Page 57 of A Virgin for the Duke of Ash

Was there ever a time he did not cause her breath to hitch in her throat? Evie could not recall such a moment.

For that morning, he had worn a dark green jacket, which was a departure from his usually more somber and austere garb. A flawless emerald the size of a robin’s egg winked from within the folds of his snowy white cravat.

Despite the more festive clothing, nothing could detract from the harsh beauty of his features. The jacket only seemed to emphasize his broad shoulders and brought out the vivid green of his eyes.

It could not be helped—she had married a devastatingly handsome man with the power to dissolve any woman’s resistance with a single smoldering, broody look.

Hers, especially.

From across the room, he seemed to notice her looking at him. A slight smile touched the corner of his lips, and he raised his glass slightly in her direction.

Get ahold of yourself!

Evie inwardly admonished herself as her knees knocked together, suddenly, inexplicably weakened with a single glance and a smile that was both secretive and hinted at many, many dark and forbidden things.

Or did it really? Perhaps she was only reading too much into these looks. After all, they had hardly talked in the days leading up to the wedding. Somehow, that did not exactly convey the message that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

Unfortunately.

“My dear, are you all right?” Phoebe peered at her in concern. “You look a little… flushed.”

Evie tamped down the frustration and yearning that simmered just beneath the surface. She managed a reassuring smile for her best friend and shook her head.

“No, no, nothing is amiss,” she told her.

“Well, in that case, you should probably mingle a bit more with your other guests, instead of looking at your husband the whole day,” Scarlett teased her. “Although I do not blame you—he is an exceedingly fine-looking man—but you have the whole of tonight and the rest of your lives for that.”

If Evie had felt a little heated earlier, her cheeks were now burning.

“Do not tease her so,” Phoebe chastised with a knowing smile. “It is a good thing for the bride to at least like her husband.”

“Yes, yes.” Scarlett laughed. “But do spare us unfortunate souls who have yet to find our matches!”

The young ladies burst into giggles at her theatrics, and Evie finished her glass of champagne. It was much too early for her to be drinking, but since it was her wedding, some things could be overlooked.

Besides, it was just the thing she needed to boost her courage and do as Scarlett suggested. As a bride, it was only proper that she attended to their guests.

Unlike the ceremony itself, to which only close friends and family had been invited, there were slightly more people on the guest list for the wedding breakfast. Appearances must be made, after all, even if the Duke of Ashton did have a reputation for holding most of Society in scorn.

That has to change.

If there was anyone who could improve the reputation of the Duke of Ashton, then it should be his Duchess. Thus, in the next half hour, she applied herself most assiduously to the task of greeting the guests and establishing herself as the most gracious of duchesses.

To a baron with finicky tastes, she said, “Lord Horace, do have some more of this fine hot chocolate. I assure you, it is to die for.”

“Lady Wilmington.” She beamed at a countess. “I absolutely adore what you have done to the gardens of Wilmington Hall. Exquisite, I tell you!”

“Oh, Miss Warren, you must tell me where you got your bonnet,” she enthused. “It is the prettiest thing I have ever seen.”

Poor Miss Warren, who had never been praised her entire life, could only stammer her profuse thanks as Evie convinced her to come over sometime in the future for tea. By the time she had moved on to the next guest, half of the room was laughing and smiling more freely.

As Evie looked on with a smile at her handiwork, she helped herself to a cup of the hot chocolate she had exhorted Lord Horace to try.

“I had never thought that His Grace would be capable of hosting such a lively event, but it appears I was mistaken.”

Evie turned around to find Mr. Bernard Turner looking at her with a most affable smile. For that morning, he had chosen his clothes far more carefully, and his cravat even looked… all right.

“Mr. Turner!” she gasped in shock.

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