Page 36 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

“Very much.” He laughed. For a moment, she thought he was going to reach out and stroke her arm, a show of affection, but he kept his hand stiff by his side. “He was testing me, that is all. You might have heard by now that my reputation in London isn’t as pristine as it could be, and your father was simply playing his role.”

“And what role is that?”

“The dutiful father, of course. My thinking is that he’s been feeling a little guilty about what happened and wanted to make sure you were in good hands.”

She scoffed. “I doubt that.”

“You underestimate him.”

“I really don’t.”

He laughed and then sighed. “Maybe I’m wrong. But either way, I think it went rather well. Barring him almost choking on a piece of turkey, that is.”

She snorted. “My feeling was that saved the night.”

“Oh, undoubtedly. At the very least, I think he found it harder to be so rude to a man who had just saved his life. My compliments to the chef.”

The two of them chuckled lightly at that, letting it drift and then subside because Charlotte didn’t feel much like talking anymore. What needed to be said had been said, and now, with the two of them standing alone, riding a high from a successful night, her mind couldn’t help but go to the obvious place.

Although, to be fair, it had gone to that same place every night since that moment at the stables. It was becoming frustrating, in fact, how much she desired the Duke to take her and his refusal to do just that. That afternoon in the stables, he had been an animal. A beast. The things he had done, the way he had treated her… it was as barbaric as it was wonderful. And oh, how she wanted it again.

But the Duke was refusing her. Not outrightly. Not obviously. He didn’t say he was or lead her on only to deny her as he might do. Rather, he was acting the gentleman in a way she might have liked last week but now found wholly frustrating.

Was it something she had done? Something she had said? Did he not enjoy that afternoon the way that she had? Or was it only ever meant to be a one-time thing? A taste of what could be, only for her to never have it again.

They stood in the middle of the foyer. The silence grew around them. Charlotte dared to step in a little closer, to look from his eyes to his lips, hoping he might read her mind and take her again. What was stopping him? Was he trying to prove a point? He had done that already. They were past their old ways. And yet he refused to act!

“So…” she dared to say, meeting his eyes and letting him see what was on her mind. “What are you… what now?” She swallowed.

And he met those eyes. He looked right into them. His hands gently grazed her own, sending a shudder up her arm that almost had her throwing herself at him. Finally, she thought to herself. Tonight, he was going to?—

“I think I might go to bed. Big day tomorrow.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, “Good night, Charlotte.”

A soft smile, he touched her arm gently, leaned in, and kissed her softly on the cheek, and then he walked right by her.

Charlotte remained in the foyer for some time after the Duke left her. Staring at where he was. Staring at where he had disappeared. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even upset. She was just confused.

She knew her husband wanted her. She was sure of it! How could he not? But as to how she could make him do to her what he had in the stables… that was another question entirely.

ChapterTwelve

It was the first ball of the Season, and for that reason alone, Charlotte’s mood could not be better. Well, that, and the fact that she was here with the Duke—at his own suggestion, no less. She had known the ball was approaching. She had mentioned it to her husband on a few occasions, careful not to push too hard because she knew he wasn’t a fan of such events. But then, most surprisingly, three nights before it was set to begin, he asked her what she was going to wear.

“W-why?’ she had stammered, halfway toward taking a bite of some cake she was having to break her fast.

He frowned and tilted his head as if he didn’t understand the question. “I thought that might be obvious.”

“It is,” she said as she settled. “I just want to make sure that you know why you asked the question.”

He laughed at that and shook his head at the cheek. “Because I’d like to know. It’s not as if we’re going to dress to match, per se, but we can try.” He winked at her.

She didn’t press him on that. Or thank him. Or let him know how grateful she was. Really, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. It shouldn’t have been such a big thing that they were attending the first ball of the Season together, so why make it seem that way?

Even still… she couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she went back to her cake, noting the way her husband watched her, relishing how pleased it seemed to make him.

The ball was hosted at Malsbury Estate, as they were often known to host the Season’s first ball. The reason for that was partly on account of Lord Malsbury himself, a man who liked the esteem of being the one to always bring in the Season with the most lavish, expensive productions he could muster. The other part, to put it simply, was that Malsbury Estate had the perfect space for it.

The grand hall was bigger than Charlotte remembered, and she tried not to gawk as she entered on her husband’s arm. Even with the scores of people that filled it, the breadth and grandeur of the hall was truly breathtaking. And as was to be expected, the Viscount had spared no expense.

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