“Have I?” He surveyed the room with satisfaction. “I thought the occasion warranted some effort.”
“All this for a practical arrangement?”
“All this,” he said quietly, “because you deserve it.”
Because I deserve it.Not because society expected it or because it served his purposes but because she deserved something beautiful.
Don’t read meaning into his words that isn’t there.
“Your Grace,” an elderly woman gushed, approaching with obvious determination. “What a lovely ceremony. You look absolutely radiant.”
“Thank you, Lady Pemberton,” Sybil replied, grateful for Hugo’s coaching on names and faces.
“And Your Grace,” Lady Pemberton turned to Hugo with calculating eyes, “such a romantic gesture, bringing dear Sybil back into society. Quite the fairy tale.”
Fairy tale.If only she knew the truth.
“Indeed,” Hugo said smoothly, his hand settling on Sybil’s waist. “Though I prefer to think of it as recognizing quality when I see it.”
Quality.As if she were a horse or a piece of artwork he’d acquired.
The endless parade of congratulations blurred together until Hugo leaned close to her ear.
“Smile,” he murmured. “You look like you’re attending a funeral.”
“I feel like I’m on display.”
“You are.“ His fingers traced a pattern against her back that made her shiver. “But you’re handling it perfectly.”
Perfectly.Another compliment that felt too genuine for comfort.
Finally, the musicians began playing a waltz, and couples moved onto the floor. Hugo led her forward, his hand warm and sure at her waist.
“Thank you,” she said as they began to move. “I was beginning to feel like a curiosity.”
“You are my Duchess,” he said, spinning her expertly. “It is only natural they would be curious, even if you hadn’t chosen to leave thetonbehind you.”
My Duchess.The possessive pronoun sent an unwelcome thrill through her.
“I don’t belong to you,” she said automatically.
“Don’t you?” His amber eyes met hers, warm with challenge. “You’re wearing my ring. You bear my name. What would you call that?”
A legal contract. A business arrangement. Nothing more.
“A formality,” she said.
“As long as you bear my name, you are mine.” He spun her through a complicated turn, bringing her closer against his chest for a moment before releasing her back to proper distance. “At least in the eyes of theton, there is nothing formal about this.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your pulse is racing,” he observed quietly. “Your breathing has quickened. And you can’t seem to look away from my mouth.”
Stop noticing things like that. Stop making me aware of my own reactions.
“You’re imagining things,” she said weakly.
“Am I?” His voice dropped to that intimate register that made her stomach flutter. “Shall we test that theory?”
