Font Size
Line Height

Page 24 of A Wife for the Beast (Scandals and Second Chances #6)

His approach had been deliberately silent, using skills learned during years of military reconnaissance to position himself where he could overhear their conversation before making his presence known.

What he heard had filled him with such complex emotions that he had required several moments to process their implications fully.

Evangeline was not merely rebuffing Ashford's advances—she was actively promoting her husband's reputation in terms so glowing that they bordered on the fantastical.

Her description of his nursing care during her recovery bore only passing resemblance to reality, transformed through her words into something approaching romantic devotion rather than the grim duty it had actually represented.

Why was she defending him so publicly? What possible advantage could she gain from portraying their practical marriage as a love match?

The effort could only reflect negatively upon her own judgment while making her appear either naive or deliberately deceptive to anyone familiar with the true circumstances of their union.

Yet as he listened to her enthusiastic recitation of his supposed virtues, Lucian found himself moved by evidence of loyalty he had not expected and certainly had not earned.

She was sacrificing her own social comfort to protect his reputation, deliberately associating herself with qualities that she must know would be viewed with skepticism by anyone acquainted with his actual character.

The realization that someone was willing to defend him publicly, to present him as worthy of admiration rather than pity or fear, struck him with unexpected force. When had anyone last spoken of him in terms that suggested anything other than damaged goods to be handled with careful sympathy?

Ashford's suggestion that Evangeline might require alternative companionship had pushed Lucian's possessive instincts beyond the breaking point, transforming protective concern into something approaching territorial rage.

The younger man was clearly testing the boundaries of their marriage, searching for evidence that the Duchess might be amenable to extramarital entertainment.

The confrontation that followed had been deliberately calculated to establish Ashford's position in the social hierarchy—far below that of a Duke whose patience with presumptuous fortune hunters had reached its absolute limits.

Lucian had no intention of allowing anyone to question his wife's satisfaction with their marital arrangements, regardless of what private reservations she might harbor about their practical nature.

Watching Ashford retreat with obvious relief had provided considerable satisfaction, though Lucian was acutely aware that his handling of the situation had probably created more gossip than it had prevented.

The assembled guests had witnessed a display of possessive jealousy that sat oddly with their supposed marriage of convenience, and he could already see speculation beginning to form behind carefully neutral expressions.

"How odd," Evangeline murmured as Ashford disappeared into the crowd with unseemly haste. "Lord Westbrook seemed quite eager for conversation a moment ago. I wonder what could have caused him to depart so suddenly?"

"Perhaps he recalled a prior engagement," Lucian replied with the sort of bland courtesy that revealed nothing of his inner turmoil.

"How very convenient. Though I confess myself puzzled by his haste. Did you say something to distress him?"

Her innocent inquiry suggested that she had not fully grasped the undercurrents of male competition that had just played out before her, viewing his intervention as mere social interaction rather than the territorial display it had actually represented.

"I merely greeted an old acquaintance. Some men are more sensitive to social nuance than others."

"Indeed. Though I cannot help but notice that many of the guests seem somewhat reserved in their interactions with you. Is such behaviour typical of local society?"

Her observation was delivered with the sort of careful neutrality that suggested she had been studying the reactions of the other people with growing concern.

Lucian followed her gaze across the assembly room, noting the carefully maintained distances, the averted eyes, the way conversations faltered whenever he approached a group.

"People find my appearance disturbing," he said with the sort of matter-of-fact acceptance that came from years of such treatment. "It is natural for them to prefer maintaining appropriate distance rather than risk causing offence through visible discomfort."

"Disturbing?" Evangeline's voice carried a note of indignation that surprised him with its intensity. "How ridiculous. You are scarred, not contagious. Their behaviour is both rude and cowardly."

The fierce defense of his person, delivered with obvious sincerity, filled him with emotions too complex to analyze clearly. She was genuinely angry on his behalf, offended by the treatment he had learned to accept as inevitable consequence of his altered appearance.

"Their behaviour is understandable," he corrected gently. "I am no longer the man they once knew, and change is always unsettling to those who prefer familiar patterns."

"Then they are fools," she declared with characteristic directness.

Her passionate declaration carried clearly across the immediate vicinity, causing several nearby conversations to pause as guests absorbed this unexpected defense of his reputation.

Lucian found himself torn between gratitude for her loyalty and concern that her outspokenness might reflect poorly upon her own social standing.

"You are very kind," he murmured, conscious that they were attracting attention from multiple quarters. "Though perhaps such opinions are better expressed in private circumstances."

"Why? Because the truth might discomfort those who prefer comfortable illusions to uncomfortable realities? I think not. These people should be grateful for your service to King and country rather than treating you like some sort of curiosity to be avoided."

Before he could respond to her spirited defense, the musicians struck up the opening notes of a country dance, and couples began forming for the evening's entertainment. Evangeline turned to him with the sort of expectant expression that suggested she anticipated his invitation to join the dancing.

"Perhaps we might demonstrate to all of them that the Duke and Duchess of Ravenshollow have nothing to hide from public scrutiny?" she suggested with a challenge in her voice that reminded him forcibly of their early encounters.

The prospect of dancing publicly, of subjecting both Evangeline and himself to the sort of close observation that such activity would inevitably attract, filled him with dread.

Yet her obvious determination to present their marriage as successful and harmonious made retreat impossible without disappointing her evident expectations.

"If you wish," he conceded, offering his arm with the sort of formal courtesy that their public situation demanded. "Though I warn you that my dancing has suffered from lack of practice."

"Then we shall simply have to remedy that deficiency through application," she replied with the sort of bright confidence that made him wonder, not for the first time, what he had done to deserve such a remarkable woman as his wife.

As they took their places in the set, Lucian was acutely conscious of the attention their participation was attracting from the other guests.

Conversations had ceased almost entirely, replaced by the sort of focused observation normally reserved for theatrical performances.

Every step, every gesture, every expression would be analyzed for evidence of the true nature of their relationship.

Yet as the dance began and Evangeline moved through the familiar patterns with natural grace, Lucian found himself forgetting the audience in favor of simply appreciating his wife's remarkable combination of beauty and dignity.

She danced with the sort of unconscious elegance that marked true breeding, her movements perfectly timed to the music while her expression conveyed enjoyment rather than mere duty.

More importantly, she showed no sign of discomfort with his proximity, no hesitation in accepting his touch during the brief moments when the dance brought them together.

Her easy acceptance of his scarred appearance, demonstrated so publicly before the critical eyes of local society, spoke more eloquently than words about her genuine lack of revulsion toward his altered state.

When the dance concluded and they made their way from the floor amid a smattering of applause that seemed more polite than enthusiastic, Lucian found himself reflecting upon the curious transformation that the evening had wrought in his understanding of their relationship.

Evangeline had defended him publicly, promoted his reputation despite its obvious disadvantages to her own social standing, and demonstrated through her behavior that she considered their marriage worthy of public display rather than private shame.

Perhaps, he thought with cautious optimism, their practical arrangement was indeed evolving into something more substantial than mutual convenience.

Perhaps the woman who had so magnificently championed his character before a room full of skeptics might eventually come to regard him with something approaching genuine affection.

The future remained uncertain, fraught with challenges that would test both their individual resilience and their capacity for genuine partnership.

But for the first time since their marriage, Lucian found himself believing that such challenges might reveal strengths rather than weaknesses in the bonds that connected them.

Evangeline Hartwell had proven herself to be everything he had hoped for in a wife and considerably more than he had dared to expect.

Whether he could prove himself worthy of such a remarkable woman remained to be seen, but tonight had given him reason to hope that the attempt might not be entirely futile.