Page 48 of The Duchess and the Beast

“But they are to yours,” he sighed, bowing his head.

“It is a masquerade ball,” she reminded him, her tone pitching higher in hope, trying to lighten the mood. “Masks are expected. Faith, my return to high society would be a larger spectacle than yours after what transpired the last time I attended a ball.”

Sebastian met her gaze flatly. “That is not really the point though, is it?”

Virtue winced. “I know, I know, but...”

Or rather, she didn’t. She didn’t know what to say. The two had indeed come a long way as of late, and she was grateful for that. But they were only ever alone, and where Virtue cherished their private moments together, she also longed to share their happiness more publicly at balls, soirees, and promenades, to socialize and mingle and, most importantly, be seen. She knew that people spoke unkindly of her marriage to the Duke but she also knew that if the two were seen together just once, that would all change.

But she did not want to press him too harshly. She had a week until this event, plenty of time to slowly bring him around to her way of thinking.

“What does the other say?” Sebastian finally asked.

“Oh.” She blinked and looked at the other envelope, frowning when she realized it bore no markings whatsoever. “It does not say.”

“What do you mean?” He fell in beside her and took it from her hands. “This was with the other?”

“It was.”

He frowned deeply as he tore it open. As his eyes scanned the single page, his expression gradually began to darken. Virtue watched, a chill running down her spine at the sight of hisclenched jaw and the hard set of his lips. The usual warmth in his gaze was gone, replaced by a brooding intensity that made her heart race with concern—so much so that she nearly took a step back—for it was a look she recognized all too well.

“What—what does it say?” she asked hesitantly.

“Here. See for yourself.” He thrust the page to her and she took it gingerly. Then she read it, only to gasp at the words written.

To my darling Virtue,

If my love for you was an ocean, it would take centuries to cross and still I do not feel that encapsulates how dearly I hold you in my heart. For now, simply know that my love for you burns brighter than the sun on a summer’s day and when the time comes, we will finally be together.

Yours always, your secret admirer.

“Sebastian, I don’t... I have no... this isn’t...” She had no idea what to say. She read the words again, each syllable deepening the nauseous feeling brewing inside her. And that sick feeling rose when she saw the look on her husband’s face.

“Who sent this?” he asked, unable to meet her eyes.

“I… I don’t know?” she responded, her voice rising in distress. “Your guess is as good as mine. But it is nothing, Sebastian. Only a letter.”

“It seems like more than that.”

“Here.” With a swift, decisive motion, she tore the letter in half and tossed the pieces into the fire. “That is what I think of it.” Then she took his hand in hers and kissed his knuckles. She could feel him shaking, angered by the letter in a way that didn’t surprise her at all. “Who cares who sent it? It means nothing.”

“Someone is obsessed with you. Even though you are now married…” He sucked through his teeth. “Sending such a letter is hardly the act of a sane mind.”

“Not sane at all,” she agreed, trying for a chuckle. “Such a person is not worthy of our concern.”

“Yet, they could be potentially dangerous,” he countered, his head snapping up to meet her gaze with an intensity that underscored his concern. “The author of this missive—”

“Is of no consequence to us, nor should we let them be.” She tightened her grip on his hands, her eyes locking onto his with an earnestness so that he might see how little she cared for such things. “They clearly hope to drive a wedge between us. In fact, I hope we do learn who sent it,” she added, her tone lightening. “So they might understand what it means to provoke the ire of the Duke of Greystone.”

He was angry, that was clear. Furious, for he had every right to be. And something else... a look she did not understand until he spoke.

“The Rochester Ball is in how many days?” His words were clipped, spoken through gritted teeth.

Virtue looked back at the other correspondence. “Five.”

“Perfect. More than enough time. I would love nothing more than to attend with you.”

She blinked, taken aback. “You—you would?”