Page 44 of Duke of Emeralds (Dukes of Decadence #2)

“ T ry to enjoy yourself, Hester. You are among friends, not magistrates.” Anna nudged Hester through the archway and into the blazing warmth of the Copperton ballroom. “Besides, if you manage to look any more miserable, my husband will think I am bullying you.”

“I am quite well,” Hester lied, and her voice—flat, small, and entirely unconvincing—made Anna’s lips purse. “I am simply tired. It’s been a long Season.”

“If it’s a long Season, then take advantage! Tonight is not an execution, darling. It is a soiree in your honor.” Anna guided her past the array of guests and the truly magnificent ice sculpture in the shape of a swan.

Hester marshaled all the fortitude in her body and produced a smile so wan it might have wilted Anna’s ice swan. “Thank you. I am here for you, Anna. And for the oranges.”

Anna patted her hand then spotted someone across the room. “Ah! Lady Avingdon beckons.” She gave Hester’s arm one last squeeze and swept away, leaving Hester to drift alone in a sea of high color and higher voices.

Hester told herself she would keep to the fringes where she could blend in with the potted plants and the decorative vases.

She managed to reach the edge of the crowd before the floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet.

For a moment, she thought her stays had been tied too tightly, but the sensation passed—leaving a coldness in her chest that no amount of air could dispel.

It was not the lacing, nor the heat, nor the press of bodies that had weakened her so. It was him.

Thomas Green.

She saw him the moment he entered—every inch the Highland conqueror in severe black, his tawny beard trimmed just so, his height making the cluster of English peers around him look stunted.

He did not scan the room, did not pause to see if she was in attendance.

He simply greeted an elderly Lord with a tilt of his head and was quickly engaged in conversation.

He has not even looked for me. Not once.

Hester could not decide whether this fact was a relief or a wound. She moved to a chair at the edge of the room and sat, her reticule clutched in white-knuckled fists. She forced her gaze away from Thomas, only to find it drawn back again, over and over.

He looked untroubled, as if abandoning his wife to her fate was the most natural thing in the world. As if her heart were not breaking every hour of every day since he had left her at Lushton House with barely a proper explanation.

The pain of it was exquisite, and Hester pressed her lips tight, determined not to cry here, not now, in front of London’s merciless eyes.

“You are staring,” Anna whispered, materializing at her side with the subtlety of a general surveying a battlefield. “Do not deny it.”

Hester’s cheeks heated, but she kept her gaze on the swirling dancers. “I was admiring the orchestra’s precision. The strings are particularly lovely tonight.”

Anna snorted. “Liar. You are watching your husband pretend he hasn’t a care in the world.

” Anna’s eyes softened. “Hester, surely you did not think I would invite you and not the Duke? One or the other alone, and rumors would breed like rabbits. And it does not matter that you arrived separately so long as both of you appear.”

“It is thoughtful of you to arrange my public humiliation so delicately,” Hester said, the words tasting of ash in her mouth.

“Public humiliation? Darling, if I wanted to humiliate you, I’d have let you loose in the garden maze with all the eligible bachelors.” Anna squeezed her arm. “Besides, I feel like you two need to be thrown in each other’s paths until you get back to your senses.”

Hester’s throat tightened. “Is that what this is, Anna? A setup?”

Anna’s mouth twitched. “If you choose to see it so. But do you not want him to speak to you?”

“I do not know what I want,” Hester lied. She wanted to go home, crawl into bed, and not emerge until the world forgot she existed. But more importantly, she wanted her husband.

Anna’s gaze sharpened, but she did not press the matter. “Well. If you decide, you know where to find me.” With a nod, she slipped back into the crowd.

Hester was left to watch her husband from afar. Thomas had now collected two more peers, both of them laughing heartily at something he had said. He smiled.

God help her, but she missed him. She missed him with every fiber of her being, missed him so much she feared she might dissolve right here.

He’s probably forgotten he has a wife somewhere in this little world, she thought savagely. That is how insignificant I am to him.

She found herself blinking rapidly, fighting tears she thought she’d vanquished weeks ago. Suddenly, her vision swam. The room pressed closer, the lights blurred, the sound of the orchestra grew distant.

Hester reached for her reticule, hoping the tactile sensation of silk and metal might anchor her. Her fingers cramped, and she found herself digging her nails into the embroidery.

