Page 36 of A Cursed Bride for the Duke
He pulled away just enough to look into her eyes, his amusement evident in his gaze.
“Because I know exactly how to push you to the edge, Genevieve,” he said, his voice thick. “And when I do, you will understandexactlywhat I meant.”
Chapter Twelve
“The Duke and Duchess of Ravenshire,” the master of ceremonies’ voice boomed through the hall, announcing their arrival to the Ton.
The grand ballroom buzzed with polite conversation as the candlelight flickered and cast dancing shadows over the faces of London’s elite, who had gathered for Lord Harrington’s annual ball.
Genevieve’s gloved hand, which had been resting lightly on Wilhelm’s arm, twitched as a tremor of apprehension coursed through her.
The whispers, the stares, and the weight of the Ton’s judgment threatened to smother the newfound confidence she had just begun to embrace.
Sensing her unease, Wilhelm squeezed her hand in response.
“Do not let the bastards affect you,” he whispered in her ear.
Genevieve turned her head towards him in evident gratitude.
A hush fell over the assembled guests, their conversations momentarily silenced as all eyes turned towards the entrance. Genevieve heard a ripple of excited whispers spread through the crowd like a swarm of bees.
Together, she and Wilhelm held their heads high and walked side by side towards the gathering.
They stepped into the ballroom, the polished marble floor reflecting the glittering chandeliers that hung like celestial orbs from the high ceiling. The walls were adorned with tapestries and gilded mirrors that reflected the vibrant hues of the guests’ attire.
As they made their way through the swarm of guests, Genevieve felt their stares and heard the whispers that followed her like shadows.
Tonight, I will not cower.
“Your Grace,” a woman with a haughty expression greeted Wilhelm, her gaze flicking over Genevieve with barely concealed disdain. “How… unexpected to see you here.”
Wilhelm’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “Indeed, Lady Harrington,” he replied, his tone colored with mockery. “Ibelieve it is customary to extend an invitation to the Duke and Duchess of Ravenshire, even if their presence is undesirable.”
Lady Harrington’s cheeks flushed. “Of course, Your Grace! I did not mean to suggest that your presence is undesirable,” she spluttered, her eyes darting nervously to Genevieve. “I simply meant?—”
“I believe the Duchess is eager to have a tour of the ballroom,” Wilhelm interrupted, his voice firm. “If you will excuse us.”
He steered Genevieve away, leaving Lady Harrington stammering in their wake. Genevieve smiled at the woman’s obvious discomfort.
As they moved through the crowd, Genevieve could hear the whispers grow louder, the words ‘curse’ and ‘cursed’ echoing around her like a haunting incantation. But Wilhelm’s presence beside her was a steady anchor, his strength a shield against the malice of the Ton.
“Your Grace,” a man with a supercilious expression greeted Wilhelm.
“Lord Ashworth.” Wilhelm nodded slightly.
“I must admit, I am quite surprised to see you here,” Ashworth said, glancing at Genevieve.
Wilhelm cleared his throat and, in his sternest voice, announced, “This is my wife, the Duchess of Ravenshire.”
Genevieve felt exposed under Ashworth’s lingering stare and took a small step backward. Trying to remain polite, she offered, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, My Lord.”
Ashworth leaned back slightly, his gaze still fixed on her, but he said nothing. As she took a step closer to curtsy, he recoiled from her and narrowed his eyes.
“Is there something wrong, Lord Ashworth?” Wilhelm spat out the man’s name with obvious distaste.
Ashworth’s eyes flicked back to Wilhelm. “I have to admit I was surprised by the announcement of your union.”
Wilhelm’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. “Do you find something amiss with my wife, Lord Ashworth?” His voice was dangerously calm.
