Page 87 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
Lady Darfield, glowing in coral silk, looked between them with a teasing smile.
“You two were nearly indecent,” she noted. “I feared someone would ask you to leave the floor.”
“My wife actually blushed watching you,” Lord Darfield added, feigning solemness. “Rare, considering she married me.”
Lady Darfield swatted at his arm. “I was just relieved it wasn’tuscausing scandal, for once.”
Marianne laughed, a soft thing she barely managed to catch before it slipped. But the moment shattered as she saw her father marching toward them.
“My dear,” Lord Grisham said smoothly, “you mustn’t refuse the next request.”
Marianne tensed. “Which one?”
“That would be me,” came a voice from behind.
Lord Linpool stepped forward, all too pleased with himself.
“My wife is not dancing with you,” Dominic snapped, stepping between them.
Marianne placed a hand on his chest. Calming. Anchoring.
“Please don’t make a scene,” she whispered. “We’re married, but Elizabeth is not. Think of her reputation.”
Dominic’s jaw worked, but he stepped aside, his eyes blazing.
Linpool laughed lightly, but something in it grated on her nerves. “Always a pleasure to dance with a distinguished member of theton,Your Grace.”
He signed her card, then Elizabeth’s. Marianne’s stomach lurched—a familiar knot tightening in her chest. Her father’s handiwork, no doubt.
Was Linpool his spy? Charming his way into their trust, gathering whispers beneath the polite veneer of a dance?
Still, she extended her hand, steady despite the unease curling inside her.
If Dominic was fire, Linpool was ice. His gaze was sharp, calculating—watching her not with desire, but with a cold, clinical precision that sent a chill straight through her.
“So,” Linpool said too casually as his fingers curled around hers, guiding her into the first step of the dance, “what made you marry a man like the Duke?”
She smiled, polite but guarded, letting him believe she was soft, pliable. “It’s thrilling,” she replied, stepping lightly in time with the music, “a contest of wills. He’s a hunter; I don’t even eat meat.”
Linpool chuckled low and pleased, clearly savoring the morsel she’d offered. Let him think she’d slipped.
“Fascinating,” he murmured as they twirled, his grip firm but not unkind. “And in conversation, how does he hold up?”
She met his eyes briefly, cool and unflinching. “He does well enough.” Her gaze already hunted the room, searching for Dominic.
Where had Dominic gone?
Hunter, indeed.
The man disappeared far too often for someone who claimed to chase.
Later, Dominic found a way to dance with Marianne once more. As they swayed across the dance floor, they nearly bumped into Simon and Olivia.
“You should have seen him while you danced with the Viscount,” Simon said, leaning in as though divulging a scandal. “He wassmoking.”
“Smoking?” Marianne echoed, wrinkling her nose as she imagined musty rooms and bitter tobacco.
“Not that kind, Your Grace. He wason fire. Positively burning with jealousy.”
