Trevor ground his molars as fury rolled over him. “How dare she pay you such insult? I’ll see to it that she is removed from the invitations of every notable social engagement in Town.”
It was only by sheer force of will that he carried on with the waltz, not wanting to cause Virtue further upset by making a scene. He hated that his past had hurt her, particularly when he hadn’t been there to offer his protection as he should have done. The fault was clearly Trevor’s for being foolish enough to dally with a viper. He had known Adelina was possessive and jealous, but he had never imagined she would dare to confront his duchess. Particularly not with the malicious inference that he would be returning to her bed. Virtue’s and Pamela’s strained countenances upon their return from the terrace made perfect, sickening sense now.
“You needn’t have her name withdrawn from guest lists on my account,” Virtue said stoically, her chin going up in that stubborn fashion that never failed to make him want to kiss her senseless.
“She has upset you and insulted you,” he countered grimly, a protective surge making his grip on her gloved fingers and waist tighten. “She is fortunate that I do not denounce her to the ballroom right now.”
“You are angry,” she said, her brow furrowed. “Please do not be so. I shouldn’t have mentioned such unpleasantness to you.”
“The hell you shouldn’t have,” he growled, keeping his voice low so that it wouldn’t carry to the dancers around them. “No one hurts the woman I love without consequence. I’d happily fight to the death to protect you from harm.”
Her lips fell open, and she missed a step. Trevor had to spin them both to avoid faltering. And that was when he realized what he’d said.
The woman I love.
Saint’s teeth, he hadn’t meant to tell her at a time like this, when they were surrounded by theton, and his former mistress had just insinuated—entirely incorrectly—that he would return to her bed.
“You…” Virtue’s lips parted and her words trailed away as she seemed to struggle to comprehend what he’d just revealed.
She was in fine company. He was still trying to understand it himself, these vast emotions inside himself, bigger than anything he’d ever known. Eclipsing him. The way he loved her frightened him.
“I love you,” he said, repeating the words in a different way. Therightway. Merely the wrong place and time.
He would make that up to her later. She deserved to know. By God, he wouldn’t have her thinking he didn’t worship every bit of her, from her glorious mahogany hair all the way down to her dainty, slippered feet. Wouldn’t have her wrongly concerned that he would ever choose another over her. She was the only woman for him, the other half of his very soul. Strike that. Shewashis soul. The very best part of him.
“You love me,” she breathed, gazing up at him with wonder, the chandeliers catching in her glistening eyes and sparkling from the diamonds at her throat.
“I love you,” he said it again, and how good it felt, that weight off his chest.
He felt as if he had run a great distance, and the exertion had left him clear-headed and so very alive. Suddenly, he wanted to declare his love for her to the entire ballroom. Louder than the waltz. To let everyone know just how much the woman in his arms meant to him.
He tamped down the urge with great effort. No scandal like declaring his love for Virtue in the midst of the Torrington ball, bellowing over the pianoforte and violin. It was his intent to make amends to her, to ease her entrée into society as his duchess. Not to heighten the whispers already swirling around them. Half thetonwould think him a Bedlamite, if they didn’t already.
“Trevor, do you mean it?” she asked, interrupting his mad thoughts.
And it occurred to him that the shimmer in her extraordinary eyes was not from the chandeliers after all. Rather, it was the sheen of unshed tears.
His own throat went thick, and he had to swallow hard against a rush of new emotion. Good Christ, he could not weep in the midst of a ball. He did yet possess some pride. He was reasonably sure of it.
“Of course I mean it,” he said, guiding them through another turn and deftly keeping them from colliding with another couple. “Never doubt it. I love you, V. I think I always have, from the moment I saw you arrive at Hunt House.”
“You saw me arrive?” There was wonder in her voice, awe in her expression.
He nodded, for he had been too nettled by the responsibility of a ward to greet her himself. Instead, he had remained in his study, watching.
Falling.
“You were wearing a red pelisse trimmed with fur and a matching jaunty hussar cap, and you had two books tucked under your arm,” he said.
“Oh,” she said, and then a single tear, which had caught on the spikes of her lashes fell, gliding down her cheek. “You did see me. I’d quite forgotten what I was wearing, but that pelisse is one of my favorites.”
“I have always seen you,” he told her, the words rife with meaning. “Always.”
“Trevor,” she said, her voice hushed, a wealth of emotion in her voice. “I love you, too.”
His breath caught. “You do?”
A nod. A shy smile. Another tear coasting down her silken cheek. Emotion, so much of it, burning in the depths of her gaze.
