Page 24 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

The moment he had excused himself to converse with some business associates, Beatrice had been accosted by the dowager.

“And so conveniently timed, mere hours after that unfortunate business with Lord Mallingham,” Lady Kendale continued, her sympathetic tone belied by the calculating gleam in her rheumy eyes. “One might almost suspect an arrangement.”

Beatrice’s hands twitched. Lady Kendale was one of the vipers of the ton. A viper, indeed.

As she opened her mouth to offer a response that balanced dignity with appropriate indignation, the Duke materialized at her side, his expression pleasantly neutral, though his eyes held an alluring gleam.

“Lady Kendale,” he acknowledged, his arm circling Beatrice’s waist with proprietary ease. “I trust you are enjoying the evening? Though perhaps not as much as those who find entertainment in speculating about matters beyond their comprehension.”

The dowager’s face colored slightly at the thinly veiled rebuke. “Your Grace, I merely observed?—”

“That my wife enhances any gathering with her presence? Indeed, she does. You must excuse us, I believe this is our dance.”

Without waiting for her response, he guided Beatrice toward the dance floor with smooth efficiency, rescuing her from further interrogation with a decisiveness that she found herself grudgingly appreciating.

“Thank you,” she murmured as they took their positions for the quadrille. “That was becoming rather uncomfortable.”

“The ton’s vultures can sniff any hint of vulnerability,” he replied, his hand warm against hers as they moved through the opening figures. “They shall find none in us.”

The evening progressed in a similar fashion, with Leo maintaining their united facade with flawless precision and intercepting potential embarrassments before they could develop. Everything he did projected an image of marital contentment so convincing that Beatrice herself might almost have believed it.

“Ah, there’s the Windermeres. I believe the Duchess is your friend, no?” Leo said.

Beatrice’s head snapped up, her heart soaring as she caught sight of her childhood friend. But her joy was in no way one-sided, as Georgina’s face brightened at the sight of them. She rushed forward and swept Beatrice into a tight hug before dropping into a curtsy.

“You look radiant, Bea,” Georgina said, squeezing her hands.

Heat rushed to Beatrice’s cheeks. “Oh, you flatter me.”

The ladies soon devolved into fits of giggles as they hugged again.

Leo nodded to the Duke. “Windermere. How’s fatherhood treating you?”

“Exhaustingly well.” Lysander grinned, pride evident in the crinkles around his eyes. “My son, Augustus, climbed on a bookshelf yesterday while his nurse dozed. And our newborn, Abigail, has her mother’s lungs.”

“Heaven help us all,” Georgina laughed, the sound genuine and warm in the artificial atmosphere of the ballroom.

Beatrice watched the easy affection between them, the casual way Lysander’s fingers brushed Georgina’s elbow, the private smile that passed between them like a secret language.

Suddenly, she felt a hollowness in her chest.

This isn’t the time or place for such sentiments, she reprimanded herself and straightened her back.

Then, Georgina turned to Leo with a knowing smile. “Might I steal your wife away for a turn about the room? I promise to return her relatively unharmed.”

Leo glanced at her. As Beatrice stared right back at him, a jolt of electricity shot through her.

“Why, of course, you can.” His fingers lingered on her wrist as he released her, the brush of skin against her pulse point deliberate,which she felt even through her gloves. “Though I’ll be counting the seconds.”

Of course, they had to keep the show alive.

“As will I.” Beatrice smiled sweetly at him.

Georgina kissed her husband’s cheek, then looped her arm through Beatrice’s. They moved around the room together, yet Beatrice couldn’t shake the tingles running down her back. When she glanced at her husband once more, she found that he was still watching her.

Her cheeks flushed.

Right then, Georgina drew her toward a quiet alcove partially concealed by potted palms.