Page 7 of Wedded to the Ruthless Duke

Without thinking about why he was doing it, Philip followed the sound of that laughter. He turned a corner in the yew bushes and peered between an archway made of wisteria into a small lawn where on a bench, a couple sat together.

The gentleman was familiar to him though Philip could not recall his name in that moment. Philip was sure the gentleman was a marquess though his title evaded him. The Marquess made some sort of jest, then the lady laughed again, her honey-colored hair swinging to the side with the movement.

That laughter…

How often had he heard it emanating from his library when Eleanor had invited around her club of bluestockings? The sound had been absent as of late, ever since Eleanor had married and moved out, but he knew it well.

“Grace,” he whispered her name aloud though the pair were too far away to possibly hear him.

It was indeed Grace. She turned to face the Marquess beside her more fully, her face now visible in the moonlight. She was smiling greatly with the sort of smile that Philip had never seen on her face when she was around him.

For him, Grace wore challenging smiles, triumphant ones when she had won a battle between them or knew that she had displeased him with her informal ways. She had never smiled so… sweetly. It was an aberration.

“Well, what do you think, My Lady?” the Marquess said, leaning forward and gesturing to the stars. “Beautiful, are they not? Like glimmering jewels.”

The words sounded so poetic that Philip jerked his head forward. He was sure he knew this gentleman from somewhere, but the Marquess was too difficult to place when he was sat so close to Grace.

Why are they out here? Alone? And where the hell is their chaperone?

“Indeed, they are, very beautiful.” Grace smiled though her words were spoken rather woodenly to Philip’s ears. “You study the stars, My Lord? I know so little about them.”

I do not believe that for a second.

Philip would have scoffed if he was part of this conversation now. Grace seemed to know something about everything, her learned and scholarly ways filling her head with facts that many would not know. It was as if she was pandering to the Marquess’ ego, eager for him to tell her something.

Once again, the absence of their chaperone infuriated him. He knew Grace hardly cared about doing what was right or proper, but this was beyond the pale! The two of them could be discovered at any moment.

Philip leaned forward, moving more into the shadows beneath the archway. He caught sight of the woman who was clearly supposed to be their chaperone.

The Duchess of Barlow, Violet, was wandering across the far side of the lawn. She seemed to have developed a very sudden interest in a tall fountain. Her gaze was solely fixed on the water that flowed freely out of an urn and into a pool by her feet. At her distance, it would be impossible for her to hear or see what the pair were doing.

Grace… you are playing with fire.

Philip took another inch forward, trying his best not to crunch the gravel beneath his boots and alert the pair to his attention.

“That up there, is Ursa Major,” the Marquess said, pointing to constellations in the sky. “And that there… is Ursa Minor.”

A small frown creased Grace’s brow. It was there for but a second before she softened her expression and leaned toward him.

She knows he’s wrong.

What little Philip knew about the stars meant he knew it in an instant as well. The Marquess was trying to show off but had pointed instead at Orion rather than Ursa Minor.

“Your knowledge is quite fascinating, My Lord.” Grace bowed her head a little. This look of demureness didn’t suit her, but the gentleman appeared to be lapping it up.

Her wild honey hair was in its usual state with strands falling out of the updo. One such strand now fell down past her cheek. At the movement, Philip’s hand suddenly itched. He had to scratch the back of his knuckles to put an end to the wish to push that strand of hair back himself.

Then the Marquess’ hand lifted, and he pushed that strand back instead. Grace lifted her chin a little, her eyes glinting in the most seductive way.

Philip could have been back at that pond again with Grace climbing out of the water, her sensuality obvious to him even if she was oblivious to it herself. Yet he was not the one there with Grace, but the Marquess.

Something snapped inside of Philip as he saw Grace lean toward the gentleman.

Philip marched forward. The sound of crunching gravel then the firm ground of the grass beneath his boots alerted the pair to his presence, and the two leaned back from each other jerkily.

“What in God’s name are you doing?” Philip seethed with an anger that was almost unrecognizable to him. He lunged toward the Marquess, grabbed his elbow, and tugged him to his feet.

The man stumbled.

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