“It hasn’t been that long,” Victoria admitted, biting the inside of her cheek.
“Well, it must have been quite the scene,” Daphne teased. “But more importantly … how doyoufeel about it? I saw the way he looked at the marquess when he came over earlier.”
Victoria shivered, the wordclaimechoing in her mind.
Claim her. Was that what it had been?
She scanned the room instinctively, looking for Richard. Across the crowded hall, she saw him, speaking with Jonathan, his posture casual, but his gaze sharp and unyielding.
“He can be … very infuriating,” Victoria said, her tone a mix of exasperation and admiration. “He’s cold, commanding, and used to leading. But he cares about Melody. He really does. And he’s found a way to soothe her even … And I … I’ve been at mywits’ end. He’s also … determined to protect us. He’s not the brute I thought he was.”
Daphne followed her gaze, noting Richard’s steady stare. A mischievous glint crossed her eyes. “If you don’t already know, he’s watching you, Vicky. He looks like he’d throttle the marquess if he even breathed in your direction again. Perhaps … he has feelings for you too.”
Victoria felt the warmth of her cheeks deepen, her pulse quickening. She tried to look away, focusing on her sisters instead, but her eyes betrayed her. Richard’s gaze had not faltered, a silent tether that drew her attention back to him again and again.
“Nonsense, Daphne,” she said quickly, trying to convince herself as much as her sister. “He’s merely feeling guilty about the situation. He thinks I shouldn’t have to take care of someone else’s child to the point of exhaustion.”
But as the words left her mouth, Victoria realized the truth: it wasn’t guilt that kept him so intent upon her, it was concern. Care. Something deeper. The exhaustion she had stubbornly borne alone, the sleepless nights, the constant effort. He had noticed, and he could not abide it.
Daphne’s skeptical arch of the brow made Victoria flush hotter. Twins had a sixth sense for truth.
“Guilt? It does not sound like it, Vicky,” Daphne said, voice soft but sharp, cutting through Victoria’s denial.
Victoria let out a short, frustrated laugh, conceding more to herself than to her sister.
“Perhaps,” she murmured, her heart still in her throat, and her gaze drifting once more toward the man across the room who held so much of her attention.
Why had he not followed her immediately?
Richard asked himself the question over and over, though he already knew the answer. Pride. Restraint. A need to maintain the calm, composed image of the Duke of Hawksford. And yet, every second spent watching her from across the room was like a trial.
His gaze lingered on Victoria, tracking the subtle movements that always made his chest tighten. The tilt of her head as she listened to Daphne. The soft flare of her lips when she laughed at something her sister said. The way her hands moved, precise yet unguarded, as she gestured. Every gesture, every glance, every tiny expression carved itself into his memory.
“You are going to burn a hole through your own wife from here, Hawksford,” Jonathan said, his voice teasing yet sharp, pulling Richard out of his private reverie. “I believe we are here to show the ton a united front. You’ve accomplished that already. But really, you should be walking with her, not staring like some lovesick fool from across the room.”
Richard’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Jonathan,” he muttered, low and controlled.
Jonathan’s grin widened, undeterred. “Ah, there it is. I knew that tone. You know I’m right. I also know exactly which buttons to press.” He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I could walk over there and compliment her. Tell her how her beauty has captivated half the guests. Surely that would make your blood boil.”
Richard’s eyes narrowed. “I do not like being manipulated, Cotswell. You know that. And do not speak of my wife as if the two of you share familiarity or intimacy. Enough of that.”
“It is merely a nudge,” Jonathan said lightly, uncaring of the sharpness in Richard’s tone. “You’re growing fond of her, Hawksford. And really … that’s a good thing. Some might say it is a necessity. Arranged marriages that do not develop into anything else? Cold, lonely, miserable. You could avoid that, you know, if you let her in a little.”
Richard shook his head, a bitter twist to his lips. “It is a dangerous thing. Catastrophic, even. Penwike’s still around. Which means he’s still a threat. I cannot afford to give them leverage. Not over my family, not over my wife, not over … anything.”
Jonathan’s expression softened, but his teasing remained. “Penwike again? Hawksford, I can see you care for Victoria. Surely no one will mistake your concern for weakness. And as for Penwike, now that you have a wife and a ward to protect, he’d bea fool to try anything. The ton will see him as a villain if he does, and you are more than capable of handling him.”
Richard exhaled sharply, frustration and longing mixing in his chest. His gaze flicked back to Victoria. She was surrounded now by a cluster of gossipy ladies, faces sharp with curiosity and predatory interest. The woman pressed questions with the kind of subtlety only the ton could master, about her marriage, her husband, the mysterious child. Victoria did not flinch, did not seem intimidated, yet there was an unmistakable tension in the way she shifted, a slight tightening of her lips and hands.
Jonathan’s voice cut through again, sharper this time, teasing but pointed. “Time to be the knight in shining armor, Hawksford. That duchess does not look entirely comfortable. Surely you see it?”
Richard’s hand itched to reach out, to claim her, to shield her from those curious eyes. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to remain outwardly composed. “A necessary nuisance, Cotswell. We encounter these vipers wherever we go.” He cast one final glance at the circle surrounding Victoria, noting each subtle look and question aimed at her.
But restraint would not hold him much longer. He moved, each step deliberate, measured, the echo of his boots across the polished floor a warning to anyone daring to approach her.
The ton could murmur, speculate, or sneer. He did not care. His duchess needed him, even if she would never ask for it.
As he reached her, the murmurs of the crowd seemed to dull, replaced by the quiet hum of his intent. His hand found the small of her back again, a protective press, and Victoria stiffened slightly under his touch. He did not pull away. Not now. She was his to protect, and he would not let society’s sharp tongues harm her.
