“I daresay the surprise, and the pleasure, is all mine, my dear. You had become such a recluse that I despaired of ever seeing you again at a society event.”
Colin cleared his throat emphatically, interrupting what appeared to be a sweet reunion between old lovers.
“Would you care to introduce me to your friend,my dear?” He said acidly and saw Abigail blanch next to him. Like a guilty person.
“Oh, of course.” Turning to Michael, she said, “Allow me to introduce my husband, the Earl of Hartfield. Colin, this is my friend Michael, the Duke of Aycliffe.”
Of course, the jackass had to be a bloody duke. Before Colin could acknowledge the introduction, the other man spoke. “Husband? I didn’t know you had remarried.”
It sounded like a reproach. Who was this clown? He gritted his teeth and thrust out his hand almost aggressively, holding the other man’s eyes in a challenging gaze. “Not surprising, since it is a fairly recent event. Only the closest friends and family were invited.” The implication that they did not consider him either was clear. “How do you do, Aycliffe?”
The duke grasped his hand, returning the unfriendly gaze, although he replied politely. “How do you do, Hartfield? I believe congratulations are in order.”
“They are, indeed.”
“Would you allow me to lead your wife in the next dance? As old friends, I believe we have a lot to catch up on.”
To refuse such a polite request would be boorish, and what’s more, it would expose him to ridicule as a jealous lout. Gritting his teeth, he nodded, granting his approval as Aycliffe led his wife away towards the dance floor.
He refused to look on from the sidelines like a lovelorn swain. He turned, checking an involuntary wince at the pain in his back, and made his way to the card room.
Gambling didn’t interest him. He never wagered deeply, for this type of game didn’t amuse him. But at least playing for a while would allow him to sit down and find a reprieve for his aching back. Maybe it would take his mind off his wife dancing in the arms of herfriend.
If he was any judge of character, and he rather thought he was, the duke wanted much more from his wife than mere friendship. The man had the audacity to look disapproving at the information that she had remarried. Maybe he had hoped to apply for the position himself.
If that was the case, His Bloody Grace had dragged his heels long enough. Abigail had been a widow for five years before he married her. He had seen at once the prize that she was, and had claimed her before these damned idiots had realized it.
But now he wondered if, in doing so, he had not only stymied his potential rivals, but done Abigail a disservice as well. Given the chance, she could have found someone she could love. Someone who was a much better match for her than himself.
As he approached the door to the cardroom, a smaller room set with several tables that opened off from the ballroom, he turned to glance back at the dancing couples. And found his wife smiling radiantly into the face of her friend. The Duke was smiling back warmly while sweeping her elegantly through the dance floor in a waltz. Jealousy and something like bleak despair rose in him like a tide of acid venom.
Damn it all to hell. It only needed this.
CHAPTER 25
“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?”Abigail observed her husband with a worried gaze as the carriage rumbled its way through the London streets on the way home. Elizabeth was dozing next to her, tucked into the corner of the carriage. Her husband, a big, silent, forbidding presence, sat opposite her.
