Page 19 of Duke of Chaos

Lydia looked up at him just as hetiskedhis tongue and shook his head.

“Here I believed you all thought better of me, but it is obvious you see me as evil as everyone else does.”

“Duncan, please,” Lydia found herself saying, surprising everyone including herself. The three of them stared at her wide-eyed as she said, “This is not necessary. Ezra is not some creature dragging me off to a cave in the woods.”

“Do not be so sure,” Morgan mused, making his presence known.

Lydia turned around and saw that Morgan, Ambrose, Helena, Barbara, and Juliet had all circled them, suspiciously watching Ezra. Empathy twisted in her as she shot a compassionate look at her new husband. She observed that he only stared back at them with impassive detachment. Suddenly, feeling protective of him, Lydia squared her shoulders and raised her chin defiantly.

“I would like to kindly remind you all that Ezra and I have mutually agreed to this marriage, and although I appreciate just how much love and care is coming from each and every one of you, it has become a bit overwhelming.”

She turned her focus to Ezra as her friends’ faces began to turn pink, then red with sheepish realization.

“I believe you said it was time to go, husband?” She asked.

Lydia could have sworn she saw something akin to admiration flash in his eyes.

“Indeed, I did,” he agreed, impassively, taking her by the hand. “Let us depart.”

“That was not necessary,” Ezra stated dryly.

They were nearly at Frampton Hall and had traveled most of the journey in silence. He had not been surprised when his friends had begun to growl and snap at him at the wedding, but he had been caught off guard by the way Lydia smoothed over the caustic situation. He had never been saved before; not even by his duke brothers. He had always been the one to do the saving, although his efforts were usually focused on Morgan, and, back in the day, Duncan.

He had tried to ignore the small kindness that Lydia had performed for him, but the more he sat with it, the more it annoyed and pressed upon him. Finally, when he could not take the agitation any longer, he broke his silence.

Lydia’s green eyes slowly rose from her book, giving him a look as if annoyed by his interruption. It somehow pleased him that she looked at him in that way, but he kept his face frozen in its usual mask.

“Pardon?” she asked calmly, closing her book in the same slow fashion she had raised her eyes.

“Your intervention at the reception. It was not necessary. I can speak for myself,” he stated in a clipped tone.

Lydia raised an amused brow and made a show of smoothing her gloved hands down her soft pink wedding dress.

“You are not a dimwitted man, Your Grace, so I am confused as to why you believe that was not necessary?”

Now it was Ezra’s turn to be confused. He crossed his legs as his manhood suddenly pulsed and leaned forward to give her an intimidating look.

“Ibegyour pardon?” he growled.

Lydia looked back at him, unfazed by his voice and tone.

“You married me to soften your image, Your Grace. To smooth things over when they would normally become complicated. We have a contract, you and I, and I am not one to break a contract,” Lydia replied with cool confidence and grace.

“You did not need to…”

“Did I not perform my task as you intended it to be performed?” Lydia asked before Ezra could continue.

He glared at her as the carriage stopped, but begrudgingly admitted, “Yes.”

“Welcome home, Your Graces,” the footman greeted as the door opened a heartbeat later.

Before Ezra could command him to shut the door again, Lydia was out of her seat and taking the footman’s hand.

“Hello, I am the new Lady of the House, Her Grace Lydia Fernside,” Lydia greeted the footman diplomatically as he helped her safely to the ground, “And you are?”

The footman, a young man in his early twenties, smiled wildly when he was spoken to so politely. Though Ezra was still greatly annoyed with Lydia, his frustration at the servant’s bumbling annoyed him more and he gruffly commanded, “Answer her,” as he got himself out of the carriage.

“Gerald, Your Grace,” the footman finally burst out, bowing low at his waist toward Lydia. “My name is Gerald, and I am at your service.”

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