Page 14 of The Virgin Duchess (Unwanted Brides #2)

Chapter Eleven

T he Season in London was just beginning to pick up, balls and drums and races all lined up and coming in the approaching months. In any usual March, Frederick would be doing his level best to keep his social calendar sparsely filled. He preferred to take in time with Richard or simply enjoy a boxing match.

That would not be the case with a new bride in his estate.

Charlotte had received a letter inviting them to the Season’s opening ball put on by the Marquis of Abercorn, which would be held in their London townhouse. It was set to be an extravagant event, similar to all the others the Marquis and his wife had held. Frederick dreaded the notion of going, but it would give him the opportunity to inquire about the Baron.

I will find that fiend if it’s the last thing I do.

Still, getting dressed for the ball continued to be a tedious waste of his time. Charlotte would not have him looking anything less than his level best, however, and he couldn’t argue with her without giving her cause to question why he would not wish to participate in the ball.

As much as arguing with his wife had become something of a pastime, Frederick loathed the idea of drawing her any closer to the truth of what had gone on between him and the Baron…and Rose.

“Come now, Frederick. Surely you must be ready now? It is unheard of that the lady of the house has finished dressing before the man!”

Charlotte called up the stairs, and as much as it was quite uncivilized to be yelling down the hall at him, Frederick couldn’t stop the smirk that ticked up the corner of his mouth. She truly was quite the character.

He’d been finished dressing for several minutes now, standing in front of his door and working up the strength to reach for the deep bronze knob. Frederick’s stare dropped to the floor as he laid his palm against the cool metal, his mind churning up thoughts that he’d thought he’d left behind.

Thoughts that, of course, revolved around Charlotte—and the way her lips had felt pressed against his own. He hadn’t intended to kiss her. It had been nowhere on his agenda that evening, and yet…There was something about her, the way she challenged him.

Charlotte…

Pulse thundering in his neck, Frederick cleared his throat and gripped the knob tighter. There was no time for this at present. Yes, he did wish to persuade his wife to indulge him. It was too potent a feeling to fight. Still, his first priority must always be finding the Baron and dealing with him accordingly.

His flirtation with his wife could wait.

So, shaking her as best he could from his thoughts, Frederick exited his room and proceeded down the hall. There was a ball to attend, and hopefully, he would finally learn where the Baron had run off to this very evening.

“Why no. I’m afraid I have not seen him at all. In quite some time, in fact.” The Duke of Somerset frowned, his mustache draping over his lips as he shook his head. “I shall convey anything I hear about him to you, of course.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Frederick bowed his head gently, the frustration gnawing at his insides. “Please do. I would be most appreciative of any information that you might discover regarding the Baron’s whereabouts. I have business to settle with the man.”

The Duke nodded, leaving Frederick to go about his evening. It was already well into the ball, at least an hour having passed, and Frederick had learned nothing about his nemesis’s location or status. In his books, the evening was shaping up to be a dreadful failure.

Sighing, he turned away from the corner where he’d spoken with the Duke and proceeded toward the dining room where the hot supper would soon be served. He clutched a sniffer of whiskey in his fingers and sipped eagerly at the drink to calm his nerves.

And where has my wife gotten off to?

The estate was immense, three rooms being used to host the dinner for all those assembled. Frederick and Charlotte were set to dine in the upper floor eating room, and despite being quietly seething, Frederick admitted that he was indeed hungry.

Coasting through the halls, Frederick noted the grand allure of the rooms and the branched lights that covered the space. Gleaming silver candlesticks, as well as several hanging chandeliers, provided a warm glow in each room, and the smell of freshly cooked vegetables and meat wafted through the corridors from the kitchen.

“Are you seated with us at our table?”

Frederick turned over his shoulder at the sound of Charlotte’s voice. She was speaking with Amelia and Richard, and he wandered over toward his friend, offering a handshake when the Duke’s eyes finally found him.

“Frederick, there you are.” Richard shook his hand heartily. “And yes, Charlotte, we will be sitting with you. Come, I believe dinner shall be served promptly.”

As if bidden by his friend’s words, the call to supper was announced, and everyone there made their way to a table. Easy conversations flowed between Frederick and Richard—as they always did—as well as Charlotte and Amelia. For the majority of the meal, the two halves of the couples spoke only with each other until Amelia turned to Richard, inquiring about something Frederick could not hear.

A tense silence hung around him and Charlotte, who was seated on his left. It had been like this since the other day. Even through the carriage ride, neither of them had said a single word.

“Are you enjoying your evening, Frederick?”

He turned to Charlotte, his brows raising as he regarded her. “It is a lovely gathering. And the food is divine.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. “It is. And it appears that you have spoken to nearly everyone here. You are quite the social extraordinaire.”

Frederick swallowed, the gentle burn of his wine traveling down his throat. I have questioned nearly everyone hear about the Baron. Social does not fit the bill .

“Well,” he smiled, setting down his glass and putting on his best showy expression, “do I not have the reputation for being something of an incomparable in the ton?”

He knew it was a stretch, jesting at how well-liked he was among everyone in high society. Still, Frederick did carry a reputation that served him. And while some might believe the rumors of his rakish behavior, the agreed upon description of him by most members of the ton saw him instead as a gracious host and lover of grand parties—neither of which were particularly true, of course.

