“The way he runs, you would think that you threatened to eat him,” Clara said.
Surprisingly, the duke laughed. Loudly. It was such an unexpected reaction that it made Clara jump; her first instinct was to assume that something was wrong. But she turned to face her husband, seeing his smile, hearing his laughter, and she realized then that it was the first time she had heard such a thing.And it is not at all an unpleasant sound.
More guests came over the following hour, and every single one was told in no uncertain terms that Clara’s marriage to the duke was a dream come true. It was a lie, to be sure, but itfeltas if it could be the truth. The potential was there, and all they needed to do was try.
“I grow bored of all this chatter,” Alaric said as they bid Lord Weatherstone goodbye.
“Oh…” Clara felt her stomach drop, for she was enjoying herself immensely. “Did you wish to return home?”
“Not at all,” Alaric said. He unlinked her arm and took her hand. “Rather, I thought we might share a dance.”
Clara leaned back in surprise. “A… a dance?”
“Something the matter?”
“For me? Not at all,” she laughed. “I simply did not take you as a dancer.”
He shrugged. “Looks can be deceiving.”
A truth I am learning every day.
Alaric led Clara to the dance floor just in time to join the other dozen couples who were taking their place across the open floor. As expected, most of the guests in attendance turned to watch them, their expressions written in shock because surely none had ever dreamed they would see the Duke of Ravencourt dancing. And that wasn’t to mention smiling.
And smile he did. He wore it proudly as he rested one hand on Clara’s waist, the other holding her right hand before them. He pulled her tight to his body, causing Clara to gasp.
She needed to concentrate on what was to come, but she could not help but focus on the feel of the duke’s strong body pressed against her own. His hand on her waist; a tight grip. His face was mere inches away, so close that she could feel his warm breath tracing against her own lips. It made her heart flutter, and her body shudder.
It came as no surprise how she was reacting. Admitting from the moment that she met the duke, how handsome he was, what was most surprising was how right it felt. And what was more, the look in his eyes, the way they shone for her, was suggestive that he was feeling the same as she.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice low.
“I hope you can keep up,” she shot back with a cocked eyebrow.
The music began, and so did they. There were twelve other couples joining them in their waltz, but the floor might as well have been empty. That was how it felt to Clara. Her eyes were locked on Alaric’s, his on her, and they did not break their stare once as they moved together; their bodies joined as one. It was transcendent, how right it felt. It was transportive, seeming to lift them from the past few weeks as if they had not existed. It was…it is, exactly how I always dreamed a marriage would feel.
“Careful, Your Grace,” Clara said with a wicked smile that was just for him. “You are looking dangerously close to believing your own lies.”
He said nothing to that. Behind his eyes, she could see that same battle raging as it always did. The urge to dismiss her. The desire to ignore her. Theneedto keep his distance. But the battle was waning, soon it would be lost, and when it was…perhaps this marriage will stand a chance.
And that reason alone was enough to see Clara smile and then laugh, for she could not remember once in her life where she had been this happy.
Eleven
Alaric was the first to climb into the carriage. It was only the second time they had ridden together, but if the last time was anything to go by, Clara knew what to expect. That he would shuffle across and sit in the corner, turn his body away, get back to ignoring her as he counted down the minutes until they were home.
There is nobody else to watch us now. So, why would he feel the need to keep up the act as he had done so at the ball? Unless… was it all an act?
“Here…” Once inside the carriage, Alaric turned back and offered his hand to Clara. She looked at it as if she did not know what it was for, surprise as much as hope filling her. “If you will allow me.”
That single gesture might have answered all of her questions, were Clara not painfully aware that they weren’t alone on the drive. There were other couples leaving the manor. The staff ofLord and Lady Whitcombe, too. Still, this might have been all part of the performance. And because it was, Clara smiled and took the hand as if it were a most natural thing.
His grip was firm and powerful. He guided her into the carriage with ease. Once she was in, he leaned over her and closed the door, trapping them inside. Her heart was racing with nerves, for she did not wish to be presumptuous and sit beside him. But then the duke did something she could not have expected. He sat down in the middle of the seat and patted the space beside him.
She frowned. “Are you… Are you certain?”
He tilted his head. “Honestly, no, I am not.”
“Me either,” she said honestly, her smile unsure, her actions just as much. But she sat herself right next to her husband, so close that their hips were touching. And then she held her breath, as if to breathe too loudly might scare him away.
