Page 16 of A Bride for the Icy Duke
He bit back his frustration. They wouldneverbe acquainted enough for that, but he hardly saw the point in bringing that up here. “Very well, Your Grace,” he replied in kind.
She glanced up then, that same resentment sharp in her eyes. “Dance with me,” she said.
A set was indeed forming at the center of the room. And as he looked down into her face, blazing with determination, he knew he couldn’t refuse her, even if he wanted to.
“It would be my pleasure,” he tried for a smile, offering her his hand.
She took it, her gloved fingers light in his as he led her to the end of the set. The company watched on, avidly. Many of these people had been around long enough to remember—
He needed to stop thinking of Helena.
But his mind placed her instead of Lydia opposite him, pearls in her dark hair and a mischievous smile on her mouth. She had always matched him there—as a boy, he had been daring, bold, teasing, and she had kept pace with him. Was it any surprise that he had loved her as deeply as a boy approaching manhood could?
He blinked, and Lydia came back into focus, her features softer than Helena’s, but looking at him with far less affection. Something about her seemed familiar, and he frowned.
She arched a brow. “Is standing up with me so disagreeable?”
“Not at all,” he replied. “I merely thought I recognized you from somewhere.”
That brow arched even higher. So much for the sweet, timid girl he had offered marriage to; she had been replaced by a harpy. Yet, for a perverse reason he could not understand, his blood stirred at the sight.
“From where?” she asked.
“I don’t suppose you were in London any time this past year?”
Her laugh was hard. “Of course not, Your Grace. I remained here, as youordained, building a life for myself.”
The dance began, and he stepped forward, taking her hand and walking slowly around her. Her eyes were fixed on him, an odd mix of green and brown, like shifting forest leaves.
“We both knew the score when I left you here.”
“When you offered me marriage,” she muttered in that same bitter little voice, “you did not express that you would be abandoning me for a year solid.”
“I made you no promises of a marriage based on affection.”
“How could you, given we were near strangers?”
Nearstrangers? He frowned, but she gave him no space to recoup.
“But I had not expected you to walk away from me on the doorstep of this house.”
Guilt thrashed in his chest. He had known at the time that walking away from her there—here—had been a mistake. But knowing he had married a woman who wasn’t Helena had made all his internal organs burn, like drinking acid. It had felt like a betrayal of the highest order, and if he had remained another minute with Lydia, she would have seen it.
His regret.
His heartache.
Neither were emotions he allowed others to witness.
“I apologize if I misled you as to my intentions,” he spoke gently. “Your father asked me to provide you with a home and security, and for my hand in marriage.”
“If you had no intention of marrying me in truth, you ought not to have accepted.”
As though he could have denied a dying man—denied a man whose death had been caused by Alexander himself. Knowing that, as he sat in the man’s room, had prompted him to agree to all of his terms unconditionally.
“Have you been unhappy this past year?” he asked.
She raised her chin in defiance. Heavens, but she was beautiful. How had he not seen it before? Her soft lips pressed tight together.
