“This is a strictlybusinessarrangement,” William deflected. “We get married as was ordered by my father, until I get my hands on my inheritance. After that, we part ways and go on with our separate lives.”
Colin winced. “That is quite… clinical.”
“It’s efficient and practical,” William replied, his eyes spotting his wife and her two friends heading to them. “And be quiet about it. We have company.”
The three ladies came forward and the two curtsied. “My lords, may I introduce Lady Eleanor Pembroke and Miss Josephine Simons. We have known each other from the schoolroom.”
It was a mere flicker and if William had not been looking at that direct moment, he would have missed it; Colin looked moonstruck at the sight of Miss Josephine—but in the next breath, the look was wiped from his face and his easy-going, devil-may-care mask dropped over his visage.
“I appreciate the gesture, Your Grace, but there is no need to re-acquaint myself with my sister, Eleanor. Though funny you should mention the schoolroom,” Andrew pointed a finger toWilliam while holding his glass. “I met this one at Eton and let me tell you, he was the scrawniest, weakest grunt of the litter, half my size, and had knocking knees.”
“I could still floor you with a punch,” William replied affably.
“You were a scrappy little hell-born-babe, true,” Andrew admitted. “A trait he carried right on to adulthood.”
William narrowed his eyes warningly even while guilt churned in his gut. He had not told Bridget about him being a boxer but that was his secret to tell, not theirs. Andrew must have understood the unspoken message and clamped his mouth shut.
Bridget’s attention, however, seemed focused elsewhere entirely. “Apologies, my lord, I had not known that Eleanor was your sister.”
Her words were met with tight smiles between both siblings.
Between the toasts, dances, and general merriment, the wedding breakfast had gone on until nearly suppertime, when William announced that the newlyweds were about to leave.
“I hope I am not too late,” a strange voice said while entering the room.
A young man with coiffed flaxen hair and blue eyes bowed. “Beg your pardon, Your Grace. Miss Lydia Turner extended the invitation to—”
“Adam!” Bridget exclaimed.
William saw the moment she nearly leaped into the man’s arms but stopped herself—and damn if jealousy didn’t slash his nerves to splinters. She turned to him.
“Baron Howell, this is my husband, William Hartwell, Duke Arlington. William, Adam is my brother’s closest friend from before he went to war. Adam, I am so delighted you could make it!”
“Of course,” the man smiled, “I could never miss this day. Your brother would have had my guts for garters if I had. May I give you adecoroushug?”
Bridget looked to William first and while his heart rebelled, he nodded permission, and this Adam wrapped her up in a long, aggravating hug. William ground his back teeth but masked the expression by pressing a glass to his lips.
“Careful,” Colin murmured while passing. “An ugly emotion called jealousy is showing.”
He ground his teeth even harder. The moment the embrace broke, he intervened. “Please excuse us. We have a dance to attend before the occasion ends.”
Guiding her suavely to the dancefloor, William drew his wife in right against his chest, ignoring the gasps of impropriety; he did not need to heed them anymore. Thighs brushing,breath mating, heat flowing, he understood why the waltz was considered scandalous.
Bridget’s lashes lifted, her gaze seizing his, and William realized something he had never felt before. He’d never desired anyone so fiercely—and so severely against his will.
While his pulse hammered, and he tried to unravel what was happening to him, he absurdly took time to count the almost invisible freckles on her nose.Seven. The locks of tresses that had come loose from her chignon.Three.
Her eyes shifted between blue and green depending on her mood and flashed verdigris fire when she was angry, her features delicate and fresh, her figure enticingly petite.
“Look at me,” he whispered, his senses rioting.
She did… and lost her step.
He caught her, bringing her closer and his length strained against superfine trousers until he feared his shaft would pop his buttons. Perhaps he’d just been celibate too long. He hadn’t been with a woman in months but he hadn’t wanted distractions while he was finding his footing in The Circuit.
They slowed to a halt in a triangle of light spilling from a bay window, the music from the pianoforte and harpists surging to a crescendo. He twirled her a second time, then pulled her in. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”
“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” Bridget smiled, smoothing a hand down his lapels. “Thank you.”
