Page 57 of The Duke's Second Bride
“… never known her to look so lovely …”
“… at least he already has a son …”
He prayed that Ava hadn’t heard that last one, though, by the almost imperceptible tensing of her hand where it rested on his elbow, he feared she had.
Her question from the other night had haunted him. He had dismissed it in the moment because it felt so utterly implausible. How on earth could he be anything close to repulsed by her? Not even by her—by baseless rumors, at that!
But she had seemed so wounded ever since. He was torn between a desire to apologize and a reluctance to even bring up the issue. And, of course, where could it possibly lead? He had sworn not to touch her.
They crossed to the back of the room, towards the refreshments table. To Christian’s great relief, Vincent and Sophia were already there. His friend gave a hearty wave upon seeing him and bellowed his name with great cheer as they approached.
“Fancy seeing you back in London!” Vincent crowed, giving Christian a handshake so enthusiastic that one would think ithad been months rather than a few days since they had last seen each other. “A pleasure to see you again, Your Grace. Wedded bliss suits you. You look radiant, both of you.”
“A pleasure to see you both,” Ava said, welcoming a warm embrace from Sophia.
“Your Grace, you must tell me where you got that dress,” Sophia gushed. Christian noticed a few of the more gossipy members of the ton were eyeing the interaction. “I have been tiring of my tailor as of late. He seems to think that we married women must resign ourselves to a life of dowdy, unfashionable rags!”
“No!” Ava protested, though a smile rose to her face to match Sophia’s beaming grin. “You look lovely, absolutely lovely.”
“I must agree, darling,” Vincent chimed in, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist. “You do look absolutely lovely. Absolutely, indisputably, gorgeously, stupendously?—”
Sophia batted his arm away playfully. “You charmer,” she said.
The two of them exchange a glance.
It would have made Christian sick, seeing how saccharine their love remained for each other after all these years—only it reminded him of the potential of what he had now squandered, with his behavior towards Ava.
As that sobering thought settled over him, there was the sound of a string quartet trilling up behind them. They all turned. The music for the night had begun.
“Ah! Dancing!” Vincent exclaimed. “Well, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that no gentleman can allow his beautiful wife to stand to the side while music is playing.” He offered a hand to Sophia, who accepted elegantly. “Isn’t that right, Christian?”
With his other elbow, he nudged Christian in Ava’s direction so hard that Christian almost stumbled.
He shot Vincent a glare, then cleared his throat, collecting himself. “Of course.” He held out a hand to Ava, avoiding meeting her gaze. “May I have this dance, Duchess?”
When he finally let his eyes meet hers, he was swept away by the passion and heat within them.
“Certainly,” she said after a moment. He hadn’t realized until she said yes how nervous he had been that she might possibly say no.
The first dance was a waltz. As they took to the floor, he was almost overwhelmed by the feeling of her waist beneath his hand and her hand on his shoulder.
They moved in perfect synchronicity, and he realized with startling clarity that he had never felt a dance flow so effortlessly. Every step, every turn, seemed guided by her alone, as though she and he were two halves of a single motion. Her dressfanned around her feet in a swirl of silk, catching the light with each turn, and his chest tightened at the effortless grace in her movements.
Then she looked up at him, and the world contracted to that one breathtaking glance. His pulse thudded painfully against his ribs.
God, how had she managed to become so impossible, so utterly captivating, without even trying?
“How are you finding the city?” he asked, if only because if he didn’t talk, he feared he would easily and quickly succumb to the ever-increasing desire to kiss her.
If she was surprised by his sudden desire to make conversation, she didn’t show it. “You do realize I have lived in London much longer than we have been married.”
He fought dueling urges to smile and roll his eyes. “Yes. I mean, how has your return been? Is the townhouse to your liking?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” she asked. Her gaze shifted, and for a moment, he could almost have been convinced that she had been looking at his lips, the way he kept trying to stop himself from looking at hers. “It is a beautiful house, as well you know.”
“You aren’t homesick, then?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter much whether I am or not,” she said. It was difficult to reconcile the coldness of her replies with the slight breathlessness of her tone and the way her body seemed so in sync with every slight movement of his. “It is my home now.”
