Page 4 of Married to the Icy Duke (Duke Wars #3)

C harlotte pulled with all her weight, trying to extricate herself from the duke’s grip. The sound of laughter and chatter floated along behind them. It was ridiculous to imagine that countless members of Society lingered just behind them, and not a single one would intervene.

Perhaps they had not noticed. In a crush like this, one only saw what happened directly around one, and the place was full of movement and noise.

She considered screaming. Now that would attract all the attention one needed. It would also attract consequences .

Charlotte imagined, briefly, what would happen when she screamed. There was a substantial chance that the duke would release her at once, out of shock. Then she could scurry off and be free.

If he didn’t release her, then people would surely come to her aid. Surely .

But what damage would it do to my reputation? Nobody would believe that I was entirely innocent, especially after I was seen sitting under a table at a party like this. My reputation would suffer as much as his.

Gabriel would not turn against her, of course, and that was something which worried Charlotte a little more. What if he did something foolish, like challenge the Duke of Arkley to a duel? What if the duke accepted ?

A cold shiver ran down her spine. Generally, Gabriel considered duels to be the silly, pompous affairs that they were.

They were, of course, illegal, but people dueled, even so.

People died . If he suspected that his sister’s virtue was being challenged in some way, especially by a Devil, he might well feel as though he had to do something.

No, Charlotte could not risk screaming.

She attempted to dig in her heels and pull herself back, twisting her wrist as she did so. It was not working. His grip on her wrist was not tight or painful, but neither could she wriggle free. He hauled her along behind him effortlessly, with Tommy tucked awkwardly under his other arm.

She had a vague feeling that she ought to be nervous, and certainly outraged—a gentleman hauling a lady along in full sight of a busy ballroom was unheard of and beyond shocking—and yet she only felt faintly annoyed.

From this angle, she could only see the duke’s broad shoulders and the untidy back of his head.

He had thick, blue-black hair, the sort of shade rarely seen naturally.

In short, he had the sort of hair a number of gentlemen would love to have, but he appeared not to bother styling it or even brushing it particularly thoroughly.

The little boy wriggled in his uncle’s arms, twisting around to look at her, spectacles glinting in the candlelight. Charlotte felt a pang of worry.

She should not have sat under the table with the little boy. She should have taken him to a servant straight away. It was just that he was so frightened of the crowds and so clearly miserable. It seemed perfectly natural to spend some time with him to calm him down.

But the duke looked so angry. Furious, in fact. He knows who I am, which means that he knows who Gabriel is.

A fresh worry tightened in her gut. Might he be planning some sort of attack on Gabriel? It seemed ridiculous, but young men could be ridiculous. Besides, the Devils and the Orions hated each other beyond reason.

Why drag me away without a single word of explanation? Is he angry at me for some reason? I did not harm his nephew. I have not done anything at all!

The tinge of fear gave way to plain anger, and Charlotte clenched her jaw.

Wretched man. I should kick him in the shins if I weren’t wearing silly dancing slippers. I would probably break my toes if I tried.

“Your Grace,” Charlotte ventured, when they finally stumbled out of the ballroom and into the dark, narrow hallway that rounded the room.

“This is entirely inappropriate. I have no idea whether a misunderstanding has occurred. If I have made a misstep in some way, I apologize. However, regardless of what has been done, I must insist that you release me at once. At once , do you hear? My brother is an Orion, as I imagine you know very well, and were he to learn about this, he would …” she trailed off, trying to work out what Gabriel would do.

There’d be some response, to be sure, but in what form?

And what would the long-reaching consequences of such a response take?

Oh, curses, she thought miserably. I don’t want to be responsible for these two silly clubs destroying each other. Why can’t the wretched man simply let me go?

He did not release her, but he did pause by a dark corner. A tall, thin man materialized out of the darkness, making her jump.

“Perling, where is Mary?” the duke asked brusquely.

“She is downstairs, Your Grace. If I may, she is in quite a flutter over the missing young master. Miss Mary is very well liked below stairs and has proved an excellent nursemaid to Master Thomas.”

