Page 88 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
“Was he?” she murmured, arching an eyebrow at her stone-faced husband.
The music played on, and soon Simon and Olivia spun away, leaving her and Dominic alone again. She suspected he’d maneuvered the dance to make it so. When the music ended, he didn’t say a word—just took her hand and steered her toward the refreshments table.
“I warned you about Linpool,” he said quietly.
“All these warnings,” Marianne sighed, “and yet not a drop of jealousy? I feel like a hag.”
Dominic’s mouth twitched as if struggling to suppress a smile. He said nothing, but his fingers closed more tightly around her wrist—not painfully, but enough to remind her how strong he was. She wished he’d tighten it more. Just a little.
She was spiraling again. That familiar heat pooled low in her belly—the one that always came when he touched her. When he kissed her. Too rarely, in her opinion.
“I’ll never admit to it,” he murmured. His gaze dipped, heavy-lidded now.
Desire.
Yes. That was it. Like a rope winding hot and slow around her body.
“Perfect,” she said airily, “because I don’t need a jealous husband.”
Dominic’s eyes flashed, but there was no hatred in them. Only heat. Possession. A silent dare.
When he grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the ballroom, she didn’t resist.
She let herself be caught.
Dominic’s hand was still around Marianne’s wrist. The same possessive pulse as before throbbed beneath his fingers. Only now, it felt deliberate.
He led her out of the ballroom, and the noise faded behind them, swallowed by the hush of the corridor.
She half-stumbled after him—not because he dragged her, but because her legs didn’t seem to work properly. They felt unsteady. Weak.
They moved through shadowed hallways, deeper into the quiet. The silence pressed around her, heavy and sharp.
How could the absence of sound feel so loud?
Still, Marianne couldn’t help but wonder. What was her husband thinking? Part of her longed to know; the other feared it. She didn’t want to wake him from whatever spell he was under.
When his hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer as they rounded a corner, her breath caught. Her body molded against his, her skin flushing with heat.
Every sensation was heightened. She felt the rustle of her skirts brushing the wall, saw the slant of moonlight painting half his face in silver.
His blue eyes locked onto hers—intense, questioning, hungry. While Linpool’s gaze had skimmed the surface with open admiration, Dominic’s gaze gripped her—rooted in her bones, tangled around her soul.
“Dominic,” she gasped, caught between indignation and desire. “W-What are you?—”
“I saw you,” he growled. “With Linpool.”
He said the Viscount’s name like it was poison on his tongue.
“Of course, you did. He approached us,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“That’s not what I meant. I saw how you looked at him. How you liked it—his attention.”
“His attention?” Her breath hitched, equal parts anger and confusion. “Have you not heard ofsocial graces?” She was already reeling from the confrontation, from everything left unspoken. “It wasonedance, nothing more.”
“Social graces?” he echoed, his voice darker now. “Is that what we call openly flirting while married? He wasdisrespectful, and you let him. He didn’t stop even with me standing right there.”
His anger boiled over, controlled but fierce.
