Page 82 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke
The kiss deepened, heated by the acknowledgment of feelings too long unspoken, and Ewan found himself trembling with the effort of restraint. This sacred place deserved better than the urgent coupling his body demanded; Samantha deserved better.
“We should return,” he managed when they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily. “Before I forget myself entirely and scandalize any passing wildlife.”
She laughed, the sound bright and uninhibited in the open air. “A most improper duke indeed.”
“Only with you, my tigress,” he replied, gathering the remains of their picnic. “But I’m certain you know this already.”
They made their way back down the path, hand in hand in the lengthening shadows of late afternoon, and Ewan felt that lightness spread across his shoulders with each step.
Now, the future he saw stretched before him was filled with possibilities he had never dared to imagine: a marriage based on mutual respect and genuine affection; something he had convinced himself he might never have.
And it terrified him to the bone.
CHAPTER 25
“The Marchwood children are absolute treasures, are they not?” Jane remarked as their carriage rolled through the London streets toward the Marchwood townhouse. “I’ve heard the youngest has quite the talent for pianoforte, despite being only six years old.”
Samantha smoothed the silk of her evening gown—a creation of deep sapphire that complemented her auburn hair and brought out the blue of her eyes. “Annabelle mentioned as much at our last Athena Society meeting. Though I believe she was quick to add that her daughter’s enthusiasm occasionally outstrips her technical proficiency.”
Beside her, Ewan chuckled softly. “A diplomatic way of saying the child makes a frightful noise, no doubt.”
“Much like your nephew’s poetry,” Samantha quipped, earning a warm smile from her husband that still made her heart flutter, even after these few months of marriage.
“Percy’s verses have improved considerably,” Ewan protested, though his eyes danced with amusement. “He’s limited himself to only three celestial metaphors in his latest sonnet to Miss Waverly.”
“A miracle indeed,” Samantha replied, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Jane, who had joined them for the evening’s engagement.
The carriage slowed as they approached the elegant townhouse belonging to the Duke and Duchess of Marchwood. Lights blazed from every window, casting golden rectangles onto the cobblestone street below. Footmen in immaculate livery stood at attention beside the entrance, ready to assist arriving guests.
“I wonder if Lord Tenwick will be in attendance,” Jane mused, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as she peered out the window.
“I believe His Grace mentioned he had extended an invitation,” Ewan replied, his tone carefully neutral though Samantha detected the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.
Jane’s blush deepened, and Samantha squeezed her sister’s hand in silent understanding. The Marquess of Tenwick had become a frequent caller at their uncle’s home, his visits ostensibly to discuss estate matters but increasingly devoted to lengthy walks in the garden with Jane.
As the carriage drew to a halt, Ewan descended first, turning to offer his hand to Samantha with a grace that still struck her as remarkable in so imposing a man. His fingers lingeredagainst hers a moment longer than necessary, the simple contact sending a familiar warmth cascading through her veins.
“Ready to face society, my tigress?” he murmured, his voice pitched for her ears alone.
“With you beside me? Always,” she replied, the words emerging more earnestly than she had intended.
Something flickered in his green eyes—a vulnerability quickly masked behind his customary confident demeanor. Before she could decipher it, they were being announced and swept into the glittering reception room.
“Your Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Valemont! Lady Jane Brennan!”
The Marchwood drawing room hummed with the pleasant cadence of aristocratic conversation, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter and the delicate notes of a string quartet positioned near the enormous windows. Annabelle, resplendent in emerald silk that complemented her dark hair, immediately broke away from a cluster of guests to greet them.
“Samantha! How delightful to see you outside of our book discussions.” The Duchess embraced her warmly before turning to Ewan with a curtsy. “Your Grace, thank you for honoring our invitation. And Lady Jane—what a pleasure to have you join us as well.”
“The pleasure is entirely ours,” Ewan replied with practiced charm. “Your home is as welcoming as its mistress.”
“You are quite the flatterer, Your Grace,” Annabelle laughed, though her eyes sparkled with genuine pleasure. “Henry will be delighted you’ve come. He’s been hoping to discuss that new agricultural method you mentioned at White’s.”
“Thrashing machines?” Her husband inquired, his interest visibly piqued. “I’ve had remarkable results at Valemont—increased our yield by nearly fifteen percent this harvest.”
“Yes, that was it!” Annabelle confirmed, then added with an indulgent smile, “Though I confess the technical details escape me entirely. Henry is in the library with several gentlemen, including your friend Lord Tenwick.”
At the mention of the Marquess, Jane straightened, her eyes brightening with interest that did not escape Annabelle’s notice.
