Page 81 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

Leo didn’t need to turn. “Adrian. How kind of you to state the obvious.”

Adrian materialized at his elbow, impeccably dressed as always. “Can’t help myself. The transformation is remarkable. From London’s eternal bachelor to…” He gestured vaguely to Leo’s face. “Whatever this is.”

“Whatever what is?”

“That expression. Like you’ve swallowed sunshine.” Adrian grinned. “It’s nauseating.”

“Your jealousy is showing.”

“Not jealousy, but bewilderment.” Adrian accepted a glass of champagne from a passing footman. “Being happy suits you, old boy. Even in that waistcoat.”

Leo grunted. “The waistcoat was her idea.”

“Of course it was.” Adrian’s smile turned knowing. “And you’d wear a jester’s motley if she asked, wouldn’t you?”

Leo didn’t dignify that with a response, mainly because they both knew the answer.

Adrian laughed. “Remarkable. Truly remarkable.” He sipped on his champagne. “I never thought I’d see the day when Leo Ashwell became domesticated.”

Leo did not like the way Adrian said that. Oh, not at all. And that was why he snapped. “I’m not domesticated.”

But his friend only laughed at him. “You’re wearing peacock feathers and quite happy with your wife on your arm.”

Leo’s jaw clenched.

“Oh, don’t look like that.” Adrian clapped him on the shoulder, obviously unaware of his inner turmoil. “But it suits you, old friend. Far better than that cold demeanor you’ve always carried.”

Leo’s retort died as he caught sight of his wife again. She had moved to the terrace doors, fanning herself against the ballroom’s heat. Without conscious thought, his feet carried him toward her.

“Oh, look at him go,” Adrian called from behind him.

But Leo didn’t care a wit. All he cared about was reaching his wife.

“Escaping?” he asked, joining her in the cooler evening air.

She started, then smiled. “Breathing. Lady Haverford’s circle is… enthusiastic.”

“About what?”

“You, mostly.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “They want to know if you’re truly reformed, or if I’ve simply tamed the beast.”

“And what did you tell them?”

She turned to face him fully, the terrace’s shadows dancing across her features. “That beasts make poor pets but excellent partners.”

Heat pooled in his gut. “Is that what I am? Your partner?”

“Well, you are my husband.” Something vulnerable flickered in her expression. “Or are we still pretending that this is merely?—”

The music inside swelled, a waltz beginning. Leo extended his hand toward her without breaking eye contact. “Dance with me.”

“Out here?”

“Why not? No one’s watching.”

She hesitated for only a moment before placing her hand in his.

The terrace stones were less forgiving than a ballroom floor, but Leo didn’t care. He pulled her close—closer than propriety allowed inside—and they moved together in the darkness.