Page 27 of My Ruthless Duke

Did they have to have it here? This was supposed to be his home, a place for peace and quiet. If he had wanted those people here, he would have invited them.

“You truly are not going to interact with them at all?” Mary asked, frustration seeping into her tone. After he did not answer her, she heaved a long-suffering sigh and shook her head. Mary moved toward the group of guests and Cordelia, intent on joining in the games with the rest of them.

He glanced out over the small groupings of Cordelia’s friends and their very familiar husbands, and then there was Patrick Hislop. Those would have been enough even if his wife had not also insisted that her infuriating cousin return for the festivities as well. Something about the Viscount of Debonaire did not sit right with him. He did not care for the way that his gaze lingered on Cordelia. She did not belong to him. He had no right to even share her air, let alone look at her in the covetous way that he insisted upon.

I still cannot believe I reacted like that.

Dorian glanced down at his knuckles; the bruising nearly faded now. He should not have allowed himself to lose his temper in the way that he had. The large imported vase from the upstairs room was broken, and the hole that he had created in the wall… well, he had blocked off the room for the time being until he determined what it was that he wished to do with the space now.

Or should it have been his smug face instead?

Glancing out over the small grouping of people, Cordelia truly seemed to be in her element. It only made him feel even more guilty for keeping her locked away from people here. Not that society was being kind to her or her mother. It felt like a situation in which there truly was no winning.

Cordelia’s smile stretched from ear to ear. It was not as if he did not wish for her to be happy.

I have never managed to make her smile like that.

It felt like the gap between his life and hers was too wide to cross. There were brief moments where the chasm narrowed, but usually, they were far too opposite. He did not want this. He did not enjoy parties, or socializing when he could help it. But, was the whole point of this not to make her happy? Penance for his actions?

Quickly, he looked away and sipped at his glass of wine slowly.

There should not be any part of him that cared about Cordelia on a real level.

He refused to let himself care more, and he was nothing if not in control.

It was why he stood on the sidelines as one of the women played the piano and the other women sang along joyfully. He watched with as much patience as he could muster through the parlor games and the many bottles of wine.

Dorian watched as Patrick monopolized his sister’s time and attention. So long as he was keeping her occupied, his meddlesome sister was far less likely to come over and bother him or make insipid comments about his holding up the wall.

He did not even need to be here. It would detract nothing from the party if he would leave. The only thing stopping him was that he did not trust Lord Debonaire alone with his wife. Not for a moment. Not anymore. He could not tear his attention off of Cordelia. He wanted to be the one to make her smile.

Was he being foolish in thinking that if Cordelia truly wished for him to join her, then she would have said something? He was here physically to show her his version of… well, it was not support, per se.

But he was here, that had to mean something, right?

If only he could sort out his feelings properly and find a way to act on the desires that he kept telling himself that he was not allowed to have. He had slipped up far too many times as it was. She was… Cordelia was temptation incarnate and he could not explain it.

Dorian forced himself back center, watching and listening.

Eleanor, the Duchess of Larson, forced Xander to sit at the piano next, her laugh tinkling through the air as she insisted, “You play, and I shall sing, my love. For me?” She smiled at him, a hint of mischief in her eyes. Xander sighed and acquiesced, his fingers brushing across the ivory keys as a soft melody began to fill the room to the backing accompaniment of the quartet.

Cordelia, standing not far from the piano, tried to join in the spirit of the evening. Dorian watched her, his jaw tightening. She had been smiling all night, her laughter light and carefree, but he could see the subtle glances she cast in his direction, each one a quiet question he did not have the strength to answer. Not now. Not while Debonaire was still hovering like a vulture in the corner, his eyes always finding her, as if she was the only thing in the room worth noticing.

“You must dance, Cordelia!” Eleanor chirped, the familiar tone of her teasing voice cutting through the music. “It is no fun to stand by all night.”

Cordelia smiled politely as she glanced toward Dorian for a brief moment. “I think I shall sit this one out,” she said softly, but Eleanor would have none of it.

“Your Grace, you cannot possibly deny your wife a dance, can you?” Eleanor’s voice was playful, but Dorian could feel the weight of her gaze. He stood stiffly, his grip tightening on his glass.

“I–” he began, but his words were cut short by Cordelia’s soft, disappointed look, and before he could take another step forward, Debonaire swooped in with a broad grin, bowing deeply before Cordelia.

“His Grace clearly has better things to do. I can happily take his place. Of course, if you would do me the honor?”

“Oh, I am not sure. I–”

“Come now, Cousin. Don’t be such a spoilsport. The song is almost over!”

Cordelia’s gaze lingered on Dorian for only a moment longer before she held out her hand toward Matthew.

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