Page 70 of Wedded to the Ruthless Duke

Philip paused, disgusted at the words, for one thing, they were a lie. Every man who saw Grace couldn’t help but stare at her in that beautiful gown. She was hardly dressed like a harlot. Oh no, she had simply worn a gown that was stunning.

The writer must be jealous.

He went on, eager to read what else they had to say of his wife.

‘Yet the Duchess did not limit her embarrassment of her new husband to her choice of gown but to a dance too. Perhaps there is trouble in paradise already, for the Duchess was seen to flounce from the floor mid dance. When her husband hastily hurried her out of the assembly rooms a few minutes later, one can only conclude that he had been embarrassed by her enough for one night.’

Philip screwed the scandal sheet up into one hand. It became a tiny ball before he stood and reached toward the fireplace which had been lit this morning in the dining room. The unusually cold morning was proving most convenient as Philip thrust the scandal sheet into the fire and watched it burn.

The pages, filled with ink, became nothing but black ash. Snatching up the poker, Philip stabbed at those ashes, making sure the words were gone for good.

“Philip?” Grace’s voice made him turn around sharply.

She stood in the doorway of the dining room, already in her riding habit, ready for their excursion. The way her hands fidgeted, fingers tangling together, and how she watched the fireplace showed to him that she may have been there for more than just a minute, watching him.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He strode away, back to the table, and snatched up his coffee cup, drinking it hurriedly just so he had something else to do other than look at her with guilt.

I was the cause of that story, not her. I was the one who made her walk away mid dance then demanded that we leave. This is my doing.

“Well, that sounds like a truth, doesn’t it?” she said with full irony, walking toward him. She picked up some toast from his plate that he had not finished eating and nibbled at the edge. The idea of sharing his food was strangely warming. He stood beside her, watching her. “What is wrong?” she asked, more tentatively this time.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Ah, are we back to you refusing to have a conversation with me again?” she said tiredly, dropping the crust back down to his plate. “I thought we had dispensed with that last night.”

“Don’t remind me of last night if you wish me to behave,” he said in a husky tone. With her sharp voice, they had seemed on the precipice of another argument, but his words dispelled it momentarily, and she smiled.

“You can tell me things, Philip. I don’t want you to think you can’t.”

“You really want to know?” he scoffed, that anger returning tenfold. Why did the scandal sheets always have to come back around to plague him? They were an internal constant in his life, a forever torture! “The scandal sheets have written of you again.”

She flinched as if she had been struck, her eyes wide.

“Those damn writers,” he muttered. “Do they have nothing better to do with their lives than write of others? Perhaps their lives are so interminably boring, it’s all they can think to do.”

“This is why you’re angry. I’m sorry. I broke your rule.” She stiffened, guilt spreading across her face. “Maybe I should not have worn that gown. It probably got their attention in the first place.”

“What?” He looked away from his coffee cup, staring at her in confusion. “Good Lord, Grace, you should be able to wear whatever you like. It’s not up to them what you wear. That’s not what’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice a touch quieter now.

“I mean I intend to find who did this, and I will make them pay.” He turned and stared into the fire where the ashes of that scandal sheet still remained. “You’re beautiful, Grace. You should show off more.”

She said nothing. When the silence stretched, he noticed it and looked toward her.

She was staring at him in a way he could not decipher, those honey eyes wide, and her lips opening and closing of their own accord, as if she couldn’t quite fathom what exactly she should say.

“I… erm…” She managed eventually. “Did you still want to go for that ride?”

“I do.” He nodded at the table. “Eat something more before we go, and I’ll arrange for a picnic to be made.”

“Very well.” She took her seat and pulled forward her plate, avoiding looking him in the eye now.

Before Philip left the room, he glanced back, staring at her in wonder. What exactly about what he had said had startled her so much? What was it she was feeling now as she firmly avoided looking at him and stared down at her plate? Her slice of toast was abruptly the most interesting thing in the entire room to her.

Philip left the room and hastened down the corridor, fortunately finding the butler at the very end, who was giving some instructions to two of the footmen.

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