Page 18 of Matters of a Duke’s Heart

“Lady Felicity.” Spencer could not help eyeing up Lord Graham, a younger man with eyes that shone brightly, and a smile that appeared far too easily.

As easily as Felicity had smiled that day in the drawing room upon her renovations.

“It is good to see you. Or, well, I should say ‘Your Grace’ now, I suppose.”

Felicity only gave a dismissive smile as if to comfort him not to worry. Spencer cleared his throat, and his wife finally introduced him.

Annoyance flared when he saw other men making their way over to greet her. She looked so happy—and yet he could not stop wondering. How could she be so happy? Had she never pursued any of these gentlemen??

“Lord Graham, this is my husband, His Grace, the Duke of Langdon. You have certainly heard of him.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened as he smiled tightly, shaking the offered hand. Of course he had been heard of, and not in the nicest of ways. Spencer had always been aware of the rumors. Wife-killer, murderer. He swallowed back the tang of bitterness and nodded politely.

“Your Grace,” Lord Graham greeted, sounding too cheerful, enough that Spencer knew it was false. “It is good to see you properly back in society. Speaking of, I believe Lady Helena is around here somewhere. You ought to ask her for a dance, if you would allow me to steal your wife in the meantime.”

“Steal me?” Felicity laughed. “Lord Graham, the last I heard my father had you in mind for my sister, Lady Daphne.”

Spencer ground his teeth at the easy, charming way Lord Graham grinned again.

“Ah, as true as that is it does not mean I cannot have an honorary dance with a duchess. With His Grace’s permission, of course.

” He glanced at Spencer in a way that was clear Spencer would be hard-pressed to reject the desire for the dance.

He cut a glance to Felicity, who did not look either hopeful or opposed, so he gestured to her. “It is my wife’s decision, of course.”

He didn’t mean for his use of my wife to be as possessive as it sounded, but Felicity raised a brow at it none the less.

Spencer quickly turned away, muttering about hunting down Rupert.

As his wife was led to the dancefloor with one of her former suitors, Spencer found his friend, who only fixed him with a bemused smile.

“Well, you look most content,” Rupert noted, smirking. “Heavens, have you tasted a sour lemon? I heard Lord Barrendon’s lemons are the most bitter. Something about the—”

“You know full well it is not about lemons,” Spencer all but growled, his eyes tracking Felicity as she swept across the dancefloor in Lord Graham’s arms.

It looked so easy—the two of them in their exchange, the way they seemed to know where the other would step and move. It is because they have danced such ways before, he thought.

“Spencer, if you frown any further I fear your scowl will be permanently carved into your face.” At that, Spencer glared at his friend, who only raised his hands in surrender. “Are you jealous, my friend?”

“I do not get jealous,” Spencer was quick to quip back. “Jealousy would imply I care about her.”

“I know,” Rupert said, giving him a knowing look. “That is why I am accusing you of it.”

After watching Felicity spin from Lord Graham to another, much older lord, Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “You did not entirely warn me she was so popular.”

“I did,” Rupert conferred. “I told you she was well-liked.”

“Not with suitors,” Spencer snapped back.

“I told you she was picky! How was I to not know you would not connect the necessary elements of the statement?”

Spencer sent his friend a withering glare, but Rupert only laughed, shaking his head. There was indeed something that had dropped into his stomach, and he hadn’t recognized it as jealousy.

But now that he was aware of it all he could see was Felicity’s smile becoming brighter as she danced with yet another former beau. For a second, like on their wedding day, Spencer had difficulty separating Felicity from Sophia, and his chest gave a painful tug.

Soon, he couldn’t take it for much longer. Felicity was his wife, and he had not yet even danced with her.

He muttered to Rupert about being back soon and stalked over to the dancefloor where his wife danced with a man whose hair was the color of wheat, pulled into a ribbon. Yet… there was something in her face, visible only in a momentary flash.

A tight jaw, a frozen smile—she was not enjoying her dance with the man Spencer recognized. Lord Radcliffe, a viscount who was known for his endless boasting and somehow winding his way into every political and financial pie there was.

Something about the way he looked at Felicity had not only more jealousy but anger swirling through Spencer.

He stepped in to interrupt their dance, realizing Lord Radcliffe had intended to weasel his way into a second set, which would have been most inappropriate. Spencer stared down at the viscount, his brow raised.

“I will dance with my wife now, Lord Radcliffe,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

His eyes did not leave Lord Radcliffe’s, daring him to meet the challenge.

The viscount glared at him, reluctant to let go of Felicity’s hand.

But he did eventually, fixing a too-practiced smile in her direction.

“Your Grace,” he purred. “An honor, as always.”

“Indeed, Lord Radcliffe,” she answered, but her eyes were tight, her smile not as broad as it had been. Spencer wasted no time in shouldering the man out of the way and slotting his hand against his wife’s waist.

He ignored the jolt that beat through him at their closeness and swallowed hard. Finally, they were alone, even if they were among the other couples. Somehow, the rest of the ballroom faded away as Spencer began to lead his wife through the next set.

Felicity looked at him as though she was trying to work something out.

Spencer met her questioning look with his own expectant one. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” she was quick to say. “It is just that I am surprised you even wished to dance with me.”

Guilt speared through Spencer, and he thought about looking away in shame, but forced himself to keep his eyes on her. “You are my wife. As you said earlier, this is our first, public appearance. We ought to maintain that appearance.”

