Page 17 of A Bride for the Rakish Duke

William found his bride at last, standing alone by a set of double doors that he had locked for the occasion. There was a second ballroom behind those doors that was meant to create one enormous ballroom, but until he had a steadier flow of income to repair it, it was more or less condemned.

Did I embarrass you, Lydia?

He had thought he was merely setting a precedent for what she could expect from their marriage, but perhaps he had been a bittoostrict.

Although, he would have been lying if he had said he had not thought about kissing her when they had been pronounced man and wife. The trouble was, the sort of kiss he had wanted to press to her plump, ripe lips at that moment was not fit for public viewing. Rather, it would have had them both in the scandal sheets by tomorrow morning for indecency.

“Why is she by herself?” William asked.

The last time he had spotted her, she had been chatting amiably with her sister. Indeed, despite Anthony’s suggestion to the contrary, he had been keeping a reasonably close eye on his wife. The reason he had not stayed at her side was the same reason he had not kissed her in the church—she was too alluring, too intriguing, and better admired from afar.

Anthony shrugged. “Her sister was not feeling well, so she retired with her husband. The other duchesses also retired early,aside from the Duchess of Lymington, who is chaperoning her mother.”

“Pardon?” William had never heard of such nonsense.

“The Dowager Countess of Creassey,” was all Anthony said in reply.

It was all William needed to hear. Everyone knew about the infamous Dowager Countess of Creassey, Eliza.

Puffing out a sigh, William set down his drink. “Very well, I shall dance with my wife. I shall ask her, at least, though I do not anticipate a warm response.”

He left his brother and made his way through the crowd, delighting in how the guests parted for him. But he did not see their faces nor really hear their words of congratulation, his attention fixed on his bride, his fiery feline.

He could not help thinking that it looked like the fire had left her as he drew nearer, and he wondered for just a moment if that really was his fault. A kiss on the hand would not have done any harm, nor would a civil, dull conversation about the weather or the watercress soup.

And gazing at her, he regretted not being more attentive. She looked sublime in a gown of gold embroidered, cream-colored silk with an overlay of gauzy white muslin. Her hair was no longer covered with a bonnet but curled and teased into a bun,studded with pearls and wildflowers. A few strawberry-blonde tendrils framed her beautiful face, her cheeks pink and radiant, her eyes so blue and so… desperately sad.

“We are dancing,” he said, holding out his hand. “I am not asking.”

She stared up at him in surprise. “Pardon?”

“You. Me. Immediately. I must have you on the dance floor.” He went ahead and scooped her up into his arms, much to the delight and shock of the crowd.

She struggled like a rabbit in a net as she hissed, “Let go of me at once. Everyone is staring!”

“Let them.” He flashed a winning smile to the guests. “My bride is shy, but you would all have us dance, would you not?”

A cheer of assent rang in the air, for there had been several hours of determined imbibing since the wedding and that moment. It had been William’s only instruction to the staff before he had departed for the church earlier that day—when everyone returns for the festivities, ensure that no glass is left empty for more than a few minutes.

“Your Grace, stop it!” Lydia rasped, but she could not kick out without revealing her ankles, and she could not thump him without drawing suspicion. “Have you not humiliated me enough?”

He gazed down into her eyes. “Humiliated you? No, no, my sharp-clawed kitten. I intend to make you the envy of Society.” He dipped his head slightly, his lips close to her ear. “When I am done with you, there will not be a household in the entirety of England that you will not immediately receive an invitation to visit. And friends? You will have them in abundance. Giddy creatures who long to know where they can find themselves a husband like yours.”

He might have been a hopeless student, but if there was one thing he excelled at, it was dancing.

Elegantly, he set her down on the dance floor and swept a hand into the air in a gesture that demanded silence. The crowd obeyed until it was so powerfully quiet that he could have heard a single drop of condensation fall from a champagne glass.

“A waltz!” he called out to the orchestra.

A shiver of excitement rippled through the guests.

Meanwhile, Lydia stared at him in horror. “I cannotwaltz, Your Grace.”

“You can,” he told her. “I am here to guide you through the steps until you do not know where your body ends and mine begins. We will be as one, moving as one.”

He heard her anxious swallow. “I have… never waltzed before. It is… unseemly.”

“We are married now,” he replied, slipping his arm around her waist. “What is the worst they can do to us?”

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