Lady Selkirk’s lips pursed. “Ah. Merely inquiring about the baptism, Your Grace. I meant no offense.”
Richard’s hand remained firm at Victoria’s back, a grounding presence. “Concerned, my lady?” he countered sharply, though his tone was controlled. “I am concerned about my wife being harassed on a night intended for enjoyment. Let her savor the evening, as it was meant to be. As for the baptism, you may find those records should you wish to inquire further.”
Victoria’s cheeks warmed with a mixture of relief and secret amusement. Richard’s deft handling of the situation had been as much a shield as it was a statement; he had made it clear to the ton that she belonged to him, that he would not tolerate harassment.
The dowagers’ expressions faltered; some looked embarrassed, others subdued.
Lady Selkirk bowed stiffly. “My apologies, Your Grace,” she murmured, retreating from the circle.
Victoria exhaled, her shoulders dropping for the first time since the interrogation began. Daphne, ever perceptive, nudged her twin with an approving smirk.
“Since you are already here, Hawksford, I will fetch Adrian,” Daphne said lightly, tugging Victoria toward the broader floor.
Richard’s gaze remained on her for a moment longer, concern etching his features. His hand lingered, brushing hers almost imperceptibly, an anchor against the lingering tension.
“Are you all right?” he murmured, low and intimate, his eyes scanning hers for any remaining trace of distress.
“I am fine, Richard,” Victoria replied, managing a smile, though it was fragile. “Thank you.”
Her heart still raced, partly from the encounter, partly from the ever-present intensity of his proximity. He understood her in ways she hadn’t realized, anticipating worry before she voiced it, shielding her without condescension.
“Come, Vicky,” Daphne said, linking arms with her.
Victoria allowed herself to be guided, still acutely aware of Richard’s presence a few steps behind. Every glance she stole toward him sent a jolt through her chest.
Soon, the music swelled, a rich waltz filling the room. Victoria felt the pull of nerves and excitement mingle in her chest. Richard stepped forward, extending a hand with an almost imperceptible command.
“Dance with me, duchess,” he murmured, his voice warm and measured, eyes locking on hers.
Victoria blinked in surprise. “Again? Richard, we?—”
“We are here to establish a new narrative,” he interrupted, voice firm but gentle. “A united front. A presence that is unshaken by domestic matters. Will you accept this, duchess?”
There was no room for argument. Something in his gaze, in the intensity and quiet authority of his stance, left her no choice but acquiescence. She placed her hand in his, feeling the strength and assurance of him, and allowed him to draw her into the rhythm of the dance.
The waltz was a swirl of elegance and intensity, every movement precise yet intimate. Victoria could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his large frame encompassed hers yet moved with delicate control. His hand rested lightly but firmly at her back, guiding her through each turn, each sweep across the polished floor.
“Your family,” he murmured close to her ear, voice soft and steady, “they are your everything. Every time you are with them, your eyes light up. You laugh, and it shows a bond that cannot be forced. That strength is remarkable.”
Victoria allowed herself a quiet smile, letting the words sink in, the feel of his hands, the closeness of his body, the gentle pull of his presence. There was a thrill in the heat between them, a subtle electricity that accompanied every step.
She ventured softly, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity. “And your brother, Edgar? What was he like?”
Richard’s posture stiffened ever so slightly, a shuttering of the composure he wore so carefully. His voice flattened, measured. “Duty-driven. Commanding. He lived as our father demanded. I was not ready for his absence, and I am still not.”
Victoria’s heart ached with empathy, understanding the weight of expectation and responsibility he had borne. “I am so sorry for your loss, Richard,” she said softly, her hand still clasped in his. “I cannot imagine what it would be like to lose someone so close. My siblings … I could not bear it.”
His eyes softened, though only briefly, before he shifted back into the practiced composure of a duke.
The dance carried them onward, each step an echo of the intimacy and unspoken understanding between them.
The music ended, and the spell of their private world broke. Applause rose, dancers separated, and Victoria felt the return of the public sphere pressing in.
Richard remained composed, though the intensity of his desire lingered in his posture, in the protective curve of his arm, in the quiet strength of his presence.
They made their way toward the refreshment table, yet even as they moved, a cold awareness prickled Victoria’s attention. Emerging from the shadows, a figure stepped into the room with a calculated grace.
The man who was watching them at Hyde Park, Victoria, realized.
