Page 29 of The Duke’s Second Bride (Regency Second Chances #4)

“ Y ou were right, Edith,” Ava muttered to herself.

Edith was right on at least one account: it didn’t even take a day for Ava to receive an invitation for Christian and her to attend the Evett’s ball, only a few days from then.

It was short notice for a ball. Fortunately, the modiste had a few fashionable gowns already made, which she was all too happy to show to the new duchess of Richmond.

Once Ava had found one she liked, the modiste promised it would hardly take a day to more properly tailor the gown to her measurements.

She and Christian spent the carriage ride to the ball in characteristic silence. When they arrived at the Evett’s manor house, however, he did step out of the carriage and immediately turn with a hand extended to her.

“Here,” he murmured.

Through the thin silk of her glove, she felt the heat of his skin and had to swallow. How could it be that she could feel so conflicted about this man, but still want him so desperately? A man who had rejected her, no less?

Once she was on the ground, he extended his arm to her.

She told herself that she shouldn’t have been so surprised. After all, he was the duke of Richmond. It made perfect sense that he would want to uphold basic appearances and dignity in public.

And yet, despite all her complicated and often opposing impressions she had gotten of the man over the past few weeks, one thing she was certain of was that he didn’t particularly care for what other people thought about him.

They had passed their first few days in the house with relative civility, of course, but most of that civility seemed born of the duke’s willingness to avoid her at all costs. It was even more striking than it had been in the country.

Of particular note was that, for the past few days, he had not even joined the family for dinner. He had sent his butler to apologize, making excuses that increased work was keeping him busy in his office, and so Ava and Luke ate alone.

It wasn’t unpleasant; if anything, she felt certain that, over the course of these dinners, Luke was making even more noticeable progress with his stammer. And certainly, one could not complain about being able to eat supper without constant bickering.

And yet, Ava could not deny that the room felt odd without Christian there. Emptier, even.

What stung was the fact that he had yet to properly apologize for his words from that last night they had eaten together.

So, when he offered her his arm, she merely took it with silent assent. She had resigned herself to not going out of her way to speak to him unless he saw fit to apologize.

Which, knowing Christian, he likely never would.

Just before they entered the ballroom, she gave her cloak to one of the attendants at the estate. She caught Christian faltering, his gaze snapping to her dress like it had revealed some dangerous truth.

He hadn’t seen it before, she realized, because he had met her at the carriage, where she had already been wearing her cloak.

“I didn’t spend much money on it,” she said, referring to her dress. “If that is what your concern is, Your Grace. It was a dress already made, not custom-ordered. The modiste only had to make slight alterations.”

Christian swallowed, silent for a moment. Then he coughed, clearing his throat.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I was not concerned.”

He said nothing more. Ava felt another sinking feeling. She hadn’t expected a compliment from him, of course, but the lack of one still stung.

Looks like Edith will be let down, after all , she thought.

Swallowing her disappointment, she took her husband’s arm again and let him lead her into the ballroom to make their society debut as the Duke and Duchess of Richmond.

As soon as their names were announced, there was a palpable shift in the ballroom.

Christian watched as nearly every head in the room turned to watch their entrance.

Ava’s hand was light on his. He fought the urge to pull her down a side hallway and kiss her right then and there. She looked so damn beautiful in that dress, it was as though it had been made for her.

The color was a pale yellow, almost gold, which amplified the golden honey tones of her hair. Amidst the glittering lights of the ballroom, she looked like a shining star, with those fierce, lovely eyes glistening in the middle of it all.

He assumed it was this, more than even the sound of their names, that kept all those eyes trained on them as they made their way through the crowded ballroom. Of course, he heard whispers as they passed by onlookers.

“… such a sudden marriage …”

“… never known her to look so lovely …”

“… at least he already has a son …”

He prayed that Ava hadn’t heard that last one, though, by the almost imperceptible tensing of her hand where it rested on his elbow, he feared she had.

Her question from the other night had haunted him. He had dismissed it in the moment because it felt so utterly implausible. How on earth could he be anything close to repulsed by her? Not even by her—by baseless rumors, at that!

But she had seemed so wounded ever since. He was torn between a desire to apologize and a reluctance to even bring up the issue. And, of course, where could it possibly lead? He had sworn not to touch her.

They crossed to the back of the room, towards the refreshments table. To Christian’s great relief, Vincent and Sophia were already there. His friend gave a hearty wave upon seeing him and bellowed his name with great cheer as they approached.

“Fancy seeing you back in London!” Vincent crowed, giving Christian a handshake so enthusiastic that one would think it had been months rather than a few days since they had last seen each other. “A pleasure to see you again, Your Grace. Wedded bliss suits you. You look radiant, both of you.”

“A pleasure to see you both,” Ava said, welcoming a warm embrace from Sophia.

“Your Grace, you must tell me where you got that dress,” Sophia gushed.

Christian noticed a few of the more gossipy members of the ton were eyeing the interaction.

“I have been tiring of my tailor as of late. He seems to think that we married women must resign ourselves to a life of dowdy, unfashionable rags!”

