Page 80 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

“He’ll recover from my martyrdom.” Leo pulled her closer, his hands settling on her waist. “Though I expect compensation for this sacrifice.”

“Do you?” Her fingers toyed with his cravat. “What sort of compensation?”

“I’ll think of something.” His mouth found the sensitive spot behind her ear, and she shivered. “Several somethings, in fact.”

“Leo,” she breathed, but didn’t pull away. “We’ll be late.”

“Worth it.”

“Edmonds just pressed your evening clothes.”

“He can press them again.”

She laughed, the sound vibrating against his lips. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You like it.”

“I—” She paused, her cheeks flushing pink. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

The admission sent heat through him. Even now, after months of marriage, her honest responses still had the power to shatter his composure.

Two hours later, they stood in the Haverford ballroom, and Leo had to admit—grudgingly—that the waistcoat wasn’t entirely terrible. At least not compared to all the other catastrophes there.

“Stop fidgeting,” Beatrice murmured, her hand tucked in the crook of his elbow.

“I’m not fidgeting.”

“You’ve adjusted your cravat three times in as many minutes.”

“Because it’s strangling me.”

She laughed, the sound drawing appreciative glances from nearby gentlemen. Leo felt a familiar surge of possessiveness and drew her fractionally closer.

Mine, a primal part of him insisted.Mine.

“Lord and Lady Haverford are approaching,” she warned softly. “Smile. Be charming.”

“I’m always charming.”

“You’re always something.”

Their hosts descended with all the pomp of visiting royalty. Lady Haverford, resplendent in purple silk that matched her elaborate turban, took Beatrice’s hands.

“Your Grace! How absolutely radiant you look!” She turned her shrewd eyes on Leo. “Marriage agrees with you both, I see. Such a romantic tale. Love at first sight, was it not?”

“Indeed,” Leo replied smoothly. “Though I’d hardly call it sight alone. The Duchess’s wit captured me as thoroughly as her beauty.”

Beatrice’s fingers tightened on his arm—in warning or appreciation, he wasn’t certain.

Lady Haverford beamed. “How perfectly charming! You must tell everyone how you knew. That moment of recognition.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I do so enjoy a good love story.”

Before Leo could form an appropriately romantic response, Lord Haverford interjected with blessedly practical concerns about drainage systems and crop rotation.

Within minutes, Leo found himself deep in a discussion about agriculture while Beatrice was whisked away by Lady Haverford’s enthusiastic circle.

He tracked her movement across the ballroom, unable to help himself. She laughed at something Lady Jersey said, her head tilted just so, the candlelight catching in her dark curls. His chestconstricted with that now-familiar sensation—part need, part something far more dangerous.

“You’re staring again, my friend.”