Charlotte laughed. “Ha, my goodness. That is quite the view of yourself, now, isn’t it?”

Frederick held Charlotte’s stare, losing himself in the depth of her deep brown eyes. She was teasing him. He could see that look of defiance burn in the tea-colored striations of her irises, and as much as he knew that the proper thing to do would be to put her in her place, Frederick couldn’t.

He…enjoyed this side of Charlotte—far more than he thought possible.

“Modesty has never been associated with my name, now, has it?”

She laughed again, this time her smile spreading a little wider, her stare sparkling a bit brighter. As she collected herself, taking a sip of her wine as the perfect cover for her features, Charlotte flicked her eyes to his over the rim of her glass.

They held there for a long moment, one that stretched off into the distant horizon. Both of them seemed to be studying each other, both well aware of what had happened between them the other evening.

The kiss.

Frederick’s pulse was noticeable in his neck, and seeing the flush crawl up Charlotte’s chest to her cheeks only drew his attention to the heat contained within his own flesh. His wife had a way about her, and the longer Frederick was around her, the more difficult it became for him to pretend he wasn’t distracted by her.

Amelia cleared her throat, adjusting in her seat with a private chuckle directed at Richard, and the four of them continued to converse with each other as the remaining courses were served. When the meal was finished, the attendants stood from the tables for them to be cleared away.

“Dancing shall begin at half past two, everyone,” the Marquess announced. “We will see everyone here and in the ballroom downstairs.”

The following thirty or so minutes proceeded quickly, and Frederick found himself standing before Charlotte at the side of the room as the music began.

“Would you…” He paused, and his wife looked up at him with her brows up. “…care to dance, Your Grace?”

He smirked, enjoying the tiny wrinkle in Charlotte’s nose that formed whenever he used her formal title. It appeared to take her a moment to realize what Frederick had actually asked, and she shook herself as the words settled over her.

“You…You wish to dance with me?” She grinned ever so slightly, her brow still knitted with confusion.

Bowing, Frederick held out his hand with a flourish, smirking up at Charlotte, who did her best to hide a snort with her hand.

“I do.”

Rolling her eyes at him, she nodded and took Frederick’s hand. “Very well, then. But I should have you know I fully intend to dance until the last possible minute. I do hope you wore comfortable shoes.”

He couldn’t stop the laugh that barked out, straightening and spinning Charlotte into the center of the dance floor. Her body came up against his quickly, and the feeling of her there ignited something in his blood. Holding her eyes, Frederick bowed low as he settled them into the line of dancers who would take the floor next. Charlotte rolled her lips between her teeth, the dimples in her cheeks standing out.

The next round began, and Frederick watched his wife spin about the floor through the steps, her lovely gown flowing behind her. She truly looked ravishing this evening, the subtle lavender color of her dress complimenting her pale skin and dark, dark hair.

“What?” She whispered to him as they joined hands, ducking through the line of arms above them.

When Frederick could answer, he leaned toward Charlotte’s ear. “You look lovely, is all. Quite the sight in that gown.”

His stare cemented to her, Frederick grinned as Charlotte’s cheeks flushed a delightful pink, his thoughts quickly sinking to new lows as he wondered what else might look so fetching with that rosy glow.

Returning to his hand for the next portion of the dance, Charlotte kept her eyes pinned forward.

“Thank you.”

Frederick gaped at her, grinning widely as he turned her through a circle.

“Well, this is a most surprising evening, indeed. My wife has graciously accepted one of my compliments.”

Charlotte glared playfully at him, leveling him with such a powerful look that his entire body went rigid. God, the things I’d do to see that expression somewhere else…

“Your sense of humor knows no bounds, husband.” She took his arm, letting him lift her through the air along with all the other dancers. “You should rent out your services to those in dire need of a good laugh.”

Chuckling, Frederick wound through the following steps with her, her graceful form pressed to his side making his blood rush through him like a storm.

“Should I, indeed? Perhaps you shall be my first client then. And what should I charge for this noble service?”

Charlotte grinned, then tipped her head to the side, considering. “Not so much as a pound. That is far too much for the slight chuckle I have received. Perhaps a haypenny?”

A hard cut, to be sure, and all Frederick could do was laugh, the corners of his eyes stinging with amused tears.

“A haypenny? I am not even worth a full copper piece? My, I shall have to improve my skills.”

“Indeed, you shall, Frederick. Though,” we spun through the final turn, walking to the center line once more and giving a bow, “if you are to pursue a new career, perhaps I should join you. It is with my help that your jokes land with the proper punch.”

Grinning, Charlotte glanced up at Frederick as they stood in the center of the dance floor, catching their breath. The dim light of the room did nothing to stop his wife’s smile from beaming, and the tussled curls around her face looked as soft as silk.

A warmth entirely unfamiliar to Frederick consumed him from core to skin, and he chuckled as he smiled back at his wife.

My wife. Still such a strange notion, and yet…

“I concur with your assessment, Charlotte. I should not be parted from you should I wish to do the world any good through a laugh.”

In the back of his mind, Frederick knew there was a pressing matter that he intended to focus on. Still, as Charlotte eyed the lineup of participants for the next dance, he offered her a gentle nod and followed after her to take their places.

It appeared that he would be asking quite a bit of his shoes after all.