Page 24 of The Virgin Duchess

Pulse thundering in his neck, Frederick cleared his throat and gripped the knob tighter. There was no time for this at present. Yes, he did wish to persuade his wife to indulge him. It was too potent a feeling to fight. Still, his first priority must always be finding the Baron and dealing with him accordingly.

His flirtation with his wife could wait.

So, shaking her as best he could from his thoughts, Frederick exited his room and proceeded down the hall. There was a ball to attend, and hopefully, he would finally learn where the Baron had run off to this very evening.

“Why no. I’m afraid I have not seen him at all. In quite some time, in fact.” The Duke of Somerset frowned, his mustache draping over his lips as he shook his head. “I shall convey anything I hear about him to you, of course.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Frederick bowed his head gently, the frustration gnawing at his insides. “Please do. I would be most appreciative of any information that you might discover regarding the Baron’s whereabouts. I have business to settle with the man.”

The Duke nodded, leaving Frederick to go about his evening. It was already well into the ball, at least an hour having passed,and Frederick had learned nothing about his nemesis’s location or status. In his books, the evening was shaping up to be a dreadful failure.

Sighing, he turned away from the corner where he’d spoken with the Duke and proceeded toward the dining room where the hot supper would soon be served. He clutched a sniffer of whiskey in his fingers and sipped eagerly at the drink to calm his nerves.

And where has my wife gotten off to?

The estate was immense, three rooms being used to host the dinner for all those assembled. Frederick and Charlotte were set to dine in the upper floor eating room, and despite being quietly seething, Frederick admitted that he was indeed hungry.

Coasting through the halls, Frederick noted the grand allure of the rooms and the branched lights that covered the space. Gleaming silver candlesticks, as well as several hanging chandeliers, provided a warm glow in each room, and the smell of freshly cooked vegetables and meat wafted through the corridors from the kitchen.

“Are you seated with us at our table?”

Frederick turned over his shoulder at the sound of Charlotte’s voice. She was speaking with Amelia and Richard, and he wandered over toward his friend, offering a handshake when the Duke’s eyes finally found him.

“Frederick, there you are.” Richard shook his hand heartily. “And yes, Charlotte, we will be sitting with you. Come, I believe dinner shall be served promptly.”

As if bidden by his friend’s words, the call to supper was announced, and everyone there made their way to a table. Easy conversations flowed between Frederick and Richard—as they always did—as well as Charlotte and Amelia. For the majority of the meal, the two halves of the couples spoke only with each other until Amelia turned to Richard, inquiring about something Frederick could not hear.

A tense silence hung around him and Charlotte, who was seated on his left. It had been like this since the other day. Even through the carriage ride, neither of them had said a single word.

“Are you enjoying your evening, Frederick?”

He turned to Charlotte, his brows raising as he regarded her. “It is a lovely gathering. And the food is divine.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. “It is. And it appears that you have spoken to nearly everyone here. You are quite the social extraordinaire.”

Frederick swallowed, the gentle burn of his wine traveling down his throat.I have questioned nearly everyone hear about the Baron. Social does not fit the bill.

“Well,” he smiled, setting down his glass and putting on his best showy expression, “do I not have the reputation for being something of an incomparable in the ton?”

He knew it was a stretch, jesting at how well-liked he was among everyone in high society. Still, Frederick did carry a reputation that served him. And while some might believe the rumors of his rakish behavior, the agreed upon description of him by most members of the ton saw him instead as a gracious host and lover of grand parties—neither of which were particularly true, of course.

Charlotte laughed. “Ha, my goodness. That isquitethe view of yourself, now, isn’t it?”

Frederick held Charlotte’s stare, losing himself in the depth of her deep brown eyes. She was teasing him. He could see that look of defiance burn in the tea-colored striations of her irises, and as much as he knew that the proper thing to do would be to put her in her place, Frederick couldn’t.

He…enjoyed this side of Charlotte—far more than he thought possible.

“Modesty has never been associated with my name, now, has it?”

She laughed again, this time her smile spreading a little wider, her stare sparkling a bit brighter. As she collected herself, taking a sip of her wine as the perfect cover for her features, Charlotte flicked her eyes to his over the rim of her glass.

They held there for a long moment, one that stretched off into the distant horizon. Both of them seemed to be studying each other, both well aware of what had happened between them the other evening.

The kiss.

Frederick’s pulse was noticeable in his neck, and seeing the flush crawl up Charlotte’s chest to her cheeks only drew his attention to the heat contained within his own flesh. His wife had a way about her, and the longer Frederick was around her, the more difficult it became for him to pretend he wasn’t distracted by her.

Amelia cleared her throat, adjusting in her seat with a private chuckle directed at Richard, and the four of them continued to converse with each other as the remaining courses were served. When the meal was finished, the attendants stood from the tables for them to be cleared away.

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