A familiar voice called her name, pulling her back. “Your Grace! Are you quite well?”

Hester blinked the haze away and saw Lady Alderton approaching with Lord Paisley. The sight of them together would have made her laugh on any other day. Lord Paisley was the man Thomas had called the King’s fool at the Alderton ball.

Lady Alderton, resplendent in emerald silk, tilted her head in concern. “You look positively wan, dear. Is something the matter?”

“I am well, I assure you,” Hester murmured though she could not muster enough voice to make it convincing.

Lord Paisley grinned. “If she is unwell, perhaps it is the company.” He waggled his eyebrows at Lady Alderton, who promptly smacked his arm with her fan.

Lady Alderton, dropping her voice, asked, “Are you certain it’s not a more delicate matter, Your Grace? If I may be so bold… might you be enceinte?”

Hester’s mind went perfectly blank. She stared at Lady Alderton then at the far wall where Thomas now laughed with yet another peer.

Enceinte? She had not thought to hope for such a thing. Not since their separation.

A pain lanced through her chest, so sharp she wondered if it might have physically pierced her.

She wanted it. She wanted it so much, she could taste the bitterness of loss on her tongue. She had not thought herself capable of such longing, not after the years spent steeling herself against want, against disappointment, against heartbreak.

She loved him.

The realization hit her with all the violence of a carriage crash. She, Hester Green, Duchess of Lushton, loved her husband with a ferocity that frightened her.

It did not matter that he had left her. It did not matter that he had never said the words or that he was now across the room laughing while she suffered.

She loved him. She wanted nothing more than to have him back and to build a life together, but she had ruined it all, right from the start.

Hester rose, and the room tilted again, and this time, she was grateful when Lord Paisley steadied her elbow. “Careful, Your Grace,” he said with genuine concern.

“I—” Hester tried, but her voice failed her. The air was thick and hot, her face was burning, and her chest ached.

Lady Alderton took her elbow. “You should sit back down.”

But Hester didn’t want to sit. Instead, she did the only thing she could: she shut her eyes and wished with all her might for something—anything—to change.

“I suppose our wives have found each other to gossip about us,” Lord Alderton roared, clapping Thomas on the shoulder with a bear’s affection. Colin and Isaac joined in the laughter, but Thomas managed only a tight smile.

Our wives? Alderton would not have said so if Hester were not present.

He turned and looked around ballroom, his heart pounding. Somewhere, surely, she was here.

Hester was on the far side of the room, caught in bright lamplight and the gaze of every man with a pulse. Lady Alderton stood beside her, but it was the gentleman on Hester’s left who had Thomas’ jaw clenching.

The King’s fool, Thomas thought sourly. Or, as Hester preferred to call him, the jovial Lord Paisley.

He watched Hester, noting her every gesture. The angle of her head, the clutch of her reticule, the half-hearted smile she offered as Lady Alderton fussed over her. She looked thinner than he remembered. Paler, as if she’d left something vital behind in the weeks since he had last seen her.

Paisley was doing his utmost to amuse her. Thomas watched as the man leaned in, said something, and Hester’s mouth—God, her mouth—curved into a smile, soft as sunrise.

Thomas did not like it.

He told himself he did not care; that it was all for the best. But then she turned in his direction, and their eyes met. He moved before he thought, and as he made his way toward her, horror gripped him.

She swayed.

Time seemed to slow. Thomas watched her knees gave way. She would have gone down if not for Lady Alderton’s quick hands.

He pushed through the crowd, ignoring the tittering matrons and startled gentry. He reached Hester just as she was being lowered into a chair, Paisley and Alderton fussing around her like anxious hens.

“I’ll take it from here,” Thomas said, his voice cold as the North Sea.

Paisley blinked. “Your Grace?—”

“She is my wife,” Thomas ground out. “Step aside.”

He kneeled beside Hester, brushing away the other hands, and lifted her chin with two fingers. Her skin was clammy, her lips too pale.

“Hester. Darling. Speak to me.”

She blinked up at him, dazed. “I suppose I have made a scene,” she murmured.

“Ye’ve always had a talent for theatrics, Duchess,” Thomas replied, but the joke was half-choked by fear.

Lady Alderton dabbed at Hester’s brow with a lace handkerchief. “You must take it easy, dear. I suppose I should congratulate you, but first we must get you to a quiet room?—”

“Congratulate me?” Thomas echoed, completely at a loss.