Page 83 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke

“But the true test of my talents would be whether I can charm you as well, my lady. I do love a challenge,” Linpool declared, his grin widening as he leaned ever so slightly toward her.

Marianne’s eyes narrowed. Although she was pleased to see Elizabeth open up, she couldn’t ignore the undercurrent. Linpool’s ease, his unchecked boldness—it set off warning bells in her head.

She didn’t have time to voice her unease.

Dominic had arrived. Marianne hadn’t noticed his approach, but now he was at her side, his presence heavy and sharp.

He was always serious, but this was different. His posture was rigid, his jaw clenched. And then, shockingly, his arm slid around her waist.

She froze.

It wasn’t like him. Not here. Not in public. Certainly not with thetonwatching. His possessive gesture, though technically appropriate for a husband, skirted the edges of impropriety.

He didn’t seem to care. His gaze landed on Linpool, cold and cutting.

“Linpool,” he greeted, his voice clipped. There was no mistaking his disdain.

The Viscount, however, didn’t blink. He executed a shallow bow, with none of the flourish he’d displayed to the ladies.

“Your Grace,” he returned. “Good of you to join us. I saw you conversing with Lord Grisham earlier. As for me, I was simply enjoying the company of your lovely wife. And her delightful sister.”

Marianne glanced between them, torn. Linpool’s attention to Elizabeth unsettled her, but so did the fierce tension radiating from Dominic. That he had come so quickly, so abruptly, simply because of this man…

It thrilled her. Alarmed her. Confused her.

Dominic’s hand was still on her waist, and his silence felt louder than words.

“Linpool,” he uttered again, his voice low and sharp—a warning, no question about it.

The two men stood eye to eye. Dominic was rigid with fury, while Linpool appeared calm and unaffected.

But was he?

His smile remained, yet his eyes were colder now. Calculating. And in Dominic’s eyes burned something darker—challenge, fury, perhaps even jealousy.

Marianne’s heart sped up. Something unspoken but palpable hid between them, threading tension between civility and confrontation.

Some people in thetonhad history—tangled, old stories that rarely surfaced but lingered in glances and clipped greetings.

Marianne, who had barely participated during her Seasons, was mostly unaware of such undercurrents. She had always been content to let herself fade into the background, to be overlooked, almost deliberately. It had once seemed easier to become a spinster than play her father’s game.

“You may not like me, Your Grace,” Linpool said smoothly, “but your Duchess is certainly captivating. I believe you’d do well not to stray too far from her side. I’m quite overwhelmed by howdivertingher company is.”

Diverting?Hmm.

Marianne forced a polite smile, choosing the only acceptable response. “You’re too kind, my lord.”

Before the situation could devolve further, another person joined them—Lord Grisham. His cane sharply struck the stone path as he approached, the sound cutting through the garden’s calm like a blade.

Marianne tensed. She was acutely aware of where they stood: in the garden, surrounded by members of theton.

Exposed. Observed. A petri dish of gossip.

She shouldn’t care. But something about this moment felt more precarious than usual.

No. She was imagining it. Linpool was just being friendly. A littletoofriendly, perhaps. Dominic was simply reacting to that.

And her father? He saw an opportunity. It was the same old game—titles, wealth, usefulness.