His eyes found his wife; her three friends were still with her, but a crowd of theton’svultures had managed to press around her, each clearly vying for her attention.
To her credit, Lady—no, Duchess Catherine Deverell— managed to compose herself well. Her smile could have fooled most people, maybe even Alaric, if he had not seen the way she looked when she saw her three friends.
The sunlight gleamed off her blonde hair, making it seem like spun gold. Her feigned laughter rang out, and Alaric found himself wondering what her real laugh would sound like.
The thought made him frown, and he could feel Frederick’s eyes on him. “You do not look so disinterested to me.”
“You mistake impatience for interest. Now that my wife has finished her meal, we can be on our way.” Alaric moved away from Frederick and toward the crowd that was making its slow way toward him.
As he drew level with them, the crowd pressed closer to the Duchess. He saw her eyes widen, her shoulders tensed and she looked around. Their eyes met.
“The Duchess and I must take our leave of you.” Alaric’s voice cut through the murmurs like a knife.
The crowd parted as he approached the Duchess, extending his arm for her to take. She hesitated briefly before slipping her arm into his.
The scent of lavender washed over him, and he forced himself not to take a deep breath. The crowd looked at him, but they made no effort to press closer.
He did not smile; he simply led his wife to the carriage, helped her inside, and then closed the door behind them. He sat across from her, wanting to give her space.
He watched her clasp her hands in her lap, shifting in the seat. “Thank you. It was getting a little overwhelming. I do not evenknow where Harriet and the others went; the crowd was so insistent.”
“You are a duchess. As far as they are concerned, you hold great power; their attempts to curry favor may grow more subtle, but I would not hold my breath.” He massaged his neck as the carriage jerked into motion.
“I suppose I will have to get used to it then.” He watched the muscles of her throat contract as she swallowed, saw the lock of hair drift across her face.
He felt an urge to tuck it behind her ear and instead clenched his hands into a fist.
‘You might get to know one another.’He pursed his lips and looked out of the window, allowing silence to settle over the carriage.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he turned to see her watching him. He met her blue eyes with his, arching an eyebrow at her. He saw her cheeks turn red as her eyes widened and she looked out her own window.
The corners of his lips quirked upward, and a part of him wanted to ask just what had made her blush.
Do not encourage things. The less said between the two of you, the better.
She glanced back at him, and her stomach let out a growl. Alaric watched as she covered it with her hand, her cheeks flushing even deeper with embarrassment.
She opened her mouth as though to speak, but at that moment, the carriage jerked to a stop, sending her sprawling.
Without thinking, he reached for her, grabbing her and holding her steady. As his hands touched her arms, he smelled her perfume again. Heat radiated from his fingers as their eyes met.
“I thought you said there would not be a third?” Her eyes danced, and there was a slight breathlessness to her voice.
Amusement and irritation clashed within him, but he kept his face expressionless, allowing one corner of his mouth to lift slightly. The door to the carriage swung open, and she recoiled from him.
Alaric exhaled and stepped out of the carriage. He waited, offering his arm to her as was proper. She accepted it, but only briefly to steady herself on the ground. Alaric ran his hand over the spot where her hand had touched him absently.
“Welcome to Coldmere Manor.” He gestured around them as they walked through the front door.
“Your Graces.” His butler, Mr. Wilkins, swept into a low bow as a footman took the Duchess’s coat. “Everything has been arranged as you instructed.”
“I trust you and Mrs. Danvers will see that the Duchess has all she needs.” Alaric gestured to his housekeeper, a smiling woman with curly red hair, who swept into a curtsy.
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mrs. Danvers beamed at the Duchess. “If Her Grace would be so kind as to follow me, tea is ready in the drawing room.”
“Thank you.” The Duchess inclined her head toward Mrs. Danvers, every bit the lady of the house.
Alaric saw that same practiced smile on her face, warm, charming, but guarded.
