Page 14 of Rules for Heiresses
“No, you’re not,” he said eventually.
Her jaw almost fell open. “You agree with me?”
“I agree that you are your own person, physically and otherwise. However, rules and customs are in place for a reason. Even I, humble male that I am, must pay obeisance to the laws of society.”
“Humility is the last thing you should credit yourself with, Your Grace. You left and no one stopped you,” she said with a wave of her arm. “To live here. In this place of uncommon wonder.”
“You would be in the minority with such an opinion.”
“It would not be the first time.”
Courtland turned fully to her then, the first genuine smile she’d ever seen curving his mouth. It fascinated her—that rare glimpse into a different man. Warmth tempered the usual storm of his intense gaze as he lifted her right hand to his lips. “I am not surprised in the least. Shall we join our guests then, Duchess?”
As he led her down the grand staircase, Ravenna did not stop to acknowledge the rapid staccato of her heart, be it due to the inflection of his address, his commanding touch, or the appearance of that smile. She did notwantto like any of those things. She did not wish to likehim. Marriage brought with it its own traps, even when couched in pleasure or passion.
Or unexpected affinity.
Because according to English law, despite her earlier views of choice and rights, she now belonged to him. She was the Duke of Ashvale’s property, legally and entirely, and running away to chase a life of adventure as her brother had done was no longer an option.
The irony was painfully obvious—she’d come full circle.
Born and raised to be a peer’s bride.
* * *
Leading his bride into the first waltz should not have felt as natural as it did. As if he’d done it his entire life. As if shebelongedthere. Courtland did not want to dwell on what that meant. Even if she’d taken his name and said her marital vows, Ravenna didn’t want to be his. Not truly.
She wanted to live a life on her own terms, and he found that he didn’t have it in him to deny her those dreams, despite the tangle in which they found themselves. Even when they were young, he’d admired her stalwart insistence on carving her own path. She’d scoffed at the rules that said girls shouldn’t race in the woods, cavort with boys, or build tree houses. She’d muddied her dresses without a care in the world, and thrown the hardest punch he’d ever felt. Everything her brothers did, she’d wanted to do better.
And she had.
He bit back a smile. The unconventional little imp had even followed in Embry’s footsteps on the high seas. It made him see red whenever he thought of the dangers she could have faced. But she’d survived…and one could arguethrived. It was patently obvious she hadn’t planned to find a husband. Courtland swallowed. When appearances had been made and thetonwas on to the next scandal, he would offer her the choice: live in England as a duchess while he returned to Antigua, or if she chose to be alone, he’d find a way to dissolve their union somehow.
“You waltz well,” he murmured, aware of all the eyes upon them.
“I suppose I should thank my mother for all the years of torture, I mean, dance instruction.”
His lips twitched. “You must have been quite the hellion during your come-out.”
“You have no idea how many toes I demolished. In fact, in secret, I believe the gentlemen nicknamed me Lady Toe Crusher.” She grinned up at him, and it was like a bolt of lightning crashing through his body. “I’m surprised yours are yet intact, but that’s more to your credit as a partner than because of my tragic lack of skill.”
“Years of practice,” he said, turning her expertly in his arms. “If you are so poor a dancer, how do you acquit yourself so well then?”
“Counting.” Her smile was cheeky. “Steps, much like cards, are easy to keep track of, Your Grace.”
This time he did laugh, twice in the space of minutes. “Not for everyone, I assure you. That is an uncommon gift.”
Once more, a pair of narrowed copper eyes met his as if she mistrusted his compliment. But Courtland meant it. The more he discovered about her, the more she intrigued him. She’d always been clever as a child, but now, that sharpness of mind had evolved with maturity. He was starting to see why she’d be bored sitting in a drawing room with nothing but an embroidery hoop for entertainment. A woman of her fiery spirit and fierce temperament would be better suited to leading a revolution than practicing dull needlepoint. It was no wonder she’d run.
Ravenna Huntley—no, Chase now—was a rare breed of woman.
Despite her claims to the contrary, she was light on her feet, her slender form deftly mirroring his every step with each beat. When the distance closed between them and her soft skirts brushed the fabric of his trousers, he could feel the heat of her body beneath, and his own was quick to react. After six or so turns, Courtland was barely holding the guise of civility together. He settled for conversation that would lessen his growing arousal.
“Tell me, Duchess, why did you run from London? You were surely a sought-after prize.”
She let out a puff of air, eyes narrowing. “Aprize?”
“A beautiful heiress bred to be wed,” he said, holding back his smirk.
