When they walked through the large double doors, Robert let the first effects of the crowd wash over him. His chest tightened, his skin restricted, and his breathing had to be done with a concerted effort to remain steady. But he made the effort, as he always did.
“How lovely,” his wife said from his shoulder.
He turned his head, giving the room a cursory glance. “Quite.”
“Oh, good heavens!” an older woman cried, rushing toward them with hands in a flurry.
Lady Hughes.
“I cannot believe my ball is the first event where the new duke and duchess make their debut.” She gripped her full skirtsas she dipped into a curtsey. “Truly, I am incredibly honored, Your Grace.” She gave Robert her attention first, before quickly diverting to his wife. “And you, Miss Morgan.” Her eyes went wide as saucers. “Except you are Miss Morgan no more.” The middle-aged woman’s hand flew to her chest. “Your Grace.”
His wife smiled. “I fear that term makes me feel a bit stuffy, but I would also not insult my husband by asking you to continue to call me Miss Morgan. And since propriety forbids me from having you call me by my Christian name, I suppose ‘Your Grace’ must do. I believe my husband would appreciate that as well.” She smiled, and then, in an act that made no sense and he had not seen coming, she reached up and pinched his cheek.
Robert stared down at her, aghast. Did she honestly just do that?
“My dear husband can be a very quiet sort.” Miss Morgan raised her shoulders as she smiled at Lady Hughes.
Lady Hughes giggled in delight. And yes, the only word Robert could think to describe her reaction was a giggle. Like a little girl who got a new toy. Or, in this case, a new and very much sought after piece of information.
“I am so glad you have settled down and formed such a happy union, Your Grace. Your duchess is a pure delight.”
His mouth still hung open after the cheek ordeal, but he quickly snatched it closed. A strange sensation filled Robert’s chest at their hostess’s sentiment, glancing over at Miss Morgan as she smiled with ease.His duchess.
He could slap himself. She would likely not enjoy the trail of his thoughts.
Lady Hughes laughed, throwing her head back. Her cheeks were flushed, and Robert wondered just how much punch the woman had enjoyed already.
But Robert realized, with some level of contentment, that most of the questions and conversation were now being pointed at his wife.
He could have kissed her. Theoretically, of course.
Lady Hughes’ rambling finally came to an end, and his wife offered her a smile as Robert led her further into the room. He dipped his head down to whisper in her ear, pausing as he drew a breath, and his senses were filled with crisp apples and a citrusy scent. Did all women smell like this? He could not claim to have ever been close enough to notice, but the warmth radiating off Miss Morgan’s skin and the smell of whatever perfume she used was driving him to distraction.
“Yes, Your Grace?” She turned, standing beside him and bringing their noses together and almost touching.
He pulled back slightly.Keep it together, Robert.
“That was brilliant.”Except for pinching his cheek in full view of a ballroom of people, he neglected to add.
She raised her brow. “Is that all you require from me? Well, had I known your expectations were so low, I might have agreed to marry you sooner.”
He stayed near her face and before he could stop it, he felt the lines between his brows crease. Just as he began lifting his head, she lightly grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back to her.
“I am teasing you, Your Grace.”
He looked down at her from the corner of his eye, not trusting himself to meet her gaze fully at this distance.
“Try and keep up?” She released his shoulder, grinning, before turning and walking toward a group of people. Without anyone walking over to her or forcing her hand, she freely conversed with ladies as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
And he was left with no words—only a gaze that filled him with a faint sense of dread, for he knew what the feeling was.
Longing.
He—Robert, the Duke of Boroux—liked his wife.
Chapter ten
Louisa sat in thesmall club chair in her room, eyes securely fastened on the adjoining door to the duke’s room. Would he remain there the entirety of the evening? Or was his midnight escape two weeks ago—on their wedding night, of all things—something he did often?
