Page 21 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction (Dukes of Passion #3)
CHAPTER 21
“ I must say, the Duke of Blackmere’s choice of bride continues to perplex me,” a woman’s voice carried from behind a potted palm as Marina and Leo entered the Pembroke’s ballroom. “So unexpected and with a widow of questionable reputation.”
“Hush, Margaret. They’ll hear you,” her friend replied although not quietly enough to keep Marina from hearing every word.
Marina kept her chin high and her back straight as Leo guided her through the crowded ballroom. She had expected the scrutiny and was used to it since Henry had died, but the reality still unsettled her.
“Ignore them,” Leo murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “Their opinions are as substantial as soap bubbles.”
Despite her nervousness, Marina couldn’t help but smile at his dismissive assessment. “You sound like Caroline.”
“Lady Clarkshire is a woman with good taste,” Leo replied with a hint of amusement. “Present company excluded of course.”
Before Marina could plan a suitably sharp response, they reached their hosts. Lord and Lady Pembroke gave Leo an overly enthusiastic greeting that hinted at their social ambition.
“Your Grace, we are delighted you could join us tonight,” Lady Pembroke gushed. “And with your new duchess. Such a… surprising match.”
“Indeed,” her husband agreed, his gaze sliding over Marina with poorly concealed speculation. “Few expected Your Grace to choose a bride so unconventional. Especially given the circumstances of her previous marriage.”
Marina felt her cheeks flush with humiliation, but Leo’s response was immediate and cutting.
“My wife’s past marriage is hardly a suitable topic of conversation, Pembroke,” he said lightly though the subtle steel in his tone was unmistakable. It held a quiet warning. “And there is nothing the least bit unconventional in my choice. The duchess is a woman of wit and grace. She is precisely the sort of wife a discerning man might consider himself fortunate to find.”
Lord Pembroke reddened. “Of course, Your Grace. I meant no offense.”
“Of course,” Leo replied though his grip on Marina’s arm had tightened perceptibly. “Your ball promises to be the highlight of the week. The orchestra sounds particularly lively this evening.”
With minimal further pleasantries, Leo steered Marina away from their hosts and deeper into the ballroom. Marina waited until they were safely out of earshot before speaking.
“Thank you for defending me,” she said quietly. “Though it won’t be the last time my past marriage is discussed.”
Leo stopped, turning to face her fully. “Let them talk. I’ve endured worse gossip as have you. We’ll weather it together.”
The unexpected solidarity in his statement caught Marina off guard. For a moment, she glimpsed the man beneath the rakish facade and saw the loyal friend Gerard and Dorian valued so highly.
“You can make it up to me by dancing,” Leo continued as the orchestra began a new waltz. “Unless you fear further scandalizing the assembly by dancing with your own husband?”
Despite herself, Marina smiled. “I believe I can endure such a scandal.”
Leo guided her smoothly onto the dance floor. As his arm slipped around her waist and his fingers gently closed around hers, Marina felt suddenly breathless, all too aware of how close they stood after weeks spent carefully keeping their distance. The warmth of his hand seeped through the silk of her dress, and she caught a hint of his familiar cologne—a scent that made her pulse quicken.
“You look stunning tonight,” Leo murmured as they moved effortlessly into the rhythm of the waltz. “Madame Beaumont truly outdid herself.”
Marina glanced down, admiring the deep blue silk embroidered in delicate silver threads that shimmered softly with each graceful turn.
“If memory serves,” she said lightly, “the color was your idea.”
“The color merely complements what was already perfect,” Leo replied, his gaze holding hers with unexpected intensity. “Like the setting of a fine jewel.”
Marina forced herself to maintain a composed expression despite the flutter his words provoked.
“You needn’t flatter me, Your Grace. There’s no audience close enough to hear.”
“Perhaps I speak the truth.” His hand at her waist drew her fractionally closer as they turned, the movement intimate. “Maybe you didn’t think of this, but I really do admire you.”
“Admiration is not something I associate with our arrangement,” Marina replied carefully, trying to ignore how perfectly they moved together, how naturally her body followed his lead.
Leo’s expression remained unreadable although something flickered in his eyes at her response. “Our agreement doesn’t prevent us from having genuine respect for each other. Or attraction.”
The last word hung between them, charged with unspoken possibilities. Marina was grateful for the dance that required her attention, giving her a moment to compose herself.
“You dance beautifully,” Leo observed after a moment, skillfully guiding her through a complicated turn. “Were you taught by the same stern French master who terrorized the young ladies of my acquaintance?”
The deliberate lightening of the conversation allowed Marina to regain her equilibrium. “Monsieur Dubois? Indeed. He rapped my knuckles regularly for improper carriage and lamentable posture .”
