Page 39 of My Demanding Duke

"As do you," she replied primly. He did cut a dashing figure, dressed all in black, save the white of his precisely tied cravat.

“Tonight, I exist only as the man standing beside the Duchess of Falconbridge,” he informed her with a wicked smile. “I shall have to stand two steps behind you at all times, or people will shout at me to stop blocking their view.”

She smiled at his playfulness, though inside his words—and the admiration in his eyes—made her giddy.

“Allow me,” he continued, taking an emerald green cloak from the footman and wrapping it around her shoulders. He then donned his own coat of black merino before signalling to the waiting staff that they were ready.

Outside a carriage and four awaited them. The duke offered Anna his hand to assist her inside and even though they both wore gloves, she felt a frisson of connection.

She glanced back at him, somewhat startled. His eyes met hers, his grin lupine.

“Don’t worry, I shan’t rip your dress on the way there,” he promised, climbing in after her.

Much like Josie, Anna was not at all reassured by his half-promise.

After all, he’d only promised not to rip her dress on the way there. The return journey, she suspected, was fair game—and somehow, she doubted even Josie’s flat-iron could undo his handiwork.

The Lavery's ballroom was a crush; the air a thick roar of conversation and laughter as hundreds of society’s finest glittered beneath the bright chandeliers.

The announcement of their arrival seemed to pierce the general hum of conversation, and Anna’s grip tightened on Hugh’s arm. Every eye in the place turned to look at them—some were so bold as to point quizzing glasses in their direction.

“You’re doing splendidly,” Hugh assured her, sensing her mounting discomfort.

“I’ve only taken one step inside,” she replied, batting away his Spanish Coin. She did not need to be mollycoddled—though she was enormously grateful for his steady presence beside her.

“You’re a duchess now,” Falconbridge reminded her, turning his head to offer her a conspiratorial wink. “All that is required of you to impress people is to merely show up.”

She gave a laugh at the idea, but as their hosts descended on them—all effusive smiles and enthusiasm—she realised he was entirely correct.

"Your Graces, such an honor.” Lady Lavery trilled, fluttering around them like an excited sparrow, as her husband bobbed behind her, attempting to be seen. “How fortunate we are to have you both grace our humble gathering."

Hugh inclined his head with practised precision. "Lady Lavery. A fine assembly."

“Finer now you have arrived,” Lord Lavery trumpeted, earning himself a pained glance from his wife for his eagerness.

They moved past their hosts toward the fray, which parted like The Red Sea for them. No wonder her husband had such self-confidence, Anna thought wryly, the whole world rearranged itself around him.

“I think a glass of ratafia is called for,” Hugh said, once they had arrived at a quiet corner, away from the noise of the six-piece orchestra. He gave a nod to someone Anna could not see and, within seconds, a footman was by their side bearing a tray filled with glasses.

“My lady,” Hugh said, taking a glass and offering it to her.

Anna accepted it quickly, taking a grateful gulp. She coughed a little, startled by the strength of the punch.

“Lord Lavery’s balls are always well attended by the husbands of the ton, as he’s known for being liberal with theeau de vie,” Hugh explained, raising his own glass in an amused toast.

“I will keep that in mind.” Anna took another—smaller—sip from her glass, allowing her gaze to wander the room. She recognised a few faces from her brief sojourn into society, thought most were strangers to her.

Across the room, she spotted Lady Limehouse, holding court with a few other society doyennes, and in the far distance, she sighted Lord Beaufort.

“There’s Bartie,” she cried cheerfully.

“I don’t think I can match your enthusiasm on that score,” Falconbridge was dry, though his eyes showed amusement at her excitement.

As though sensing he was being discussed, Lord Beaufort looked up, caught Anna’s gaze and gave an eager wave—which she immediately matched.

“I’ll need another glass of ratafia for this,” the duke sighed, as Lord Beaufort began to make his way toward them.

“Hush,” Anna chided, “Balls are supposed to be fun.”

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