Page 13 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction

“Caroline!” Marina laughed at her friend’s dramatic pronouncement. “I hardly think?—”

“There you are!” Harold’s voice boomed as he rejoined them, looking slightly harried. “Lady Ponsonby’s cats have apparently developed a new and fascinating digestive ailment. I narrowly escaped by claiming you needed my immediate attention.”

Caroline patted her husband’s arm in sympathy. “Poor Harold. Shall we rescue you with an early tea at Gunter’s Tea Shop?”

As they turned toward the park gates, Marina glimpsed a tall figure watching from the shade of an oak tree—broad shouldered, dark auburn hair, and a commanding presence that was unmistakable even from a distance.

The Duke of Blackmere had found her once again.

“Really, the audacity.” Lady Peerpont’s whisper cut through the elegant strains of the musicians. “Not even a full year since poor Lord Asquith’s death, and here she is, bold as brass.”

“These modern widows have no sense of impropriety.” Her companion let out an offended sniff. “In my day, we observed a proper period of mourning.”

Marina kept her chin high as she walked through the Rutland’s ballroom. She pretended that she couldn’t hear the whispers that followed her.

She spotted Caroline’s fair hair near the refreshment table and hurried toward the familiar sanctuary of her friend.

“Marina, darling!” Caroline’s warm welcome garnered several disapproving glances. “We were just debating whether Lord Rutland’s new chandelier is tasteful or merely expensive.”

“Merely expensive,” Harold declared with mock solemnity. “Though the way it catches the light does make Lady Rutland’s new turban slightly less aggressive.”

Caroline swatted playfully at her husband’s arm, but her eyes sparkled with laughter. “I think the silk and pearl turban she is wearing is lovely. And it’s very fashionable.”

Harold gave an exaggerated eye roll. When the opening notes of a quadrille filled the air, he turned to his wife with an elegant bow.

“My love, might I have this dance?”

Caroline’s eyes flicked to Marina. “Oh, I shouldn’t…”

“Nonsense,” Marina said. “Dance. I won’t have you missing all of the fun on my account.”

“Are you certain?”

“Quite certain. Besides, someone must save other dancers from Harold’s unique interpretation of the steps.”

Alone, Marina watched the couples form their sets. The empty space around her seemed to grow, as if she carried some taint that kept others at bay. She had thought she would grow used to it, but tonight, the isolation felt sharper somehow.

“Well, if it isn’t the wicked widow herself.”

Marina stiffened at Lady Ballantine’s acid tone. The Viscountess stopped beside her. The smile she gave Marina was as sharp as a dagger.

“Tell me, did you merely encourage his drinking until he fell in on his own, or did you spike his bottle?”

Marina’s fingers tightened on her fan, but she kept her face carefully blank. Any response on her part would only feed the gossip mills for weeks to come.

“Huh,” Lady Ballantine huffed, “no retort? Perhaps you have finally acquired a sense of shame.”

Marina clutched the fan tighter and mumbled a simple ‘good evening’ to the lady—she wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.

After a moment, Lady Ballantine moved on, clearly disappointed by her lack of reaction.

Caroline and Harold returned just as two gentlemen approached Marina. The taller of the two, whom Marina recognized as Lord Bartley, offered her an exaggerated bow.

“Lady Asquith,” he drawled, “you look absolutely ravishing tonight. Widowhood becomes you.”

Heat crept up Marina’s neck at his forward manner. Before she could respond, his companion let out a sharp laugh.

“I say, Lord Bartley, careful there. We all know what happened to her last husband.”