Page 53 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction

Has she explored the house? Has she met with the staff? Has she begun to feel at home in her new surroundings?

CHAPTER 18

“Imust say, the new Duchess of Blackmere looks positively radiant this evening,” Lady Jersey’s carrying whisper reached Marina’s ears as she entered the opera house on Leo’s arm. “Marriage appears to agree with her, despite the rather hasty circumstances.”

Marina kept her composure though inwardly she cringed at the speculation that continued to follow their sudden union.

“Ignore them,” Caroline murmured, appearing at her side with Harold in tow. “They’re merely jealous that you’ve secured the most eligible bachelor in London.”

“Secured is hardly the word I would choose,” Marina replied quietly, conscious of Leo just ahead of them, exchanging greetings with an elderly countess. “One doesn’t secure a man like Leo Rencourt. One simply… coexists with him.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow but had no chance to respond as Leo turned back to them.

“Our box is ready,” he announced, offering his arm once more to Marina. “Shall we?”

Marina ascended the opera house’s grand staircase, feeling countless eyes on her. Her new burgundy silk gown rustled, its daring neckline a change from her previous modest style.

“You look magnificent,” Caroline whispered as they reached the first landing. “Every woman here is seething with envy.”

Marina managed a small smile. “Not every woman. I’ve overheard at least three expressing their sympathy for my being trapped with the brooding duke.”

“Fools,” Caroline scoffed. “Though I must admit, he does brood rather magnificently.”

Despite her tension, Marina found herself stifling a laugh. Leo did indeed perfect the art of brooding, particularly in the week since their marriage. Though unfailingly polite and attentive to her needs, he had maintained a careful distance—taking meals with her, escorting her when required, but otherwise retreating to his study or his club.

Their nighttime chambers remained separate, a fact for which Marina was both grateful and, confusingly, somewhat disappointed.

The box Leo had secured offered an excellent view of both the stage and the fashionable audience below.

As they settled into their seats—Marina beside Leo at the front with Caroline and Harold behind them—she caught fragments of conversation from nearby boxes.

“…the sea captain story, have you read it?”

“…entirely different from the usual tales, yet somehow more affecting…”

“…that scene where he stands on the cliffs, remembering his lost love…”

A small, satisfied smile touched Marina’s lips. Her new story, featuring the haunted sea captain searching for his missing brother, had been published anonymously through a different printer Leo had introduced her to.

Without the scandalous details of her previous books, Marina had worried no one would want to read it, but surprisingly, society seemed to love her new direction.

“Your new story is causing quite a stir,” Leo said quietly, leaning close enough that his breath brushed against her hair. “Everyone seems eager to discuss it.”

Marina glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t listen to gossip, Your Grace.”

“It’s hard not to when the gossip is about my wife’s talent,” Leo replied lightly. “Besides, I’m curious about your moody sea captain.”

Before Marina could respond, Caroline leaned forward between them. “Have either of you attended the new soprano’s performance before? I’ve heard she has a remarkable range.”

“I’m afraid I have been absent from London too long to have heard her,” Leo replied smoothly. “Though everyone says she’s as talented as La Catalani.”

Harold tried to chat with Leo about the composer, but Marina could feel Leo’s attention on her instead. It made her pulse quicken—something she’d been trying to ignore all week during dinners and carriage rides.

The lights dimmed, and the orchestra started playing, giving Marina a momentary break from conversation. She forced herself to focus on the stage, but she couldn’t shake the awareness of Leo sitting close by.

When his sleeve brushed against her bare arm, she felt a small shiver run through her.

The opera’s first act passed by in a haze. Marina barely noticed the music or performers, her thoughts dominated by the man next to her—his subtle scent, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, his warmth so close to her.

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