Page 35 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke

He scanned the crowd, and instead of landing on a beautiful brunette, his eyes landed on the man who orchestrated the whole weekend.

Lord Grisham.

The man seemed focused on him, as well. Barely a moment later, the Marquess was on his way toward him.

Dominic groaned inwardly.

“Your Grace,” Lord Grisham greeted.

“I need a word with you. In private,” Dominic said.

Grisham’s eyes glimmered with excitement—not the pure one—as he smiled and inclined his head. “Of course, Your Grace. Meet me in my study in five minutes.”

Marianne’s heart was still pounding as she tried to feign boredom. Her hands, on the other hand, told an entirely different story, for her fingers gripped her fan so hard that her knuckles had turned white.

She had kept chatter at a minimum, since her mind was still on fire with the memory of the Duke’s kiss.

The memory of his passionate embrace lingered not only because it was her first taste of intimacy, but also because of the intensity in his eyes, which haunted every corner of her mind.

Did men often look at women that way to get what they wanted?

“You are too quiet,” Elizabeth remarked, oblivious to the mess in her head.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I am just tired,” Marianne lied, hating each traitorous second of it.

It was not nothing at all; it waseverything.

Before Elizabeth could probe her with further questions, their father approached. His deliberate but almost soundless steps were enough to make their spines straighten. His gaze locked onto Elizabeth, sharp as a blade, and the smile that followed was all ice—familiar, calculated, and meant to unnerve.

“My dear Elizabeth,” he said. “The Duke of Oakmere has requested an audience. Come to the study.”

“Now, Father?” Elizabeth asked, looking deathly pale.

“Now.”

Those thin lips, the hard edge to his voice—there was no room for argument. Then, he turned sharply on his heel, leaving neither sister space to protest. Elizabeth had no choice but to follow.

And Marianne… she was left behind to wonder.

Why did the Duke seek her sister’s company?

The answer gnawed at her. It had to do with the kiss—theirkiss. The one she had fled from.

What would a man like the Duke do after such a moment? When the woman he kissed vanished into the crowd without a word. Would he demand an explanation—from the wrong sister? Or was he about to remind Marianne, in the cruelest of ways, that dukes were not made for foolish, impulsive affection?

As their father walked away, Elizabeth turned to her. “Marianne,” she begged, reaching for her hand as she always did when she needed support and comfort. “Please come with me.”

The terror in Elizabeth’s eyes was too great for Marianne to ignore. She nodded almost immediately.

“Of course,” she said, though her heart sped up.

What was she about to confront in her father’s study?

When they arrived at the door, it was already ajar and needed only a little push. Their father stood by the hearth, looking smug with a glass of brandy in his hand.

And then Marianne’s eyes landed on the Duke. His arms were folded behind his back while he contemplated the fire.

What did she expect?