And to Vanessa’s astonishment, he turned and walked away. She turned back to her husband, her eyebrows raised.
“My next dance is taken, is it?” she asked. “And by whom, might I ask?”
“By me,” he said, smiling wickedly at her. “I require another dance with my wife.”
“But—you cannot!” she gasped, as the music started again, and he pulled her back into his arms. “We will cause a scandal! Husbands and wives cannot dance twice with each other, especially in a row!”
“Let it be a scandal then,” he growled, and she was amazed to see that he was smiling. “I am the Duke of Thornfield, and if I choose to dance a second dance with my wife, then so be it. You are my wife, and I will not let anyone take you from my arms tonight.”
She had no reply to that—she was too weak in the knees, and as they began to dance their second dance, she did not care at all that people were whispering or staring or shaking their heads. She was the Duchess of Thornfield after all, and she would also dance with her husband if that was what she wanted.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“We must go,” Winston said, taking Vanessa by the arm and steering her down the hall of the ballroom. An urgency had overtaken him, and he suddenly needed to be gone from the Vanderbilts’ ball as quickly as possible.
“You are very eager,” she observed, eyeing him sideways and allowing him to rush her down the hall. “Whyever could you be so eager to get home?”
Winston smiled, and he knew, from the shy way she looked away, her cheeks heated with blood, that she knew exactly why he was so eager to get away. That she knew exactly what awaited when they got home and were alone tonight.
“It is far too early to leave,” she said, sighing in a way he knew meant she was not actually regretful to leave. “What will the others say?”
“I think they will be too focused on the fact we danced only with each other tonight,” he replied with a smirk. “It will be all over the gossip columns tomorrow. We probably will pay with a few invitations not being sent, but we will live.”
“Yes, we will live,” she said, laughing. “It was worth every dance.”
Yes, it was worth every dance. In fact, tonight had been, bar none, the best night of his life. A few scandalized prudes could not ruin his happiness.
In fact, he was so happy that he was not sure he was going to be able to wait until they got home to kiss her. Excitement surged through him as he thought about kissing her in the carriage, how it would feel to finally take her in his arms, to show her all the things he had been feeling for so long, the desire and affection that was so pent up inside of him…
“Your Grace… Thornfield.”
A voice sounded behind them. It was quiet, and a little shaky, as if the speaker were either very sick or very old.
Winston stopped walking. Next to him, Vanessa stopped as well, looking up at him curiously.
“Thornfield…” the voice said again. It was coming from several paces behind them, as if the speaker had been waiting in theshadows of the hallway for them to pass before coming out of hiding.
I recognize that voice.It was a distant memory, but he remembered it. Like something from a nightmare he’d had once as a child. A metallic taste filled his mouth, and his heart began to hammer. His palms and under his arms began to sweat.
Very slowly, Winston turned around. Vanessa turned as well, and her hand found his, as if some instinct told her that he would need the support.
Standing in front of them was an elderly man. He was stooped and holding a cane which he leaned upon as he gazed up at Winston. He was very old with a face as wrinkled as crepe fabric. His skin was very pale, almost translucent, and spotted, and he had only a few wisps of hair left on his head.
Despite how old and frail he had become, Winston recognized him.
It was Lord Egerton, his sister’s husband. The man who had driven her to take her own life.
A cold sweat poured over Winston at once. His heart beat even faster. Blood pounded in his ears, and for a moment, he couldn’t hear anything except his own raging heartbeat.
Lord Egerton. Here. In London!
He had not shown his face in public ever since Clementine’s funeral, after which Winston had challenged him to that fateful duel. And now he was here, staring up at Winston with watery eyes.
“Thornfield,” the man said again. “At last. I have been waiting for you.”
“Winston, who is this?” Vanessa asked, but Winston did not reply. Instead, he turned to her, releasing her hand.
“Go to the carriage,” he said, “and wait for me there. I will not be long.”
