Page 19 of A Bride for the Rakish Duke

Eliza looked ready to brawl, her eyes glassy with too much wine. “I think you mean, I have a decade more experience than you. There are things that I can do that you cannot even imagine!” She snorted. “And no one wants what everyone else has had, Mary.”

“How dare you!” the Dowager Duchess shrieked.

“How dare I? You are the one who called me old.” Eliza grinned. “I say, you are as young as the man in your bed.”

Marina, shaking her head nearby, looked as if she had already tried everything she could to end the quarrel and had given up completely. And as she met William’s appalled eyes, she just gave a shrug of defeat.

Lydia, meanwhile, blinked up at William. “Is that your mother?”

“Stay with your friend, the Duchess of Lymington,” he growled in reply. “I am about to show you a dance step that I hope I shall never have to repeat with you.”

He marched toward his mother and, without a word, grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder. She pounded her fists into his back and kicked out her legs, but he paid no attention as he carried her out of the ballroom, thankfully before too many people had noticed.

But Lydia saw…

There was nothing he could do about that now, just as there was nothing he could do to erase that waltz from her head. Or his own.

CHAPTER 8

Dazed by the waltz and its abrupt ending, Lydia did her best not to look for William in the crowd, nor to expect that he would seek her out upon his return. She stood against the wall, sipping her drink, convinced that she was in a vivid dream and would wake up any moment.

The way he held me…

Her thighs tingled at the memory, her fingers restless, her skin flushing with a feverish prickle, her bosom heaving as if she were still in his arms.

The way he moved me… The way he gazed into my eyes… The moment he made time stop for a short while…

None of it seemed real. She only waltzed in her daydreams.

“Are you well?” Marina asked, standing beside her in a similarly dazed state.

Lydia blinked up at her. “Quite well, yes. It is… a little overwhelming, that is all. I am adjusting.”

“It takes time,” Marina said. “I danced with Jasper like that once when I did not know him at all, and I cannot say I was exactly fond of him in the beginning. Now, we dance like that just because it is Tuesday and the sun is shining. And my fondness for him is now a love that knows no bounds.”

Lydia’s chin dropped to her chest, her gaze falling to the faint bubbles that rose to the surface of her drink. “I have heard your stories and cherished them so often,” she said quietly. “I do not think mine is the same. While your love stories rival the most beautiful literature, I believe my marriage would be hidden away in a dusty, forgotten part of the library.”

“If I may be so bold—why did you consent to this if you do not like him?” Marina frowned, wiping a bead of condensation from her glass. “We have asked your sister, but she would not say. She told us it was your business, not ours.”

Lydia swallowed thickly. “It is… something I had to do. But fear not, I shall find my happy ending.” She downed her drink, sensing that Marina would keep probing her until she revealed the truth. “If you will excuse me, I ought to see how Emma is faring. I did not realize that being with child could make someone so poorly.”

“No one tells you the important things until it is too late,” Marina said with a wry smile. “Nevertheless, children are worth it.”

Lydia smiled and darted away before Marina started waxing lyrical about her offspring.

Of course, Lydia adored children and had often wondered what she would be like as a mother, but she did not have the patience to listen to the same stories she had heard a thousand times on this particular night.

In truth, all she wanted to do was find the library.

Losing her way on at least five occasions in the dimly lit hallways of the house that was, technically, now her home, Lydia was forced to retrace her steps through a servants’ corridor to the entrance hall. She had just emerged, ready to give up on her endeavor, when a sound from the main staircase made her duck back into the safety of the shadows.

“Stay exactly where you are!” Emma’s voice commanded.

A figure kept walking down the curving stairwell.

“I know you heard me!” Emma shouted, her footsteps thudding down the stairs.

The figure made it to a partial landing where the rest of the staircase changed direction and curved down to the floor. There, he turned to face Emma, who had slowed her approach.

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