Page 33 of Wedded to the Ruthless Duke

“Really? Is that what you think?” another voice joined them. They all turned in their seats to see that Celia had turned up. She was a little late and adjusted the shoulder of her gown as if it had been rumpled by a man’s touch.

“Where have you been?” Violet asked, a knowing look in her eye.

“Nowhere.” Celia smiled and sat down on Diana’s other side though the smile didn’t last. “It is I who should apologize to you both.” She looked between Grace and Eleanor. “I didn’t realize how much trouble my dare would cause. I thought it would be a distraction for you, Grace. If I had known that it would come to this —”

“In my opinion, you both need to stop apologizing.” Eleanor cut into the conversation. “If anyone should apologize, it is my brother. Is he not the one who kissed you, Grace? Is he not the one who compromised you?”

“He always seems so rigid of manner, so dignified,” Diana murmured.

“Exactly.” Grace nodded.

To her mind, the Duke was beginning to become a man of contradictions. He was Eleanor’s formal and dignified older brother, the man who had barely spoken to her over the last few years, for she was not the sort of company he would keep out of his own choice.

This image was a far cry from the way he had kissed her though, and the possessive way he had spoken about making her his before she ever dreamed of taking a lover.

“Everyone is looking at me tonight as if I have the plague,” Grace whispered. She had leaned forward, looking at the stage again in anticipation of the play about to begin, yet she had merely caught sight of the myriad of people sitting in the stalls who were looking up at her instead. “This is insufferable.”

“Grace,” Dorian’s voice called from the other side of the box, “the best thing you can do when scandal falls is to ignore it. Trust me.”

Beside him, Xander nodded silently in agreement.

“Well, you would know, wouldn’t you?” Eleanor said with an amused glance at her husband. The heat in their shared gaze amazed Grace, and she was not the only one to see it. Even Diana on her other side inhaled sharply in astonishment.

To be looked at like that. What must it feel like?

“Ah.” Violet fidgeted in her seat. “Well, it seems there is now another looking at you, Grace.”

“Who?” Grace asked, sitting sharply forward.

“Eleanor, why didn’t you say your brother was coming?”

“What!?” Grace actually managed to fall out of the seat. She would have fallen completely to the floor had Diana not caught her under the arm and righted her. “He’shere?” She looked back and forth, searching for him.

“I had no idea he was coming,” Eleanor’s words came fast. “Where is he?”

Violet pointed straight across the auditorium.

When Grace’s eyes found the Duke’s, she froze perfectly solid.

He was seated in the other private box though unlike the busy party on her side, there were just two of them in his own. The Duke sat beside a man she did not recognize, his manner stiff and unyielding.

Unlike some of the men gathered tonight who had taken off their tailcoats to bear with the strong heat, the Duke of Berkley had quite determinedly kept his on. His untidy hair he had done his best to tame though it distracted Grace.

She was rebelliously thinking of running her fingers through it, perhaps burying her face in his neck and inhaling that masculine cologne, when Diana’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“That is some look, Grace,” Diana whispered.

“That it is,” Celia agreed with a nod. “I can’t figure out if it is a look of hate or something else entirely.”

“What else would it be?” Grace barked with a laugh, scorning at such an idea. “He must detest me. He has been backed into a marriage now all because of my foolishness. I wouldn’t blame him for hating me.”

Her friends all hurried to speak, but in that moment, they had to fall silent as the curtain was raised at the opera began. The strong notes of the opening Aria began, but Grace’s gaze slipped back to meet the Duke’s.

He was looking at her the way he had looked at her when she had talked about taking other lovers.

There is possessiveness in that stare.

For some reason, she didn’t mind it.

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