Perling—a butler, Charlotte guessed—glanced pointedly down at Tommy, still tucked under his uncle’s arm.

There was some sort of conversation there, between the duke and his butler, but Charlotte could not follow it.

The butler could not have failed to see Charlotte there, with the duke’s long, cool fingers wrapped around her wrist, but he did not glance her way even once.

She could see the duke’s profile, half-turned towards her. A muscle ticked in his cheek.

“She is a good nursemaid indeed,” he said heavily. “Have her meet me in the western reading room.” Once again, Charlotte felt as though she were missing half of the conversation. Nobody seemed inclined to fill her in. Clearing her throat, she spoke again.

“Your Grace, I must insist you release me so that I may return to my brother and sister-in-law. They’ll be missing me,” she added, rather pointedly.

The duke sniffed, glancing over his shoulder at her.

In the poor light, his eyepatch looked like a cavernous hole in his skull.

Shadows danced across his face, deepening the hollows and sharpening the lines of his jaw and cheekbones.

It reminded her of a painting she’d once seen, of Death peering through a window at a young woman.

She couldn’t recall the artist, but knew that it was painted by a woman, a member of the ton . Unusual, to be sure.

The painting had caused a stir on account of Death being depicted as a young, handsome man, well-featured and with a knowing smile on his lips.

He had bright blue eyes, not unlike this man, but he possessed no eyepatch.

One particularly outraged newspaper had said: “If Death were such a handsome creature, one is inclined to wonder whether young women would object to going along with him.”

That had made her laugh at the time, but now it felt almost ominous. Something prickled in her chest, and her skin seemed to grow tighter . Was that possible? She had no idea. All she knew was that she wanted the duke to release her this very minute.

The butler had melted away at some point, and she realized with a jolt that she was standing alone with the master of the house in a dark hallway. That, of course, would destroy the last vestiges of her reputation beyond salvage.

“You shall have a chaperone,” the duke said gruffly. His voice was deep and gravelly, catching in his throat. She wondered if he had had some sort of injury to his vocal cords at some point in his life to cause him to speak so strangely.

“A chaperone?” she repeated, well aware that she sounded like a nervy young Society Miss.

“Yes, I have sent for my nephew’s nursemaid. She will be here too. Your reputation shall be protected. Well, what is left of it, in any case.”

She bristled. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

He turned his single eye, highly amused, upon her.

“It is supposed to mean that I read the scandal sheets once in a while, Lady Charlotte. I know of you, and I know of your antics. You do not have much of a reputation left, but I assure you that whatever shards you still treasure will be protected by me.”

She stared up at him, baffled. How dare he speak to her this way? Gentlemen, even dubious ones like the Devils, did not speak to ladies in such a careless fashion. Not ever .

Before she could open her mouth to voice these complaints, the duke turned away and continued his way down the hall, dragging her along behind him.

For a few steps, Charlotte allowed herself to be pulled along, too amazed to resist. She came to herself quite quickly, attempting to dig in her heels to slow their progress. Gabriel must be looking for her by now.

Her shoes, however, were thin satin slippers, designed for dancing and delicacy. They skidded along on the well-polished floor, not slowing them down in the slightest. It would have been amusing if Charlotte were not so furious.

Abruptly, the duke turned towards a narrow door, set back in a recess of the wall. He was obliged to duck to get through the doorway, angling his broad shoulders. He stepped inside, hauling Charlotte after him. She stumbled inside, and the door closed behind them with a resounding bang.

At last, he released her wrist. Charlotte backed away, rubbing at her wrist as though it hurt. It did not hurt, and there were not even marks on her skin, but she felt, oddly, as though she could still feel his touch.

Most unpleasant, she told herself firmly.

She was in a small room with wooden panels on the walls. Bookshelves and books were piled everywhere, arranged around a pair of comfortable-looking armchairs. There were no windows, and the space was lit by a bristling candelabra. A fire burned in the grate, too, rather too hot for the small room.