“No!” Ava protested, though a smile rose to her face to match Sophia’s beaming grin. “You look lovely, absolutely lovely.”

“I must agree, darling,” Vincent chimed in, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist. “You do look absolutely lovely. Absolutely, indisputably, gorgeously, stupendously?—”

Sophia batted his arm away playfully. “You charmer,” she said.

The two of them exchange a glance.

It would have made Christian sick, seeing how saccharine their love remained for each other after all these years—only it reminded him of the potential of what he had now squandered, with his behavior towards Ava.

As that sobering thought settled over him, there was the sound of a string quartet trilling up behind them. They all turned. The music for the night had begun.

“Ah! Dancing!” Vincent exclaimed. “Well, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that no gentleman can allow his beautiful wife to stand to the side while music is playing.” He offered a hand to Sophia, who accepted elegantly. “Isn’t that right, Christian?”

With his other elbow, he nudged Christian in Ava’s direction so hard that Christian almost stumbled.

He shot Vincent a glare, then cleared his throat, collecting himself. “Of course.” He held out a hand to Ava, avoiding meeting her gaze. “May I have this dance, Duchess?”

When he finally let his eyes meet hers, he was swept away by the passion and heat within them.

“Certainly,” she said after a moment. He hadn’t realized until she said yes how nervous he had been that she might possibly say no.

The first dance was a waltz. As they took to the floor, he was almost overwhelmed by the feeling of her waist beneath his hand and her hand on his shoulder.

They moved in perfect synchronicity, and he realized with startling clarity that he had never felt a dance flow so effortlessly.

Every step, every turn, seemed guided by her alone, as though she and he were two halves of a single motion.

Her dress fanned around her feet in a swirl of silk, catching the light with each turn, and his chest tightened at the effortless grace in her movements.

Then she looked up at him, and the world contracted to that one breathtaking glance. His pulse thudded painfully against his ribs.

God, how had she managed to become so impossible, so utterly captivating, without even trying?

“How are you finding the city?” he asked, if only because if he didn’t talk, he feared he would easily and quickly succumb to the ever-increasing desire to kiss her.

If she was surprised by his sudden desire to make conversation, she didn’t show it. “You do realize I have lived in London much longer than we have been married.”

He fought dueling urges to smile and roll his eyes. “Yes. I mean, how has your return been? Is the townhouse to your liking?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she asked. Her gaze shifted, and for a moment, he could almost have been convinced that she had been looking at his lips, the way he kept trying to stop himself from looking at hers. “It is a beautiful house, as well you know.”

“You aren’t homesick, then?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter much whether I am or not,” she said. It was difficult to reconcile the coldness of her replies with the slight breathlessness of her tone and the way her body seemed so in sync with every slight movement of his. “It is my home now.”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Luke seems to be doing well.”

“How would you know?” she countered. “You have been too busy to join us at dinner even once. I notice you still have not taken me up on my offer to look at the papers.”

“This is part of the shipping business,” he said. “I need to look over the figures myself, for when I meet with my partner in a few days. At which point I’ll be glad to rejoin the two of you for dinner.”

“Good,” she said fiercely. Then, as though double-guessing herself, her eyes widened. “That is—” she began. Christian could have sworn he saw her pulse flutter faster beneath her clavicle. “We—Luke misses you, of course. And his speech has been improving rapidly.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he said. “I owe him an apology. I owe both of you an apology.”

That clearly surprised Ava, as much as Christian felt he had surprised himself. How was it that things that seemed previously so impossible to say were suddenly flying off his tongue?

For days, he had been agonizing about whether or not to speak to her. But now, so close to her, with her warm body all but pressed up against him, her eyes bright, cheeks and lips flushed, breasts heaving—suddenly everything felt easy.

He could not understand the effect this woman had on him, damn it. There was no good explanation for it.

“An apology?” Ava repeated, and he realized he had not finished what he had meant to say. Damn her distracting beauty!

“Yes,” he continued. “At dinner. I did not mean to be unkind.”

“You were,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed, “I know.”

“Not just at dinner,” she continued. “I understand you do not particularly like to be around me. Or perhaps you only find my company tolerable until you decide to kiss me and then—” She broke off, voice cool, “—call it a mistake.”

His jaw tightened. That had been exactly what he had been trying to avoid, yet here she was, daring him.

“You—” he began, then stopped, aware of the heat pooling in his chest. Every fiber of him wanted to close the distance again, to press his mouth to hers, but he forced himself to hold back. “I did not?—”

“You did,” she interrupted, stepping closer, unflinching. “Otherwise, you would not have kissed me.”

The room shrank until it was just the two of them. The dancers swirled around them, oblivious, while he forced the words out with measured control.

“It was a mistake, yes, but not because of you. I …” He trailed off, aware that restraint was the only thing keeping him from doing exactly what he wanted.

Her pupils dilated slightly, lips parting, daring him, and it nearly broke him.

Mercifully, the music stopped.

Practically as soon as it did, Christian took a step back, removing his hands from her as though he had just touched an open flame.

“Excuse me, Duchess,” he said, and then briskly walked away before he did or said something that neither of them could walk away from.