She was everything Marianne was not—tall, willowy, the sheen of her golden hair a calculated weapon. Her gown of deepburgundy clung like sin itself, and she moved through the room as though it were her private stage.
“Adrian,” she purred, gliding closer. “I heard the most extraordinary news. You’ve married.”
Adrian went rigid beside Marianne. “Lady Venetia.”
“Oh, don’t be so formal.” Her laugh was like the tinkle of fine glass. “After everything we’ve shared, surely we may dispense with titles.”
Marianne’s chin lifted a fraction. So this was the woman—the one the ton whispered about, the shadow from his past.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Marianne said, her tone cool as crystal.
Venetia’s gaze flicked over her dismissively. “Ah yes, the merchant’s daughter. I had heard. How... enterprising of you.”
“Mywife,” Adrian said, the steel in his voice unmistakable. “The Duchess of Harrowmere.”
“Of course.” Venetia’s smile sharpened. “Your wife.” Her eyes slid back to Marianne. “Tell me, Your Grace—has he taught you all his littlepreferencesyet? He can be quite... exacting.”
The insinuation struck its mark. This woman had known Adrian’s touch, his commands, his private desires. The thought was acid in her veins.
“I find my husband’s preferences quite... agreeable,” Marianne replied, her voice perfectly even.
“Do you? How accommodating.” Venetia leaned closer, lowering her voice just enough for nearby guests to strain to hear. “I suppose upbringing such as yours prepares one so well to… accommodate another’s wishes. A skill acquired young, I imagine.”
“Venetia.” Adrian’s voice was soft—and lethal. “Walk away. Now.”
“Or what?” Venetia’s laugh was brittle, ugly now. “You’ll cause a scene? Defend her honour? We both know you prefer your women more… experienced. This little mouse will bore you within a month.”
“Actually,” Marianne said, loud enough for half the room to hear, “I’ve found that men certain of their own talents have little need of women so...thoroughly practised.It’s only the uncertain who seek constant reassurance.”
A ripple of shocked laughter broke through the crowd. Venetia’s colour rose sharply, her composure fracturing.
“You forget yourself—”
“Duchess,” Marianne cut in smoothly. “The Duchess of Harrowmere. And you, Lady Venetia, are the woman who couldn’t hold my husband’s interest long enough to secure a ring. How terribly unfortunate for you.”
Venetia’s eyes blazed with fury, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper that somehow carried further than a shout. “You vulgar little creature. You may wear a title, but breeding will always tell. The daughter of a tradesman, playing at—”
“Enough.” Adrian’s voice cut through the growing scene like a blade. He stepped between them, his back to Venetia, his focus entirely on Marianne. “We’re leaving.”
“But—”
“Now.”
He guided her through the crowd, his hand firm on her elbow. She heard the explosion of gossip behind them, but couldn’t bring herself to care. They’d barely made it to the carriage before Adrian rounded on her.
“What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that your former mistress needed to be put in her place.”
“You caused a scene. The entire ton will be talking about this tomorrow.”
“They were already talking!” She yanked off her gloves, needing something to do with her hands. “At least now they’re talking about how I stood up to her rather than cowering.”
“I was handling it.”
“You were letting her insult me!”
“I told her to leave—”
