Page 85 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
The evening had turned cold, and the shadows in the sitting room felt darker, heavier—like they were sinking into the corners.
Perhaps it was only her imagination. Or perhaps it was the fact that Dominic still seemed so tightly wound.
She sat near the hearth, slowly pulling off her gloves and setting them aside with care. Her skin welcomed the warmth of the fire. Dominic sat across from her—a surprise—but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.
The room was quiet except for the crackle of the fire. The silence wrapped itself around her like a shroud. She wanted to rip it away, to cut through the tension that had begun to feel suffocating.
“Why were you cold to Lord Linpool?” she asked evenly, though exasperation prickled beneath her skin. She kept her voice low,controlled. If she raised it, she feared she might push him away completely. “You were nearly rude.”
He blinked as if startled by the question. “What do you mean?”
She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You approached just as he joined us. You’d been engaged in other conversations all evening until he arrived. Then, you stepped so close to me that it bordered on inappropriate. Perhaps itwasinappropriate.”
“Iamyour husband, Marianne,” Dominic said, his tone clipped.
His eyes widened slightly, as if the fact alone ought to end the discussion. It felt like a warning—but not one that scared her. She never feared him.
“Apparently, neither of us knows how to behave as spouses—in publicorin private.”
Her words made him shift, his jaw twitching.
“Were you trying to be protective?” she asked more softly now. “Do you think he’s dangerous?”
“He’s a flirt. That much is obvious to everyone,” Dominic replied coldly. “But no, I wasn’t being protective.”
Their eyes met. There was a current between them she couldn’t name, a silent conversation she didn’t know how to translate. It left her both confused and—somehow—strangely aware.
She was losing her mind. That was the only explanation.
Her father had always been predictable. Even Victoria was easier to understand than the man seated across from her.
“I must be going mad,” she murmured. “Tell me I’m wrong. But I thought you lookedjealous.”
Her heart thundered as the words slipped out. Her palms grew clammy. She had asked the question. Now, she had to hear the answer.
“I amnotjealous,” Dominic insisted, his eyes flashing.
There was anger in his gaze, but something else too—something she couldn’t quite catch before it vanished.
“Very well,” she said lightly, trying to disguise her disappointment. “Then tell me, whatwasthat about?”
Dominic leaned back, his shoulders sagging slightly as he stared up at the ceiling like it might hold the answers he didn’t want to give.
“I don’t trust him,” he muttered finally, the words clipped but honest.
She believed him. This time, she heard the truth in it.
“Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t meet her eyes. His gaze remained fixed on some invisible memory playing above them, like a scene from a long-buried past.
“He wasn’t lying—hedoesknow me from before. We were younger, back then. Not quite a decade apart. But even then, I knew what kind of man he was.”
“Because he flirts?” she asked. “That’s hardly a crime. Do you think I’m so easily swayed?”
“I never said that,” he pointed out.
“I’m not your little doe, Dominic. I can defend myself. I can warn Elizabeth if I think she is at risk.”
