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Page 28 of Tantalizing the Duke

The laughter had barely subsided when another figure approached, tall and imposing but moving with the easy confidence of a man who has never questioned his welcome anywhere. The Duke of Nomansland clapped Dainsfield on the shoulder with enough force to make a lesser man stagger.

“Never thought I’d see the day. Our grumpy duke, married at last. And to such a lovely duchess.” He bowed over Milly’s hand with exaggerated gallantry. “Your Grace, I commend your bravery in taking on this particular matrimonial challenge.”

Dainsfield’s eyebrow arched. “Nomansland. I’m surprised you managed to extract yourself from Lady Winterton’s clutches to attend.”

“Lady Winterton is here with her husband,” Nomansland replied with a perfectly straight face. “I merely escorted her daughter in from the carriage.”

“Of course you did,” Abingdon snorted, before turning his attention back to the topic at hand. “So, Nomansland, when will you join our ranks? You’re the last holdout among our illustrious group of reformed libertines.”

The others turned to Nomansland with expressions of exaggerated interest, clearly revisiting a long-standing topic of friendly debate. The unmarried duke shook his head firmly, his smile never wavering.

“Some of us prefer freedom to matrimony,” he replied, though Milly noticed his eyes lingering on her and Dainsfield’s clasped hands with something that might have been curiosity rather than the dismissal his words implied. “Not all men are designed for domestic bliss.”

“Neither was Dainsfield,” Verity pointed out, her smile turning sly. “Yet here he stands, looking almost human. Miracles do happen.”

Nomansland laughed, but his gaze returned briefly to the couple’s intertwined fingers before he raised his eyes to study Dainsfield’s face. “Indeed they do,” he murmured, something unreadable flickering across his features before his usual carefree expression reasserted itself. “Though perhaps we should preserve one or two bachelors for the sake of variety.”

As their circle of friends continued their good-natured banter, Milly became aware of subtle shifts in the ballroom’s dynamics. Their laughter—genuine and warm rather than the practiced tittering of society amusement—drew attention. Several of the ton’s more influential members were watching their friendly group with undisguised interest, some even nodding in acknowledgment when Dainsfield’s gaze met theirs.

Dainsfield’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly around hers, and Milly realized he had noticed the shift as well. The tide had not turned completely—that would take more than a single evening—but the waves of opinion had begun to ripple outward from their circle of acceptance.

“I believe,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear, “that the evening may be progressing better than anticipated.”

Milly smiled up at him, warmed by the protection of true friends and the steady presence of the man who had gambled his reputation on her worth. “It appears we make a rather compelling case together, Your Grace.”

His dark eyes met hers, and for a moment the ballroom around them faded into insignificance. “Indeed we do, Your Grace. Indeed we do.”

The orchestra in the corner drew their bows across strings in the opening notes of a waltz. Conversations paused as the music rose, filling the joined rooms with expectation.

A ripple of movement spread through the crowd as guests withdrew from the center of the room, creating a perfect circle of empty floor bordered by curious faces. Some expressions held disdain, others speculation, but all held interest—no one would miss this performance, this test of the controversial new duchess.

Dainsfield led Milly to the center of the floor with measured steps. In the sudden quiet, the whisper of her silk gown against the polished wood seemed thunderous. She felt the weight of every gaze like physical pressure on her skin, but kept her chin lifted, her eyes on her husband’s face.

“Remember,” he murmured, just loudly enough for her alone to hear, “you’ve already won the only prize that matters tonight.”

A smile bloomed across her face, genuine and radiant. “Have I, Your Grace?”

His hand settled at her waist as they took their positions, five points of heat through the silk of her gown. “You secured my heart, did you not?” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a rare, unguarded smile that transformed his severe features into something that made several ladies in the audience draw sharp breaths.

The music swelled, and Dainsfield led her into the first steps of the waltz with fluid grace that belied his imposing frame. Milly matched him perfectly, her years of dancing lessons finally serving their intended purpose. They moved together as though they had danced a thousand waltzes, her gown swirling around their legs, his steady hand guiding her through each turn with confidence that required no words.

The rhythm became a heartbeat, the music a current they rode together. The ballroom blurred around them, faces smearing into a wash of color and light. For Milly, the world contracted to the space between them—his hand at her waist, her palm against the fine wool of his coat, their eyes locked in silent communion.

The perpetual furrow between Dainsfield’s brows had smoothed away, and something in his gaze made Milly’s heart flutter against her ribs like a captive bird. She had seen him angry, seen him determined, seen him coolly dismissive—but this unguarded tenderness was new, a gift given to her alone in a room full of witnesses who could see but never truly understand.

Their fingers brushed as he turned her, and the contact sent a shiver across her skin that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. His eyes darkened slightly, telling her he’d felt it too—this invisible cord of awareness that had first drawn them together despite all sense and society’s disapproval.

As the final notes of the waltz faded, Dainsfield brought them to a perfect stop, his bow matching her curtsy with synchronized precision. The silence that followed lasted only a heartbeat before applause scattered through the crowd—tentative at first, then growing in confidence. Several ladies along the edge of the floor were openly dabbing at their eyes, their earlier disdain forgotten in the romance of the moment.

The orchestra began another dance, and other couples moved onto the floor. Milly noticed with surprised pleasure that some of the very people who had been most vocal in their disapproval earlier now took to the floor, as though dancing in the same space as the new duchess might not be so objectionable after all.

As the evening drew to a close, Milly realized with quiet amazement that while not everyone had been won over, the atmosphere had undeniably shifted. Several influential members of society had given their tacit approval through their attentions. Even those who maintained their distance seemed less certain in their disdain, as though reconsidering positions taken in haste.

The last guests departed with final congratulations and promises of future visits. As the door closed behind them, Dainsfield turned to Milly in the suddenly quiet entrance hall, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders.

“You were magnificent tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate in the space between them. “They’ll all adore you soon enough.”

Milly smiled up at him, reaching to smooth an imaginary wrinkle from his lapel simply for the pleasure of touching him. “I find I’m no longer terribly concerned with their opinion, now that I have what I truly wanted all along.”

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