Page 62 of Wedded to the Ruthless Duke

“Mrs. Williamson said you wanted me to have the room on the opposite side of the house. As far from your own chamber as possible, I saw.” She shot him a glare, showing she had seen what he had done. “I prefer the view from the chamber in the center of the house, so I asked to swap. You do remember telling me it was my home too, don’t you? That I could change it as I liked?”

“I remember.” He looked away, staring out of the window.

Grace glowered at the back of his head, wondering if the thought of her being in a nearer chamber added to temptation at all or if it made no difference.

Their shoulders were no longer touching. In fact, there was a space so large between them now on the carriage bench that a rather large man with a rounded stomach could have fitted there, keeping them far apart.

Grace parted her lips. She was going to ask again where he had been that day, to try and discover something about her husband, but Philip plainly had no interest in talking to her. Either he was very interested in watching the people they passed in the street, or he was doing a very good job of feigning it.

Grace slunk back away from him, increasing the distance even further. Resting her elbow on the wall of the carriage, she placed her chin in the palm of her hand, well aware her slumped posture was different to his rigid one.

How wrong Celia was about Philip marrying me for anything more than the sake of his reputation.

She couldn’t wait to get to the assembly and leave all thoughts of Philip behind.

* * *

Philip had a tight hold on Grace’s hand as they entered the ballroom of the Almack’s Assembly Rooms.

“The Duke and Duchess of Berkley,” one of the staff announced their arrival.

Many pairs of eyes turned to look at the pair of them. Philip imagined many looked out of curiosity after their recent scandal, but he also saw many men’s gazes linger far longer than they should have done on Grace. There was brief hunger in those gazes. They were attracted to her in this gown, and they made little effort to hide such obvious looks.

Philip’s fingers tightened even more around Grace’s as he led her into the room.

“You have done your duty now,” Grace said under her breath as they crossed the room. Behind them, the next guests were already being announced. “Go and spend the evening as you like, and I shall do the same myself.”

She snatched her hand out of his grasp and walked away.

Philip felt empty as he stared after her.

This is what I want, right?

Yet his eyes traced where she went.

Nearby, he could see Xander and Dorian sharing a drink together. He could go to them, join in the conversation. He always got along well with Xander, and as much as it was paining him to admit it, he was even getting on better with Dorian these days, but he could not.

Instead, his eyes followed where Grace went.

She moved first to her friends. She met Eleanor, Violet, Celia, and Diana, who all hugged her in turn. The group conversed eagerly together, speaking so fast it was as if they hadn’t seen each other in weeks, let alone just a day.

Philip took a glass of punch offered nearby from a server and circled the room. He occasionally greeted people he knew but did not stop to linger in conversation, for his eyes kept returning to Grace.

At one point, she nearly dropped a champagne glass in her clutches, but Violet saved it for her. She smiled with her friends as she hadn’t done with Philip in their whole carriage ride here. Repeatedly, she adjusted the ribbon on her neck that hid that biting kiss he had given her.

Strangely, Philip felt a wish that it wasn’t hidden. Despite the fact he knew how improper it would be for a husband and wife’s intimacies to be so on display, he longed for Grace to embrace it, to not hide it at all.

Then another crossed toward the group.

The familiar face of the Marquess of Morton reached the group and started talking to Grace.

What the hell is going on?

Philip nearly broke the spindle off his punch glass.

He had heard long ago that the Marquess of Morton’s tendencies were more for men than women, yet increasingly recently, he was beginning to doubt this.

Had the Marquess of Morton not been caught alone outside with Grace? Had he not made a special effort to talk to her that night of the opera? Now, he was doing the same thing again!

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