Page 15

Chapter Fifteen

“ T hey’re staring at us,” Elizabeth whispered shakily.

Somehow, a rough man like her father knew how to host a ball. The stag hunt, she could understand—Lord Grisham’s demeanor was almost predatory, veiled beneath politeness.

No, feral was the better word. Cruel.

That same cruel man had the ballroom glittering with crystals and candles, while young women added their beauty with coiffed hair and satin gowns. If the first night had been filled with incredible music, tonight was even better. Laughter mingled with the melodies of piano and violins.

Marianne felt out of place in her own home, standing at one end and observing the others. Being a wallflower was far better than being noticed.

Tonight, she was dressed in green satin and velvet, the color of damp forest moss. Her hair was styled, with a few loose curls framing her face. Helena had done a fine job.

Beside her stood petite, blonde Elizabeth, fidgeting with her fan—open, close, open, close. Lizzie needed to relax. It was hard enough being two Grisham sisters, often ignored or maligned in Society.

Open. Close. Open. Close.

“Oh, let them,” Marianne replied, peering at the crowd through her lashes. “You are a lovely girl. If they are watching you, it’s to admire you.”

Elizabeth blushed but didn’t argue.

At two-and-twenty, Marianne was older than most young women being introduced to Society.

Everything else about her felt strange, from her aversion to meat to her protests against hunting.

She was too independent and opinionated to attract suitors.

Add in having Serafina, she was merely a curiosity now—someone to gossip about, never to marry.

What most people could not guess, however, was that Marianne did not mind.

She was not interested in being picked among marriage-minded ladies like cattle or fruit.

She didn’t feel like she could handle flirtations and forced politeness.

Not when she’d seen how shallow or cruel many members of the ton could be.

“Do you think anyone will ask us to dance?” her sister asked tentatively.

“I hope not, Lizzie,” Marianne answered honestly. “My shoes are too tight, anyway.”

However, what she wanted and what her father wanted weren’t exactly aligned.

As soon as the words left her mouth, their father waltzed in front of them, his mouth stretched into a tight smile.

“Elizabeth,” he began, acting like the father he should’ve been, yet his pale eyes remained cold. “Lord Rosendale would like to speak with you. I believe you know how to behave in front of our distinguished guests.”

Elizabeth looked startled, her lips turning pale, but she had no choice but to agree, even as Marianne could barely hide her grimace.

“Yes, Father. Of course, Father.”

Left unaccompanied, Marianne headed for the refreshments table. She did not mind being alone, but she worried about her sister.

Would their father really look for a husband for her? Immediately? What happened to his plan to give her to the one who would win the stag? Wouldn’t that be the Duke of Oakmere?

Her stomach churned at the thought of her sister marrying the Duke, even though he seemed like a better choice compared to some of the lecherous-looking men in the room.

Marianne had to weave through the crowd, avoiding eye contact as much as possible, muttering soft and required apologies.

She could barely restrain the sigh of relief from escaping her lips when she poured herself a glass of lemonade.

The first sip felt like heaven on her tongue—which she could hold still, as it was blessedly quiet where she was.

It seemed that she was the only one who needed refreshments so early in the evening.

“Hiding again, are you?” a voice she recognized too well asked softly. “The hunt’s not the same without you in the open, little doe. Come out and play.”

She felt his looming presence at her back, her skin prickling with the strong awareness. She didn’t turn around, swirling her lemonade to calm herself.

“I don’t think I am the only one hiding, Your Grace.”

“I don’t doubt it, Lady Marianne,” the Duke murmured, chuckling as he poured himself a drink beside her. “However, you can tell clearly that I am clever enough to find good company while hiding from the horde.”

She was always running away from him, but a part of her couldn’t help but be drawn to this man, who seemed to always appear out of nowhere.

Tonight, he was dressed in dark navy, the color accentuating the sharpness of his jaw and the depth of his piercing blue eyes.

His coat, tailored to perfection, clung to his broad shoulders and trim waist, as though it were custom-made for him.

Or perhaps it was he who made the coat look like it belonged to a king.

The Duke of Oakmere—wealthy and unmarried—was nothing short of striking.

His face was ruggedly handsome in a way that only the most dangerous men could be.

But it wasn’t his looks alone that made her heart race.

