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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T onight was not their first outing as an officially married couple, even if it felt that way.

The first had been the Irovale Ball, and although Lysander had been congenial and friendly to Margaret, it had also been an act.

There had been a sense of falsity to it that Margaret had not been able to ignore, and it had left a bitter taste in her mouth, which had ended when she’d told Lysander she would spend the rest of their marriage ignoring him.

How far we have come, she could not help but think with a coy smile. Ta those watching us, we likely look as we did the last time, a happily married couple in the throes of romance. But only we know the truth of it…

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” Lysander whispered in Margaret’s ear as he led her across the ballroom.

She scoffed. “Ye da nae have ta try so hard as that.”

He chuckled. “Just doing my husbandly duty. And what sort of husband would I be if I didn’t tell my wife how stunning she looked?”

“Not a very good one,” she agreed. “Personally, I didn’t think ye had it in ye. All words and no action.”

“I surprise myself,” he said.

“Just teasing,” she winked. “But still… I appreciate it.”

He had his arm linked through hers, and he pulled her in closer as they walked, as if afraid to let her go.

“Do not take my word for it.” He gestured to the crowd, which seemed to part for them as they went.

“See how everyone stares. See the looks on their faces. I assure you, it is not for my benefit.”

“Perhaps they are just surprised,” she offered, even if she could see them too. “Shock that ye and I have nae ended in killing each other by now.”

He laughed again. “Perhaps. Although I prefer to be more positive.” Suddenly, he came to a stop, forcing her to turn toward him. There, he held her hands and looked at her, humor gone, eyes glimmering. “You do look beautiful, Margaret. Know that for the truth it is.”

Her natural instinct was to offer a reply by way of a witty remark again.

To disarm the comment, as was her usual way, because Margaret was not used to such things.

But she met the duke’s eyes and realized that he was not saying such things because he thought he needed to do so.

Yes, a part of it was this new attempt at seeing what this marriage might have the potential to become.

But there was also a truth in his eyes that she could not deny. He really means it.

“Rendered speechless,” he chuckled when she said nothing. “I did not think I would see the day.”

“Dae nae get used ta it.”

It had been three days since the conversation in Margaret’s bedroom.

Three days since the duke had promised to give this marriage a chance.

Three days since Margaret had done the same.

Three days since they had stopped arguing at every turn, looking for reasons to bicker, unable to help their distrust because neither had been ready to be truly honest with the other.

Three days and… so far, I have nothing to complain about and so much ta praise.

It has been as unexpected as it has been wonderful.

They had not fought once. They had not even argued.

Lysander was careful not to be his usual commanding self, especially where the girls were concerned, giving Margaret space to breathe and be true to her own nature.

And where at times she could see he wanted to step in and tell her off or direct her away from something she was speaking of, he held his tongue, determined to try and make this work.

As wonderfully as everything was going, there was one small issue that Margaret was having a hard time ignoring, despite her attempts at doing just that.

In those three days, not once had Lysander given in to his urges and taken her as she knew he wanted to.

Oh, sure, he enjoyed teasing her still. A stroking of her arm here.

A hand around her waist there. The odd whisper in her ear that told her how much he still wanted her… only to never follow through on it.

He is teasing me. Or perhaps he is testing me? I dae nae which it is, and at this point I dae nae care. I want him more than I ever have, yet he refuses to give himself over to his urges.

She guessed that he was doing it to prove a point. And she understood the reasoning well enough to prove that they could work without relying solely on their desires for one another. Still, that didn’t make it any easier to live through.

“Look who it is,” Lysander said as he looked over her shoulder. “A dear friend of mine.”

Margaret frowned and turned around, spying the Duke of Morland coming their way. The last time she had seen him, it had ended with Lysander sending her away in anger. She hoped this time things would go better.

“Ah, the happy couple.” The large duke held his arms wide as he swept toward them. “And the talk of the ball, might I add.”

“Is that so?” Lysander said dryly. “And who is doing the talking? My feeling is that I am looking right at him.”

“Your Grace…” The duke took her by the hand and gave the back of it a kiss. “You look as beautiful as ever, which I hope that my dear friend has been sure to tell you.”

