Page 18 of A Wicked Duke's Arranged Marriage
Simon was quick to gather his wife, leading the way eagerly out of the room with the Lord and Lady St Vincent just behind them.
Henry paused, holding his hand out to help Lady Josephine to her feet.
She took it easily, her small hand fitting inside his much larger one with an unexpected grace.
Her cheeks were still flush from her story-telling, her eyes a lively hue of a clear spring covered in sunlight. Again, Henry found himself transfixed as she stood, his eyes searching hers as she did. He didn’t immediately drop her hand when she was on her feet, and she didn’t jerk it back either.
Something stirred in Henry. Something latent and long-ignored, his chest tightening as the amusement left her face, and her cheeks seemed to pinken for an entirely different reason.
It wasn’t arrogant of him to assume attraction. He knew well enough what that looked like on a woman: the eyes had been a darker hue, and the facial features entirely different. Trying to overlay the two made him feel dirty, his mouth going dry as he dropped her hand as if her skin had burned him.
Martha.
He could still remember that first evening they had met. The way their eyes had connected over the crowd of all those bodies in that ballroom. He could remember how she had smiled at him and that look in her eyes as she had tilted her head and glanced away so shyly.
God help him, why was he experiencing any sort of attraction to Josephine at all?
“The dining room is through here,” Henry muttered, sweeping his hand out to lead Josephine out of the room. He knew that his tone had changed. As much as he was trying to remain civil, it was like a steel trap had slammed shut inside his head.
Martha. Martha. Martha.
Her name rang in his head and in his memories as he led his intended from one room to the other, trying very hard not to focus on that fluttering of emotion he had felt earlier seeing Josephine smile as she had.
She was here for him to marry so that he could produce heirs.
She would make a good duchess. Even just the half hour he had spent in her company so far had proved as much. She was witty and intelligent, with a dry humour that matched his well enough to amuse. And she was from the area.
That was the biggest point in her favour, he reminded himself firmly. She knew the lands of his dukedom. She knew the village and the tenants he needed to keep up with. He wouldn’t have to go around introducing her and pretending that he had any socialization with the people in the area or trying to foster any sort of relationship there; it was already built-in.
She’d make a good duchess.
Any nonsense about attraction or whatever could be firmly forgotten.
“Your Grace?” Josephine asked in a small voice from his side as they caught up with the others entering the dining room.
Her blue eyes searched his face as he led her to her chair with as straight a face as he could manage, the guilt eating at him.
“Here we are,” he murmured, pulling out her chair.
He could at least endeavour to remain polite.
Even if his attention had waned from the current dinner party and the jokes of Simon and Josephine’s father were going right over his head. He smiled and nodded, pushing Josephine in place before rounding the table to his own spot.
They just had to get through dinner, and then he could find out what had gone wrong and ensure that it didn’t happen again.
Just … get through dinner first.
Chapter 6
Dinner was a gay affair.
Lord and Lady Fethmire and her mother and father got on famously, talking and laughing even through the first course. Josephine interjected, enjoying herself and the food much more than she had thought she would when she first arrived. She had expected everything to taste like ash in her mouth, thanks to her nerves, but the little talk before dinner and the food quality ensured that that wasn’t the case.
But.
Because there was a but.
Something had shifted.