“He would find no fault tonight,” Leo assured her, his hand warm against her back as they completed another turn. “You move with perfect grace.”
The sincerity in his voice chipped away at Marina’s carefully built defenses. She’d spent weeks keeping her husband at arm’s length, but now, dancing together, feeling the warmth of him so close and seeing the tenderness in his eyes, she was starting to wonder why she’d bothered in the first place.
As the final notes faded, Marina felt relieved yet strangely empty, now free from Leo’s embrace.
“Thank you for the dance, Duchess,” he said formally though his eyes still held that unsettling warmth.
“The pleasure was mine, Your Grace,” she replied automatically.
Leo escorted her from the dance floor, and Marina spotted Caroline waving to her from a nearby refreshment table.
“Caroline is looking for me,” she said, gesturing toward her friend. “If you’ll excuse me?”
“Of course.” Leo nodded, his gaze already scanning the crowd. “I see Blytheton attempting to charm the Barrington twins simultaneously. I should rescue at least one of them before scandal erupts.”
Marina made her way to Caroline’s side, grateful for the familiar presence of her friend amid the curious stares and whispered comments that followed her progress through the ballroom.
“That was quite a display,” Caroline observed, handing Marina a glass of champagne. “Half the room is now convinced your marriage is a love match after all.”
Marina nearly choked on her first sip. “Hardly. We merely danced as expected.”
“If that was merely duty, I fear for the safety of the ballroom should genuine passion ever enter the equation,” Caroline teased. “The air between you was positively combustible.”
Before Marina could plan a suitable denial, they were joined by a tall, fair-haired gentleman with an earnest expression.
“Cousin Caroline,” he bowed politely. “And the new Duchess of Blackmere, I presume?”
Caroline made the introductions with her usual grace. “Viscount Durching is my mother’s sister’s son, Marina. He’s recently returned from an extended stay in Italy.”
“The Duchess is even lovelier than rumored,” Durching said with another bow. “Though I confess I’m more intrigued by your literary reputation than your beauty, Your Grace.”
Marina raised an eyebrow. “My literary reputation, Lord Durching?”
“Caroline mentioned your passion for books and ideas,” he clarified quickly. “A woman of intellect is a rarity in our circles. I’ve just finished Wordsworth’s latest, and I’m curious whether you found his celebration of nature as compelling as his earlier work.”
“His earlier poems felt more real to me,” Marina replied, happy to discuss something of interest. “But I think the new ones about memory and life’s end have some truly beautiful passages.”
“I agree,” Durching nodded, his face lighting up. “That part about finding ‘strength in what remains’ was quite touching. Don’t you find comfort in such thoughts?”
“Sometimes,” Marina said, considering her answer. “But I prefer the poets who write about our current times. They face the chaos of modern life instead of just escaping to peaceful country scenes.”
“You enjoy those more modern writers?” Durching looked surprised. “I find their work too emotional and almost improper in how direct they are.”
“Not improper,” Marina corrected him. “Truthful. They write about people as they really are, not how we pretend to be.”
Durching moved closer, lowering his voice. “Lady Rutherford would be shocked to hear you defend such authors in her home. She called that latest book ‘not fit for gentle readers.’”
“Then I won’t tell her I keep those books in my own home,” Marina replied with a smile. “What did you think of that new poem everyone’s talking about? The one critics can’t seem to agree on?”
“A promising work, but not perfect,” Durching offered. “The descriptions often overshadow the actual meaning.”
The conversation continued pleasantly between them with Durching showing more thoughtfulness than Marina had expected. She enjoyed using her mind again after weeks of focusing on household tasks and social events.
Yet even as she debated the merits of various poets with the Viscount, Marina remained hyperaware of Leo across the ballroom. Her gaze kept finding him among the crowd, tracking his movements as he spoke with Lord Blytheton and several other gentlemen.
Once, he glanced up and caught her watching, the hint of a smile touching his lips before he returned his attention to his companions.
“Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Your Grace?” Durching asked as the orchestra began tuning for a country dance.
Marina hesitated briefly, her eyes automatically seeking Leo again before she reminded herself that dancing with others was perfectly acceptable, even expected.
“I would be delighted, Lord Durching.”
Though pleasant and technically accomplished, dancing with Durching felt entirely different from her waltz with Leo. There was none of the electricity, none of the heightened awareness that had made every point of contact with her husband seem significant. The Viscount’s hand at her waist was merely a hand, his conversation merely words that required polite responses.
As the dance concluded, Marina thanked Durching for the pleasant interlude, her mind already drifting back to the puzzle that was her husband.
Why did Leo’s touch affect her so differently? And more troublingly, why did she find herself increasingly reluctant to maintain the emotional distance that had seemed so essential just weeks ago?