Page 95 of How to Love a Duke in Ten Days

“I am fortunate in this particular vocation, in this lovely country, that we can study the ancients of our own vast and violent English history, rather than those of another mystical society,” the doctor continued, swinging back to the company at large. “Fortunate, indeed, that the descendant of our Viking specimen is not only among the living, but among us here, tonight.” He turned to their table, directing all attention not to Alexandra, but to Piers, himself.

“To His Grace, Piers Gedrick Atherton, the Duke of Redmayne, and his new and incomparable duchess. May your marriage be long and fruitful.”

“À votre santé!”the audience toasted, and Alexandra turned to Piers, her smile radiant as she urged him to stand, to accept the applause beginning to swell. When he didn’t instantly comply, she stood, obliging him to do so, or to risk disrespecting her in public.

Piers didn’t hear their applause as he stood.

He still contemplated the meaning of the word “sin.” The sins his wife might have committed in her past. The ones she might commit against him in the future.

The sin he wanted to commit with her here. Now. Iniquities so fiendish, even the devil would blush.

“Would Their Graces indulge us in a waltz to begin the evening?” Forsythe stroked his mustache above a cheeky grin and the assemblage made affirmative noises as the chamber musicians thrummed the first notes of Strauss.

Piers advanced, thinking Forsythe would look a great deal better wearing the champagne rather than drinking it. Such seemingly innocuous words. Appreciate. Admire. Esteem.

But not when it came to his wife.

My wife.The beast within him snarled.Mine.

Was he too quick to believe her when she claimed there was not—nor had there been—a relationship between them? Forsythe’s look had certainly conveyed more. And for a man who disliked Piers as heartily as he was certain Forsythe did… why would he take such pains to show him such public courtesy?

Curious, indeed.

What Piers wouldn’t have given to have been able to catch the look Alexandra had given back to Forsythe.

Had it been one of similar meaning?

A small hand slipped into his, as Alexandra stepped out in front of him, a vision of mahogany hair, emerald silk, and metallic gems as she glided past a few tables, the topiary, and the grand fireplace.

She nodded to Forsythe and her vapid friend—Piers forgot her name, Jane?—but then she paid them no further heed as she led Redmayne to the middle of the grand room.

Piers pulled Alexandra close, closer still as he twirled his graceful wife across the marble in a seamless, flawless waltz.

He hoped theintelligentDr. Forsythe made some keen fucking observations. Such as, the perfect fit of her body against his. How synchronous their rhythm was. How, even though Piers was arguably the unsightliest man in the room, he could still get the most beautiful woman in the world to smile up at him, just as she did now.

Light from the chandelier gilded flecks of gold into her eyes.

She smiled despite the dark subjects of their conversation. Even though they’d spoken of God and death, scars and sin, something about the atmosphere of the evening, the gather of the west wind beyond their enchanted golden celebration, and the feel of her glorious shape locked inthe circle of his arms gave Piers the fanciful sensation of dancing on a cloud.

Because, yet again, she didn’t look away from him. Even when she ought to.

She didn’t look at Forsythe. She didn’t arch her lovely neck away as propriety dictated. She kept her gaze firmly affixed to his and, for a moment, Piers thought she might possess the acumen to look past the scars on his face, through his eyes to the ones on his soul.

Those were uglier, he feared. Those would drive her away surely, even if his physical deformities did not.

For the first time, Piers’s step almost faltered as Forsythe’s form spun into view. He’d abandoned his untouched champagne and affably followed his intrepid partner—Judith?—as she dragged him to the floor.

A strange question haunted Piers, one he’d never thought to ask.

He’d been so focused on what this marriage might mean to him, his future, his legacy, his revenge, he’d never stopped to think about what it would mean for his bride.

In his mind, he’d saved her from financial ruin. Because she’d asked him to.

But what ofherheart? He’d never thought to possess it before. He’d not expected to, as it wasn’t something he could equally trade for.

Could it belong to another? Had he, by taking her hand in marriage, also taken any chance at future happiness, as well?

Perhaps that was why she’d been so aloof. So reluctant.