose to ignore his presence altogether. Talk about keeping promises.

"I would love to introduce everyone to the newest addition to the ton, this season," She said breezily. "My nephew and the newly crowned Duke of Marholm. Please welcome, duke Maxwell Durst," Every eye fell upon him and Maxwell could feel sweat trickling down his back as his uneasiness combusted through his chest in the most uncomfortable manner.

"You are in trouble, my dear friend," Benedict whispered in his ears. "Hungry mothers will be after you in no time."

"Don't do that, Benedict," Emelisse chastised. "It's impolite and very rude if someone hears you," Maxwell glanced at Emelisse and she blushed, furiously biting her lips as she politely averted her gaze.

That was a very distracting sight and Maxwell forced his eyes away too, giving everyone a polite nod before they could permanently settle down on this young woman and her alarming aura that was just making it impossible for him to ignore her presence. He was so annoyed with himself and his errant behavior. He knew it had to do with something that had nothing to do with his human instincts. Maybe if he could manage to make his escape sometime in the night, he could think about it in solace. And until then, he was going to stay as far away from Emelisse Featherstone as possible.

"What? It's true," Benedict protested. "Isn't that why mother got you all dolled up tonight?"

"You are impossible," Emelisse rolled her eyes. "If you will excuse me, Josiah Pembroke awaits my presence," She gave him a bow and then turned to Maxwell with a much kinder look.

"Your grace," She bowed before trotting away and disappearing into the crowd. Maxwell was irritated at how disappointed he felt at the loss of her presence and her sweet, meadow-like scent. Now everything else just smelled...human.

"Wait...wait, who...who did she say?" Benedict frowned, searching for his sister in the crowd.

"Benedict," Lady Featherstone said, and even though she was smiling, the warning in her tone was hard to miss. "I think you should be bestowing your attention on your dearest friend here, don't you think?"

"Yes, yes...why don't you introduce him around," His aunt added. "Maxwell is clueless here. I am sure you could be of great help."

"Will I?" Benedict chuckled. "Sure. Come, my friend, let me give you a tour," Maxwell was horrified, but as Benedict gave him a playful wink, he relaxed and nodded.

"Excuse us, ladies," he murmured, giving all the three ladies a bow before following after his friend.

"Do you mind if we chat by the dance floor?" Benedict asked. "I need to keep an eye on my sister,"

No! I don't want to be anywhere near her...

"Most certainly not," Maxwell muttered, putting his feelings aside.

Benedict smiled brightly, grabbed two glasses of wine, and escorted him towards the dance floor. He stood just by the edge where the crowd was watching the dancers and his eyes narrowed as he spotted his sister. Maxwell followed his gaze and sure, there she was, smiling and laughing while at the same time dancing beautifully with a young man.

He suddenly felt extremely hot all over. Like someone has lit him on fire or something. He knew this was when he should be making his escape. But it would be extremely impolite to leave Benedict and run away, so he took vigorous sips of his wine and tried to distract himself from the bizarre burn in his body with the burn from the alcoholic beverage. It was nowhere as strong as he usually prefers his drinks to be.

"Why do you need to keep an eye on her? If you don't mind me asking?" Maxwell inquired, trying not to sound too curious. Benedict turned his blue eyes back to him and shrugged.

"It's her first season," he said. "She's a debutante, Emelisse. As her brother, it's my responsibility to make sure she is in the right hands. My mother, like every other mother, is adamant about getting her married this season only. I just want to make sure that she just doesn't end up making a wrong choice just to make everyone happy. She is all but twenty-one."

Twenty-one? No doubt she looked so young, Maxwell thought. He glanced at her dancing and wondered what the pressure was all about. She was exquisite. Any man would want her. If one look from her could do all those bizarre things to him, he could only imagine what that young man dancing with her must be feeling. Especially at the way she was laughing at whatever he was saying.

Her frame was small and petite with long, or so it felt like to him for some reason, dark and slightly wavy hair. Her eyes were the brightest shade of blue he had ever seen and they twinkled every time she smiled just like Benedict. Her lips were pink and small but full and they just looked so soft and delicate, like rosebuds. She was mesmerizing.

And he was sick.

Since when was he interested in women?

No, that seemed wrong. He was very interested in women because he had his needs. And he was pretty sure that they were just as heightened as all his other senses when compared to normal, ordinary people like Benedict. So he had no option but to be interested in women. That or tend to himself all on his own, which he doesn't like. But he was never interested or enraptured in the way he was now. That little girl, she just...he had no idea what happened. And he felt annoyed and irritated with himself and also with her too. She had to crash into him of all the people in this massive ballroom?

Shaking his head, he dragged his attention back to his companion and froze as Benedict gazed back at him with a sinister expression on his face. Oh dear, did he catch him gawking and admiring his little sister he was so protective about? Whom he had never met before and now couldn't keep his eyes away from.

"Is something the matter?" Maxwell murmured, feeling uneasy. Benedict shook his head.

"The young girls are sure to be a sight for sore eyes, don't you think?" Benedict grinned, gazing around. "Look...see those two identical young ladies? They are the Fitzgerald sisters. They are known for their beauty. Fancy someone like them for yourself?" Maxwell blinked and glanced at the young ladies Benedict was talking about. He realized, much to his annoyance, that their eyes were stuck on him. Wrong choice, Maxwell thought glumly.

"What do you think?" Benedict asked. Maxwell shrugged. He cannot find anything particularly beautiful about them.

"I think beauty is in the eye of the beholder," he answered. "Hence, if you are interested in someone like...them, then sure," He might sound like a snob, but that's how he felt.

"Fine. Not the two prettiest girls in the entire room then," Benedict laughed. "I wondered who will catch your eyes if not them," Maxwell's eyes fell on the dark-haired girl smiling brightly across the dance floor. His heart was almost ready to lurch out of his mouth, panic overwhelming him as a deep longing and even desire for her jolted through his being. And unbidden the answers to Benedict's question popped into his head.

Your sister...