“Almost too often,” she joked.

“Wonderful,” Julian said. “And you are wrong, Lysander. The talk comes from them…” He swept his hand across the ballroom. “Shock and awe because few can believe how happy you two look.”

Lysander snorted. “I do not know if I should be insulted or not.”

“Who cares what they think?” Julian said, waving them down. “What matters is the two of you.” He looked knowingly at Lysander, and Lysander gave him a nod as if to answer a silent question. “Exactly,” he chuckled. “Let the birds caw, aye. We lions have better things to worry about.”

Tonight’s event was the Brimstone Ball, hosted by Lord and Lady Brimstone, a small-time count and countess looking to make a name for themselves among their contemporaries.

That was how these things often went, hosted merely as an excuse to show off wealth and bump shoulders with better company in the hopes that their prestige might rub off on them.

And indeed, since their arrival, more than one lord and lady had approached to give their salutations and congratulations.

They were always overly friendly and eager for the duke to see and greet them back.

It was such a strange world to be a part of, one that Margaret was still getting used to.

She felt like a queen, on the arm of a king, and needed to remind herself to behave.

The duke might like that side of me, but I doubt he would if his contemporaries were to find themselves on the wrong side of it.

“Have you paid respects to the host and hostess yet?” Julian asked

Lyander groaned. “No, but I should do.”

“I would,” he sighed. “Get it over and done with. And be wary of Lady Brimstone…” His lip curled. “She is a viper posing as a house cat. All smiles until she sees skin bared to sink her teeth into. You understand?”

“I think I can handle Lady Brimstone.”

“Oh, not you.” Julian slapped Lysander on the shoulder. “I was referring to your wife.” He laughed loudly and shook his head as he then vanished into the crowd.

Lysander watched him go, shaking his head.

“Have ye met Lady and Lord Brimstone before?” Margaret asked.

“Hmm?” He turned back to her. “Once or twice, but not–oh.” He reached out suddenly and adjusted the shoulder of her dress. “Best watch that.”

“Oops.” She touched her shoulder. “Why does that keep happening?”

“Not a problem…” He eyed the garment for a moment, his brow furrowed. “Let us just keep an eye on it, yes?”

The dress in question was one of Miss Pinpoint’s creations.

A lavish spectacle of a number, mostly glistening silver in color with dashes of blue and purple.

Although it was modest in design, the shoulders were puffy and awkward, and the right shoulder continued to slip and fall, which had the added benefit of pulling down the right side of the dress so that more than a little bit of Margaret’s collar was showing.

Not a problem, Margaret thought. But that was twice now that Lysander had fixed the fallen shoulder, and considering where they were and who they were about, Margaret made a mental note to keep an eye on it.

Lysander took Margaret by the arm again, all smiles, and led her through the ballroom.

They found a waiter with drinks. They had a nibble of some sweet meats.

They spoke to a few others whom Margaret had never met, all of whom were overly kind to her.

In short, they were having a wonderful time…

and then Lord and Lady Brimstone found them.

“Your Grace,” Lady Brimstone began. She stepped before her husband and extended her hand for Lysander to take; she even raised an eyebrow at him when he hesitated. “It is so lovely for you to make it this evening.”

“I would not miss it.” Lysander kissed the back of her hand and dropped it.

“We should hope not,” Lord Brimstone chuckled dully. “I have been pestering you for months.”

“And here I am.” Lysander stepped beside Margaret, placed a hand on the small of her back, and gestured to her. “Allow me to introduce my wife. Her Grace, Duchess –”

“Of course!” Lady Brimstone cut over him. She was a large woman with a larger voice and a larger personality than that. “I was hoping to make your acquaintance this evening.”

“As was I,” added Lord Brimstone. He, too, was large in size, but his voice and presence were nothing compared to that of his wife. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.”

“Likewise.”

“Tell me,” Lady Brimstone began with a flourish of her hand. “Are you enjoying yourself, Your Grace?” The question was aimed at Margaret. “I could not help but wonder how such events as this compare to those where you are from.”

“Oh…” Margaret smiled. “Aye, it is a rather lavish event. I am enjoying meself.”