Miss Bridgerton,’ he said, whipping his head around to face Daphne, ‘would you care to dance?’
There was no way Daphne could refuse. First of all, her mother was impaling her with her deadly I-Am-Your-Mother-Don’t-You-Dare-Defy-Me gaze.
Secondly, the duke had clearly not given her brother, Anthony, the entire story of their meeting in the dimly lit hallway; to make a show of refusing to dance with him would certainly raise undue speculation. And finally, she kind of, sort of, just a little teeny bit actually wanted to dance with the duke.
Of course, the arrogant boor didn’t even give her the chance to accept. Before she could manage an ‘I’d be delighted,’ or even a mere ‘Yes’, the duke had her halfway across the room.