Page 65 of The Duke's Unclaimed Bride
“You dealt with my father,” Laurence spoke over him. “Nothing good comes from working with his former associates. I have no interest in corrupt dealings, backroom deals, or harming my tenants to line my pockets.”
“I would never?—”
“I have ample evidence to the contrary,” Laurence growled. “So, may I suggest you leave, and we forget we ever knew each other?”
Lord Hargrove scowled at him. He hesitated for a moment before bowing and walking away.
Laurence felt his shoulders relax. He turned back to face the dancers, sipping his drink to calm his nerves.
Any effort toward that end was quickly shattered when he saw Edith dancing. She was smiling, moving gracefully, her blonde hair looking like streams of gold in the candlelight.
But that wasn’t what bothered him. The hand of another man resting on his wife’s waist had. It was placed there much too comfortably. The way he looked at her made his blood boil. The man leaned in close, saying something he couldn’t hear, and Edith laughed.
All decorum abandoned Laurence, and he practically threw his glass on the table before marching over to them.
“I believe it’s my turn,” he growled.
“Your Grace, what are you—” Edith started.
“Isaid, I believe it’s my turn,” he repeated, glaring at the man.
The man nodded slowly and backed away from Edith. Once he was gone, Laurence took his place and resumed the waltz.
“What are you doing?” Edith hissed.
“Saving you from unwanted attention.”
“I can handle myself just fine.”
“Am I not allowed to assist you?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It was implied.”
“You’ve failed to see the point. The song wasn’t over,” she protested.
“Do I look like I much care?”
“That was incredibly rude! Not only that, but you know that married couples don’t?—”
“Ah, so you accept I am your husband.”
“What?” Edith snapped, glaring up at him, her eyes fierce and her cheeks red with indignation.
“Yes, I am your husband. I am allowed to dance with my wife, should I so choose to do so,” Laurence scoffed.
“But you do not do it by intimidating another gentleman into removing himself from the dance floor,” she chided.
His palm pressed against the small of her back, the need to be closer to her clawing at what remained of his sanity. No amount of wine could cool his temper or soothe his nerves. He needed her scent, her smile, her touch, and those determined eyes to be his and his alone.
He leaned in, his breath caressing her ear. “I will do what needs to be done to protect what is mine,” he growled.
She tensed in his arms, and he blinked, confused. He’d meant it as an admission, as proof of his feelings, not as a threat. Why would she flinch at that?
He pulled back to look at her. Hurt and indignation were etched on her face, and her cheeks were flushed. He searched her eyes but found only anger where determination had once been.
A chill ran down his spine. “Edith…”
