Page 8

Chapter Eight

“ W hy is she not touching her venison?” a woman close to him asked in a whisper.

Dominic sat near Lord Grisham at one end of the long table, with Simon and his Countess, Olivia, beside him. Yet, his mind wandered far from the dinner.

At first, it was the fractured patterns of candlelight catching the edge of his goblet that distracted him. The day had been physically and mentally draining, and he needed to compose himself. The clink of silverware grated on his nerves—he was certainly in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It wasn’t until much later, when his focus finally returned, that he realized the woman he had been searching for—Marianne—was dining at the same table.

“Defying her father, possibly? Not eating the main course of his dinner party?” the other woman suggested.

Piecing together some of the information, he realized that Marianne was none other than Lord Grisham’s daughter. Another one of them. The name Elizabeth was most often mentioned by others.

At the far end of the table, Lady Marianne sat with the same poise he’d noticed in their brief encounter in the woods. Yet, there was an undeniable tension in her posture and a slight pallor to her complexion.

Whispers about her drifted toward him, frustratingly unclear and incomplete, making them all the more maddening.

“Not touching venison? A curious choice, especially for one of her station.”

“Perhaps it’s a statement. But it does seem rather pointed, don’t you think?”

“To decline such a delicacy is positively ungracious.”

Dominic furrowed his brow in concentration, his irritation mounting as whispers continued to swirl around him. He was on the verge of demanding an explanation from the guests, or perhaps commanding them to cease their talk of his host’s daughter altogether.

Before he could act on his frustration, Lady Dunsworth, a spry seventy-year-old with the teeth of a much younger woman, leaned toward him with an unsettlingly wide smile.

“Your Grace, if I may…” she began brightly, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Are the rumors true? You are looking for a bride?”

“I beg your pardon, Lady Dunsworth?”

“Oh, come now, Your Grace. Don’t be shy,” the old woman cooed. “You are a wealthy, unmarried gentleman. Of course, you’re in need of an heir. You are certainly making each matchmaking mama in this hunt excited.”

As if on cue, a young lady across from him giggled coyly. Dominic tried hard not to scowl, reminding himself that he was indeed part of polite society.

“We were wondering all night which fortunate young lady will catch your eye,” another woman said.

“Tell me, Your Grace, when you look for a lady to marry, is it her beauty that catches your eye first, or does she need to possess a bit of wit to hold your attention? I can’t help but wonder what you truly value in a match. ”

Dominic gave them a tight smile. “I thought this was a dinner party after a hunt, not an interrogation, My Ladies.”

There was a light ripple of giggles from the ladies, no doubt taking his words as either a jest or an attempt at flirtation. He suppressed a weary sigh, wishing they would take him more seriously.

Lord Grisham then decided it was time to share his opinion. “The ladies can hardly be blamed, Your Grace. They are curious about you because of your status and good reputation. It is rare for women to find eligible bachelors nowadays.”

Dominic gave him a cool look, biting back any retort that might have been too harsh.

Though accustomed to being the subject of gossip, he hated being cornered into conversation or subjected to others’ expectations. His life was his own to navigate, and he preferred to keep it that way.

They were right about one thing: the thought of an heir had crossed his mind. But it would be on his terms, not through loud speculation or the ridiculous theatrics of others.

“I hope the weather holds up tomorrow,” Simon chimed in, changing the topic to something more mundane, thankfully.

“You are right, husband,” Olivia agreed. “I don’t want to ruin my new boots. Wouldn’t that be a tragedy?”

“The real tragedy would be you lamenting them continuously, dear wife,” Simon said lightly.

The Earl and Countess had managed to brighten the mood at their end of the table, and soon Dominic was left in peace. He remained quiet, occasionally casting glances at Lady Marianne.

There seemed to be some sort of argument at her end of the table, followed by laughter, while she maintained her composure.

What is it with this crowd?

When Lady Marianne eventually left the room, he waited a few minutes before following. She was deep in conversation with a young woman—probably her sister.

Just how many daughters does Grisham have?

Suddenly, Dominic felt an urge he couldn’t ignore. It was reckless, a step he wouldn’t usually take, but he moved without thinking.

He passed behind Lady Marianne, his arm brushing hers—barely a touch, more fabric against fabric. It would have looked accidental to anyone who might have seen, but he knew better.

However, the effect was unmistakable. He felt it—and he was certain she did too. She stiffened, gasping softly.

For a moment, he felt like he was walking beside a fire, the heat from that brief touch searing him. He didn’t pause. He didn’t turn. His pulse pounded in his ears, his calm exterior a mask for the madness roiling inside him.

How could this woman make him react like this?

He hadn’t meant to touch her—not really, at least. But now, a few feet away, he could still feel the weight of the moment.

He glanced back, but she wasn’t looking at him. He waited, knowing she felt it too.

Then, their eyes met, and for an instant, he felt what it must be like to drown.