Page 25 of The Duke Steals a Bride (Stolen by the Duke #5)

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Y our Graces,” Lady Ava was smiling brightly as she walked up to the duke and Christine in the foyer of the large house, curtseying deeply. “It is so very good to see you again.”

Christine turned, smiling warmly at the beautiful young lady, filled with delight. She had been dreading the thought of attending this grand ball at a neighboring estate after the viciousness of the ladies at the last social event she had attended, but the duke had insisted, stating firmly that his position demanded they socialize from time to time. Apparently, he had business to attend to, as well.

Perhaps it will not be so bad with Lady Ava here. At least there is one friendly face amongst the multitude.

“Lady Ava,” said Christine, reaching out a gloved hand toward the other lady in welcome. “You look exquisite.”

The lady blushed fiercely, ducking her head shyly. “You are far too kind, Your Grace.”

“Not at all,” Christine said, her smile widening. “I mean what I say. What a perfectly lovely gown.”

“My mother insisted I have a new gown for this ball,” said Lady Ava, rolling her eyes. “She asserts that I cannot be seen in the same gown twice.” She lowered her voice. “She says that my future husband—whoever he may be—would notice and it would diminish me in his eyes.”

Christine laughed. “I am certain Lady Ridgewell is only trying to do her best by you, my dear. It is the duty of a mother, after all.”

At that moment, Oliver Fortescue, the Marquess of Browning and the duke’s best friend, sidled up to them, grinning widely. The duke clapped him on the back, looking pleased.

“I did not know you would be here, Browning,” said the duke. “Are you up for a game of whist later?”

“Most certainly, old chap,” replied Oliver, turning to nod at Christine, smiling. His eyes widened at the sight of Ava. He bowed slightly. “How do you do?”

“Browning, this is Lady Ava Walford,” said the duke, with a knowing smile. “Lady Ava is Blackmoor’s sister-in-law.” He gazed at Ava. “May I introduce my old friend, the Marquess of Browning.”

“My lady,” said Oliver, taking Ava’s gloved hand, and bowing low. He kept holding her hand, staring at her with glowing eyes. “The pleasure is entirely mine.”

“My lord,” said Ava, in a breathless whisper, blushing again.

“May I claim a place on your dance card for this evening, my lady?” Oliver asked quickly.

Christine suppressed a smile. Oliver certainly worked quickly. He seemed utterly besotted with the young lady, but then again, Ava was very beautiful. She was certain to have gentlemen swirling around her like bees around a honeypot. Just like Violet always did—even if her older sister had been utterly indifferent to the attention.

Do not think about Violet. The duke promised to find her, and he will. You must not spoil the evening worrying about her.

Her eyes flickered toward the duke. He looked every bit the imposing figure tonight, his dark brown evening jacket fitting his frame with an effortless elegance, along with black britches. He radiated an undeniable magnetism—so strikingly handsome that her pulse quickened, and a warmth stirred within her at the mere glance of him. Each time her gaze fell upon him, her body responded, a tingle spreading where his presence lingered.

Stop it, Christine. You know that indulging your attraction for him will only end in hurt and confusion. Even if he truly wants you, he does not wish to act upon it. He has told you.

She took a deep breath, trying to control her feelings, as Oliver walked away with Ava toward the dance floor. The duke turned to her, his expression inscrutable.

“I must meet with a business acquaintance,” he said. “I will leave you to socialize.”

Christine’s jaw dropped. They had barely been here for ten minutes, and he was deserting her already. He was leaving her to the sharks, who were even now circling, eager for blood. She could see them, whispering behind their hands and their fans as they gazed at them, no doubt claiming that she was holding her sister captive in a dungeon, or some other ridiculous nonsense.

And her only friend in the crowd was dancing with his best friend now.

“Of course,” she said, in an overly sweet voice. “Do not worry about me . I shall be perfectly fine.”

He arched his eyebrows at the sarcasm in her voice, but didn’t respond. Instead, he inclined his head, before turning on his heel, marching down the hallway to find the room where the gentlemen always gathered to play cards and drink brandy together.

“Lady Christine? Is it really you?”

She spun around. A gentleman was standing there, gaping at her. She blinked rapidly, before she recognized him, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath. They had danced once or twice at balls in London over a year ago, but she hadn’t seen him in many months.

“Lord Meyer,” she said, inclining her hand to him, which he took, bowing. “How delightful to see you again.” She took another deep breath. “But I am afraid I no longer hold that title. I am now the Duchess of Ironstone.”

Lord Meyer looked stunned, and a bit flustered. “The Duchess of Ironstone?” He bowed again, lower this time. “I do apologize, Your Grace. Please forgive my faux pas.”

The gentleman shook his head, smiling ruefully. “I must have missed the announcement of your marriage. I have only recently returned from a six-month sojourn in Paris, you see. This is my first social engagement since my return to England’s fair shores.”

Christine’s smile widened. So that was the reason the gentleman had approached her in such a disarming way. Clearly, Lord Meyer had no idea yet about the scandal surrounding her marriage—he didn’t realize that the Duke of Ironstone was supposed to marry her sister, and that Violet had vanished without a trace.

Her eyes flickered over the gentleman. The Viscount of Meyer was rather ineffectual, but pleasant enough. A dandy who liked to lead a life devoted to pleasure. He had greatly admired Violet, as they all did, and had thrown his hat into the ring for her, only to be spurned, like all the others. That was when his attention had settled on Christine, but he had never been serious about her at all. As always, she had been second best.

