Curious, Gideon turned to consider one of the women Whitfield had identified. She was young, not long out of the schoolroom, he imagined. With her rich mahogany hair and enticing hazel eyes she was undoubtedly pretty, a fact emphasized by the group of fawning young men who surrounded her. He watched her, waiting for her to smile, but she never did. “She’s quite the lovely bird,” Whitfield murmured, his deep tone containing a note of interest. Gideon shot him a glare. “That’s no way to speak of a lady.” “Touché,” the duke agreed, his gaze steady on the young woman in the green gown. “But then
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