It was the quiet intensity in his eyes, that unspoken wariness that hinted at something darker lurking just beneath the surface.

Something that called to her, urging her to step closer and discover what lay behind the mask.

“You have more to hide from,” she commented. “Where are your admirers, Your Grace? Don’t they need entertaining?”

“Admirers? Admirers never know who they are admiring, my lady. They may admire something about me, but they don’t try to get to know me.”

“How perceptive of you, Your Grace,” she muttered.

For some reason, she knew he was telling her the truth. She had to remind herself that the Duke was just like many of his peers.

“Aren’t you doing the same thing, though, Your Grace? You judge women based on their physical attributes and backgrounds, no?” she added. “Their outward manners, for how do we really know how they behave elsewhere or in their own homes?”

“That is why I am here. Yet you, my lady… You are not here to please anyone.”

Marianne was startled by the accuracy of his assessment. She liked being seen, but it was dangerous to be seen by a handsome duke. He could have anyone he wanted, and she knew her father wanted him for Elizabeth.

“You speak as though you think you know me, Your Grace,” she challenged.

The Duke smirked. “Indeed. I may not know you fully, my lady, but I intend to. Every aspect of you intrigues me—compels me to uncover each layer you so carefully guard. And the way you ride your horse as though you are one with it.”

“With her ,” she corrected, blushing at the way his tone had become suggestive with that last sentence. She almost felt like he was complimenting her for something else.

“With her,” he amended, an amused lilt in his voice.

“T-Thank you for… not letting me fall,” she said reluctantly.

Where were her manners? She might not like what he represented—the predator out to hunt and kill animals—but he had shown some chivalry earlier.

“Oh, so you know how to express gratitude, my little doe,” he murmured, making her tremble.

She was saved from acknowledging her reaction toward him when three young ladies with beaming smiles somehow found themselves by the refreshments table.

And they didn’t seem too interested in the drinks.

Instead, their eyes quickly fell on the Duke, their gloved hands clutching their dainty fans and fancy reticules.

“Who is the prey now?” Marianne wished to tell him as she saw the discomfort on his face.

And so she gave in to that itch.

“Seems like you’re the one being hunted tonight, Your Grace,” she whispered to him, leaning close so that only he could hear.

Dominic didn’t have time to reply to the little minx, for she had left him alone with the swarm of ladies.

Each of them had an expression that he did not appreciate: vapid and too eager. The combination was difficult to comprehend, but here they were.

“Your Grace!”

“Is it true you keep Arabian horses and use them to hunt regularly?”

“Someone said that you have never missed a shot…”

“That every shot was clean.”

Dominic felt trapped. Worse, he saw Lady Marianne walking out the door, her shoulders shaking.

That little vixen was laughing at him.

He tried his best to answer the ladies’ questions as politely as possible, asking questions equally so as not to sound self-absorbed.

It was a challenging job. Being in a social gathering had already sapped most of his energy, but being actively part of conversations with these women would drain him quickly.

He realized that part of the reason he was still here was the possibility of seeing her in some strange corner. She had not disappointed him yet. And at the moment, Simon and Olivia had also not disappointed him, coming to the rescue.

“There you are!” Simon exclaimed, as dramatic as always. Just as loud, as well. He clapped a hand on Dominic’s back, hard, but Dominic didn’t mind at all. “We’ve been looking all over for you, Your Grace.”

“Yes, we were,” Olivia agreed, her grin as wide as her husband’s. “Come with us. We have something most urgent to show you, Your Grace.”

Dominic barely had time to raise an eyebrow before Simon and Olivia flanked him on either side like a pair of mischievous guards. He turned to murmur an apology to the trio of ladies who’d hounded him—who also looked dismayed, but not entirely defeated. Likely hoping for a return.

“Ladies,” he said with a shallow bow, “duty calls.”

He allowed himself to be swept—no, steered —away by his meddling friends, like a sheep herded by particularly gleeful wolves.

“Thank you,” he muttered under his breath.

“Oh, grateful, are you?” Olivia said brightly, looping her arm through his as they walked. “We knew we had to rescue you before those ladies demanded a full recounting of your most illustrious hunts. You looked one anecdote away from miming a boar’s last squeal.”

Simon clapped him on the back. “And then they’d have begged for a demonstration of your wrestling prowess.”