“Is that the only reason?”

Her question seemed hesitant, as if she didn’t quite know why she wanted to ask it, or if she was afraid of the answer.

Spencer swallowed his truth of no and cut a curt nod at her. More guilt spread through him when he thought of how poorly he must have treated her, how neglectful his attention must have been, for her to be so surprised.

He averted his gaze but soon found it returning to his wife as she peered at him curiously. Around them, the music built, and Spencer couldn’t ignore the warmth of her body beneath the material of her gown. She felt…

Right was the word he would admit to if he could, but he refused to.

For how could she feel right in his arms when everything was a matter of convenience between the two of them? Their arrangement was based on mutual agreement and advantage.

He had saved her from failed Seasons, and she had saved him from fathering Alexander alone. Already, she had taught him some imperative lessons about how to speak with his son.

Suddenly, he asked, “If you had so many suitors, why did you reject them all?”

Felicity blinked, again surprised at his question, then dropped her gaze. After a moment, her confession came: “I wished for romance, and none of them inspired such desire in me.”

Spencer despised himself so much for a moment that he stopped their dance short, right in the middle of the dancefloor.

You have taken that away from her, too. She should have rejected you, but she was forced into this. You have deprived her of a love match. He had never let himself acknowledge such a thing before, but now it was unavoidable.

Her throat bobbed with a hard swallow as if she was aware of what was being admitted between the lines.

You have not inspired romance in me, either.

Spencer’s breathing turned heavy as he pulled away from her. “I—Excuse me a moment.”

“Spencer,” she pleaded, but he was already moving, off the dancefloor, away from her, away from the guilt of what he had pushed her into for his own selfish gain. His breaths came too hard to control them for a moment.

He ignored Rupert calling out to him, as well as the attempted snatch of attention another few ladies made as he passed them by. Spencer kept his head ducked, his thoughts swirling with Felicity.

The lady he had met alone on the Grand South Walk and had looked for after regretting not giving into her plea for help.

The lady he had met in the drawing room officially, proposing to her too quickly and regretting not giving her more time; and now his wife, forcing her into this life when her life before marriage had brought disappointment.

Forgive me, Felicity, he thought, struggling with his own turmoil. Will I always be chased by regret when it comes to you, haunted by choices I should have made better?

Spencer was only stopped—and quite forcibly so—when a brunette stepped into his path. Spencer’s head snapped up, his eyes widening.

His mouth parted. For a second, he stared at a ghost, a woman who looked so much like his late wife that his mind was devoid of thought. But then he blinked, and that smug smile lifted, and he knew it was ever so different from Sophia’s.

Quickly composing himself, Spencer tugged on his tailcoat. “Lady Helena,” he greeted the woman.

She moved closer, looping her arm through his on the outskirts of the dancefloor.

Spencer cringed, but could not pull away, not with the iron grip she had on him.

“Your Grace,” she purred. “I am surprised it has taken us this long to bump into one another. Then again, you were on your honeymoon, were you not?”

Her words were loaded, and Spencer avoided looking at her head-on.

“Yes,” he answered.

“How strange to hear,” she mused. “Especially from a man who ended our courtship on the claim that he did not ever want to marry again.” Her laugh was too hard, too fake, and it grated through Spencer.

He had once enjoyed her company—at first, at least—and she had been a breath of fresh air after Sophia’s constant absence.

He had felt important with Lady Helena after so long.

When he said nothing, she pushed. “I cannot believe you married, Spencer.”

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “Well, it was for the good of my son. He is important to me, as you well know.”

“For the good of your son,” Lady Helena repeated, clipped. “I see. And was that not me? From what I recall, I was for the good of your own gain.”

At that, Spencer’s face flooded with an embarrassed heat as he whipped his head around to stare at her, incredulous that she was being so bold.

“Admittedly once, yes,” he said. His mind provided a reminder of their first kiss, not entirely chaste, and one he had apologized for.

“It has—it has been some time, Lady Helena. I do not wish to compromise—"

“Do not apologize. Do I appear disgruntled?”

Her eyes had batted at him, her smile perfectly enticing, and Spencer had chased that, desperate for a taste of affection again.

Now, he felt nothing when he looked at his former mistress. He should not have walked away from Felicity. How could he have left her on the dancefloor so suddenly? He had spent so long watching her with other men, only to squander his own chance. Their first proper dance.

“What changed?” Lady Helena asked, not quite an immature demand, and not quite the helpless, scorned lover. At least he did not think so. “What changed for you to dismiss me so quickly, only to marry Lady Felicity?”

“She is good to Alexander,” he told her firmly. “I trust her with him, and she already proved to be excellent duchess material, as well as an ideal mother figure.”

Lady Helena reared back, utterly offended, but Spencer didn’t care to smooth over his brusque implication. No, he had to find his wife. He had to apologize for leaving her. Heavens, he should not have, and especially not because of his own fear of his guilt.

Without another word, and without waiting to hear Lady Helena’s own response, Spencer stalked off. When he found her once more, it was in the arms of another suitor, but the easy smile from earlier had disappeared.

Now there was something distant in his wife’s gaze, and when her eyes caught on his, his stomach fluttered.

Neither of them looked away, not even as she was danced around the floor, a thousand unspoken words between the two of them.