Her lashes swept low, and for one perfect, undeserved moment, she gave him a coy smile. Nicholas cleared his throat and released her hand, setting it upon his arm instead. Together, they mounted the broad stone steps and were led into the blazing expanse of Lady Carmichael’s ballroom.
The whispers began before the announcement even finished. Curiosity moved through the room in a slow ripple, fan by fan, glass by pausing glass, every gaze fastening upon the Duke of Winchester and the young duchess no one had believed he would ever take.
Beside him, Isadora flushed, but pleasure outweighed the discomfort in her face—he could see it. She had spent too many years passing invisible through rooms like this one. Tonight, for the first time in her life, she stood at the burning center of admiration and envy alike, and some starved part of her was drinking it in.
Most of them would be remembering Grace. He had brought her to gatherings just like this; it had been Grace’s gloved hand resting on this same arm.
It was not that he missed her, precisely—not after all these years, and they had been poorly matched even at their best. But theguilt had never loosened its grip. Thathehad been part of the reason she died.
And now here he stood with a new bride on his arm, and somewhere behind every smiling face in this ballroom, the same question was surely turning: how long before this one, too, withered in his keeping?
A curse felt as though it had been placed upon his head. And so he did as he always did in situations such as this: he retreated inside himself, to a place where nothing and no one could touch him. While Isadora smiled prettily beside him, he left his body to conduct the evening, offering nods and whatever polite little tidbits necessary to facilitate conversation.
Lady Carmichael complimented Isadora’s dress, and she turned to him with her whole face alight, expecting him to echo it, to glory in her a little. He had commissioned the thing, after all.
But he could not summon so much as a smile.
The small group of musicians in one corner of the room struck up a merry jig, preparing the way for the country dances.
Isadora looked up at him. Candlelight had turned her brown eyes to lit amber, her hair a dark flame framing her face, and the wanting hit him with such sudden violence that his hand twitched with the urge to tip her chin and kiss her before the entire assembly.
He forced his face to shutter, pushing the emotions down until he could almost believe they didn’t exist.
“Will you not dance with me, husband?”
He didn’t want to dance with her; he wanted to sweep her into a private room and do unspeakable things to her instead.
That would not do here. None of it would ever do for her; she could not have his passion lest he ruin them both.
“I don’t dance,” he told her, his voice as cold as he could make it, and walked away.
Ire burned in Isadora’s chest. Howdarehe speak to her in that cold, unfeeling way, humiliating her in front of everyone when he had known—she was certain he had known—how important this evening was to her.
On the other side of the room, her aunt and uncle watched and had no doubt seen her own husband turn down her request.
She was not a clingy wife, and she asked very little from him. Yetthishe could not do.
Another gentleman approached and bowed. “Forgive my impertinence,” he said. “I know we have not been formallyintroduced, but I could not remain where I was when you ought to be dancing.”
She inhaled a shuddering breath, composing herself. “You are too kind, sir.”
“Please, call me Lord Rupert.” He offered her his hand. “Would you do me the honor of the next dance, Your Grace?”
Relief replaced the anger, and sent warmth through her limbs. So she was not to be left as the wallflower, as had happened in most of the gatherings she had thus far attended. She was no longer simply the overlooked daughter of a dead baron; now she was a duchess.
She smiled at him. Lord Rupert was passably handsome, a taking smile saving him from being nondescript, and he moved through the world as though he was long accustomed to being welcomed in it.
Well, if he had approached her knowing she would welcome his approach, that was hardly so very bad. At least hehadapproached her.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you around before,” he said, drawing her closer. Out of the corner of her eye, Isadora noticed Nicholas prowling around the outskirts of the ballroom, his midwinter eyes branded on her.
She did her best to ignore him.
“I have only recently married,” she answered, attempting to focus on her dance partner.
“Ah, yes. Allow me to offer you my felicitations.”
Knowing the way Nicholas had so rudely and overtly snubbed her, the words only brought another surge of anger through her. She laughed, the sound glittering and sharp. “Thank you. I am exceedingly fortunate in my choice of husband.”
