Page 82 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction

“You don’t consider them literature?” she asked, her voice controlled despite the flush still on her cheeks.

“Hardly,” Durching scoffed. “Entertaining, perhaps, in a vulgar sort of way. But literature requires depth, intellectual rigor, cultural significance.”

Leo recognized the flash of genuine hurt in Marina’s eyes before she masked it with polite interest. “And who determines these qualities? The same scholarly establishment that initially rejected novels as a legitimate form?”

“There is a clear distinction between serious artistic endeavor and pandering to base appetites,” Durching insisted. “These nameless stories are obviously the second kind.”

“I disagree,” Leo interjected, his earlier irritation with the Viscount transforming into genuine dislike. “The stories you dismiss so easily demonstrate remarkable psychological insight and emotional authenticity. Their popularity stems not from their subject but from their ability to capture genuine human experience.”

Durching looked surprised at the Duke’s passionate defense. “Surely you’re not suggesting these scandalous stories belong alongside Shakespeare and Milton?”

“I’m suggesting that dismissing any work simply because it addresses desire rather than intellectual concerns reflects a limited understanding of literature’s purpose,” Leo replied coolly. “And a very conservative view of human nature.”

“The Duke enjoys these stories because they flatter his ego,” Durching said to Marina with a condescending smile. “After all, isn’t the protagonist widely believed to be modeled on him?”

Marina’s expression hardened. “The stories’ value lies in their ability to speak to their audience, Lord Durching. They bring joy, excitement, and a sense of possibility to countless readers, particularly women whose emotional and physical needs are often ignored or suppressed by society.”

Her voice was calm but carried an underlying passion that commanded attention. “That seems a more significant literary achievement than gaining the approval of scholars who have traditionally excluded female experiences from the canon.”

A brief silence followed her defense. Leo found himself filled with unexpected pride at her well-spoken rebuttal and her refusal to be intimidated by Durching’s literary pretensions.

“Well said, Your Grace,” Alice remarked from her end of the table. “I agree with you. Literature that moves its readers is inherently valuable, regardless of its subject.”

Durching, finding himself suddenly outnumbered, attempted to recover. “I meant no offense. I simply believe in maintaining certain standards?—”

“Standards that conveniently exclude works that challenge traditional male authority,” Marina finished for him, her smile pleasant but her eyes unyielding. “How fortunate that readers, rather than critics, ultimately determine what endures.”

The conversation shifted as Dorian introduced a new topic, but the damage to Durching’s pretensions had been done. For the rest of the dinner, the Viscount spoke little, and his earlier confidence was notably diminished.

As Leo watched Marina gracefully engage with other guests, skillfully redirecting the conversation to more inclusive topics, he viewed his wife with fresh appreciation. The passionate defense of her writing revealed both her intelligence and her conviction. Marina truly believed in the value of her stories, not merely as sources of income but as meaningful contributions to her readers’ lives.

And he, Leo realized with a pang of regret, had never really acknowledged that value. He had seen her writing initially as a threat to his reputation then as a quirk to be tolerated but never as the serious artistic expression it represented for Marina herself.

It was yet another dimension of this complex woman he had married—a woman who continued to surprise and challenge him at every turn.

As the evening progressed, Leo found himself increasingly eager for when they would return home, when he might bridge the distance that had grown between them these past weeks.

Tonight, he resolved, they would finally have the conversation they had been avoiding since that moonlit night in the garden. And perhaps, if he was fortunate, something more.

CHAPTER 29

“What an insufferable man,” Leo remarked as their carriage rolled away from the Irondale townhouse. “Durching wouldn’t recognize true literary merit if it danced naked before him wearing nothing but a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets.”

Marina couldn’t help but laugh at the vivid image. “He’s not the first to dismiss stories that appeal primarily to women. The literary establishment has always been rather selective about what makes up ‘art’.”

The tension that had lingered between them these past weeks seemed to have dissipated during the dinner party. Perhaps it was Leo’s unexpected defense of her writing or the heated moment they had shared beneath the table. The memory still made her cheeks warm in the carriage’s darkness.

When they arrived home, the entrance hall was dimly lit with only a single lamp burning in anticipation of their return.

Rather than their usual cordial goodnight, Leo hesitated, his eyes lingering on Marina’s face.

“I would like to spend some more time with you this evening,” he said, his voice containing a note of vulnerability she’d rarely heard. “Perhaps we could share a nightcap in the parlor? I have been meaning to talk to you about taking a trip to the continent one day.”

Marina studied him for a moment, surprised by the tentative nature of the invitation. This wasn’t the confident seducer or the polite, distant husband of recent weeks.

“That sounds lovely,” she replied, curious about this unexpected shift.

The parlor was one of Marina’s favorite rooms in the townhouse, more intimate than the formal drawing room with its comfortable furnishings and excellent fireplace. A small fire had been laid in anticipation of their return, casting a warm glow over the rich wood paneling and comfortable chairs.

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