“My love?—”
“Of course we are, Papa.”
Unlike my mother’s, my father’s eyes shine at my use of the oft-forgotten title. He offers me an arm, which I take, tucking my hands in to keep warm.
“Well! I do expect we will make tongues wag—what with me, the luckiest man in the kingdom, save for His Majesty of course, with the most beautiful doves on his arm.” He tips me a wink, and I force myself to smile until I can safely look away.
That isn’t why he expects people to talk about us, and we all know it. He suspects news of my match will set the kingdom a-titter. I’ve never been one to relish the idea of being at the center of gossip, nor do I crave the glare of attention. It is quite different for my parents, and I am determined to make this a good night for them, for I do not know what the future will hold for me, or for them, when the secret I conceal is revealed to all.
Our union is doomed before it has begun.I look down at my hands clasped in my lap as my father joins us in the carriage. As much as I attempt to force my mind to other matters, it insists on returning to my future betrothed.Good looks and fine breeding aside, Lord Pembroke is nothing if not a notorious gossip. And I hear there is nothing he likes least than to be mocked.Almost unconsciously, my hand moves up to caresses my belly and the anxious flurry of butterflies lodged within.There will be hell to pay.
Duke Gregor
My life has changed more even than I anticipated in the fortnight since becoming Duke. I have already been installed in my new home—a stately townhouse so immense, it could contain every room I have ever lived in. That is humbling enough in its own right, but the rich furnishings…the staff…being called “Your Grace” without the trace of a smile or irony. It is all more than my even vivid imagination managed to conjure.
And tonight, will be the pièce de résistance. Indeed, the very reason I ventured to make such a bold request of the crown prince in the first place.
Lady Freya Denham. The only child of the much-admired Lord John and his wife, Lady Elizabeth—a woman said to have been the cause of countless skirmishes when she came of marital age. She still causes heads to turn every time she deigns to enter a room, not that she seems to take notice. Her eyes are always on her husband, her gaze intent upon his face, her lips slightly parted as if just waiting to declare herself obedient to any whim he might choose to declare.
I imagine the daughter of such good stock and breeding must be of similar temperament. I shall be a fortunate man indeed.
From the moment I enter the ballroom, I am besieged with greetings and well wishes as never before in my time at court. I should be enjoying the fruit of my labor, but I find myself distracted. I have never been closer to the object of my desire, and yet, impatience stabs me as I wait for the Denhams to arrive.
After some internal debate, I choose to wait within sight of the doorway. It feels the safest place to watch for her arrival without being accused of lingering. The doorway rose in a graceful arch, framed on either side by fluted pilasters. Gilt at the top caught the glow of the ballrooms chandeliers.
The butler stood just inside and announced every nobleman and the family that accompanied him. I have seen every gown fabric imaginable and every hue of the rainbow, and even received a few speculative looks from Mamas with marital prospects on their minds. But not the one person I desire to see most.
“I say, Gregor, the rumorscannotbe true.” Edward, a most amiable fellow, jostles my elbow good-naturedly, his eyes alight with amusement.
“’Tis true,” I murmur as I assess the crowd. Is it possible I did not hear them announced?
“By the devil!” He grins and I know there is no malice behind his words. “I simply must know how you managed it! There are many tales going around, as you can imagine. As a fifth son, if there’s a way to capture the attention of the comely ladies, which I think you will agree are too few?—”
“The Right Honorable Earl and Countess of Denham, and their daughter, Lady Freya Denham!” the master of ceremonies announces, and all other conversation fades for me.
My heart leaps, then it seems to seize in my breast. But I decided on my course of action long ago, and though my heartmay still, my feet do not. The glitter of the chandeliers, the soft playing of violins, the hum of conversation around me all seems to fade. I leave Edward to prattle on and move swiftly toward the entrance, determined to be the first to greet the Denhams.
Of course, as quick as my feet carry me, other gentlemen are swarming her before she has properly stepped into the room. They circle like lesser planets around the sun and as I imagine the sun to be, she takes little notice.
It is no wonder they cluster around her and attempt to turn her head. She is loveliness personified. Her hair is long, thick and dark and seems to be the only feature she inherited from her father. The rest of her is her mother—creamy porcelain skin, full berry lips, and serious green eyes.
Eyes that seem to be looking for someone through the throng of would-be suitors. My heart lurches.I sent flowers as the Prince suggested. Dare I hope?
Her gaze locks on me, and it is not until this moment that I realize I’ve stopped walking. I take a step toward her, then another. I clear my throat, and the gentleman blocking my path stands aside, though it is with a grudging look.
“Lady Denham.”
Her delicate brow furrows slightly.
At once, I realize my mistake. I bow low, struggling to regain my composure. “Forgive me, my lady, I know I break every rule coming to you thusly, but I simply cannot help myself.”
Another lady might look scandalized, but she would surely be flattered.
Lady Freya regards me as though she has hardly heard me. “Indeed. Tis a pleasure to see you, my lord,” she answers, polite, but unmoved. Her gaze that I thought favored me is clearly fastened upon something—or someone—behind me.
I turn my head in time to see Lord Pembroke approach. “My lady,” he greets her warmly as he steps in front of me, blocking me from her view.
She gives him a smile that does not reach her eyes and holds out a hand, which he dutifully bows over and kisses.