“There is nothing to forgive, Lord Meyer,” she replied, in a warm voice. “How was your time in Paris?”

“It was spectacular,” he enthused, his eyes shining. “So much culture and art are thriving there since the Duke of Orleans became Regent and shifted the royal court from Versailles.” He paused, scratching his head. “I must admit, I was loath to return to England, but my family insisted.”

“I am surmising that duty called, then,” said Christine, with an impish smile. “As it always does.”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” he said, rolling his eyes. Suddenly, he paused, staring at her intently. “You are looking quite lovely this evening. You have a glow about you which I have never discerned before. Have you changed your hair, perhaps?”

“Not really,” said Christine, feeling inordinately pleased. “But thank you for the compliment, my lord.” She paused. “You are probably an old hand at flattery now, being surrounded by the great beauties of Paris for so long.”

“Ah, oui ,” he said, grinning at her. “The belles femmes have such grace and style in Paris!” He hesitated, gazing at her steadily. “But they do not hold a candle to Your Grace.”

Christine laughed. “Ah, you truly have become a master of flattery, my lord!”

“I do not know if this is allowed,” said the gentleman, in a loud stage whisper. “But may I ask you to dance?”

“Of course you may,” replied Christine. “And I am delighted to accept, my lord.”

Lord Meyer held out his arm to her, and once she took it, they drifted toward the dance floor.

* * *

Edwin stood near the edge of the ballroom, his eyes fixed on Christine and Lord Meyer as they danced together. He could hardly look away, though something deep in his chest tightened with every effortless turn they took.

There was a freedom to Christine now, a brightness in her step that hadn’t been there before. The elegant curve of her neck as she tilted her head in laughter, the way her eyes sparkled with easy amusement—none of that was directed at him.

At the sight of her with Lord Meyer, a small knot of jealousy twisted in his gut. The thought was absurd. He had no right to feel anything of the sort. But the longer he watched her, the more certain he became.

This was not the woman who had kept her distance from him, who maintained a careful, almost distant composure around him. No, this was someone entirely different. She was lighter, unburdened.

How had she changed so completely? Was it the title? Or was it something else—the very fact that she was free of him?

The music swelled, and he clenched his jaw as she smiled, her laughter carrying across the room. There was nothing he could do but watch her, bound by his own pride, his own reticence. But damn it, there was something so open and inviting about the way she looked tonight, and the way she held herself with Lord Meyer—it unsettled him.

He didn’t like the way his heart beat faster, the frustration growing hotter by the second. He was too far away. Too far from the one woman who still seemed to hold his attention more than anyone else.

Enough of this.

With a swift motion, Edwin turned on his heel and made his way toward the dance floor, his gaze fixed on them, his resolve hardening.

* * *

Christine’s heart thumped hard as she and Lord Meyer reached the floor, turning to one another.

Lord Meyer bowed, and she curtseyed in return. They were swept into the steps of a quadrille as the music swirled around them. Ava smiled at her as they passed each other.

Christine gazed at her dance partner. Lord Meyer truly was a kind, charming gentleman…but he wasn’t the duke. Not by a long shot.

She closed her eyes briefly, vividly recalling dancing with her husband at the village May Day fair, before the dance was cut short.

The feel of his hands upon her, gazing at her with burning eyes. The way that her flesh leapt to life whenever she was in his proximity.

It had been a simple village fair dance, surrounded by townsfolk, with local musicians playing. A world away from this elegant, majestic dance floor, and the orchestra that was playing now, surrounded by the ton.

Her heart lurched with bittersweet pain. And yet, she would give every fiber of her being to be back there now, in the duke’s arms.

“You look pensive,” Lord Meyer whispered, as they passed one another. “Are you quite well?”

Christine took a deep breath, trying to focus. “Yes, of course.” She gave a rueful laugh. “I do apologize. I was miles away in my mind.”

“You do not need to apologize to me,” he whispered, smiling at her. “I am simply overjoyed that you agreed to stand up with me at all. A beautiful duchess, no less!”

She swiped him lightly on the shoulder. “You are teasing me. I am no different than I was before—bar the title, of course.”

“Ah, but you are wrong,” declared Lord Meyer, in a low whisper. “You have changed. Transformed. Rather like the caterpillar breaking out of the chrysalis into a magnificent butterfly?—”

“Excuse me. I am going to dance with my wife.” The voice was a low, irritated growl.

Christine gasped. Lord Meyer turned around. The duke was standing there, glowering at them, his dark eyes snapping furiously. He barely glanced at her dance partner before taking her hand and leading her away to the edge of the dance floor.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, her heart racing, gazing up at him.

“I told you,” he said, through gritted teeth. “I said I am going to dance with my wife.”

She gaped at him. “Why are you angry? You told me to go and socialize. That is exactly what I am doing!”

“I meant that you should mingle with the ladies,” he hissed, taking her firmly by the elbow, and squeezing tightly. “I did not mean that you should take to the dance floor with every simpering fop who passes your way!”

“You are being ridiculous,” she said, anger zipping through her blood, now. “Why are you even here? You said you were going to play cards…”

Her voice trailed away. He took her hand, jerking her back to the dancefloor, where the music was just ending. Lord Meyer had disappeared entirely.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Oliver and Ava looking at them, before she was forced to focus on the duke once more.

For the music had started again. And this time, it wasn’t a quadrille.

Her heart skipped a beat. They were about to dance a waltz. The most daring, provocative dance of them all.

How was she to endure it?