“Get lost, lad,” he said to Pembroke in a tone that brooked no further argument. “I want to dance withmy wife.”
Pembroke, who was at least a head shorter than Lucian, gulped, quickly bowed to Gemma, and scurried off into the crowd.
Gemma allowed Lucian to take her into his arms, but she remained stiff as a fencepost. Her lips narrowed to a thin line, and she refused to look anywhere other than directly at hisshoulder clad in black evening attire. “That was ill-mannered of you,” she informed him.
“Duly noted,” was his unaffected reply.
Ah, so she was angry again, was she? Or perhaps she’d never stopped being angry from before. No matter. She would learn soon enough that her moods would not affect his behavior in the least.
“Smile, won’t you?” he demanded. “It’s unseemly to allow everyone to think we’re unhappy.”
“Weareunhappy,” she shot back. “And I have no problem being unseemly.”
Lucian kept the false smile pinned to his face. Good God. Had her mother not taught her any better manners than that? Fine. He would discuss it with her later when they were alone. For now, he would simply finish their dance for the sake of appearances.
When the music came to an end, he formally bowed to her. “I’ll be back to fetch you in an hour to escort you home.”
Her smile was tight and fake. “I shall remain on tenterhooks.”
True to his word,Lucian was back to fetch her in one hour. This time, he was forced to gather her from the center of a group of wallflowers, where she appeared to be delivering some sort of speech.
“And that is precisely why each of you should do as you wish, without regard to Lady Mary?—”
She stopped the moment she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye.
“My lady,” he drawled, bowing to her.
A slight sigh sounded through the gathered wallflowers before they all scattered, but not before he noted many of them staring at him with dreamy eyes.
Meanwhile, hiswifenearly rolled her eyes at the sight of him but dutifully excused herself to the remaining ladies and said good night.
Within a quarter hour, they were in the coach headed home. As usual, Lucian spent the ride staring out the window into the darkened streets of London. Tonight, he had one annoying thought on his mind.
Why had it bothered him to see Pembroke fawning over his wife? Lucian had never been the jealous sort, and he did not intend to become one now, especially when his wife was a plotting schemer who had only married him for his title. But something about seeing her enjoying herself in Pembroke’s arms earlier had made Lucian want to snap the younger man’s neck. And for the hint of a moment, he’d wanted that dazzling smile of Gemma’s directed at him.
It made no sense. She’d only be faking her affection, but somehow when she laughed and danced with others, she seemed…believable. As if she was truly enjoying herself. And that laughter, that happiness. It was…attractive, captivating. It made her face light up. Made the whole room light up.
“Are you planning to send me away?” came Gemma’s simmering voice from the other side of the coach.
“Pardon?” He frowned. Where the hell hadthatquestion come from? He certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about it to her, or anyone else, for that matter.
“Tell the truth. Are you planning to send me away or not? I deserve to know when and where.”
He forced his voice to remain measured, calm. It was the only way to deal with Gemma. “If and when I decide to?—”
“No.” She stopped him. “That is an unacceptable answer to me. If you plan to send me away, I want to know the specifics. Now.”
Lucian folded his arms over his chest and glared at his demanding wife. First, he didn’t have the bloody specifics. He hadn’t worked them out yet. Second, he was under no obligation to share his thought process with her. Why did she insist upon constantly questioning him? It was almost as if sheenjoyedarguing. He’d hoped for a biddable wife. Clearly, he had got the opposite. She was recalcitrant even. And he’d put up with far less egregious behavior from far more beautiful ladies.
“You are in no position to demand anything from me,” he replied simply.
“Oh, far be it from me to questionHis Grace,the Duke of Grovemont.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.
His eyes narrowed on her. “You are currently being treated with a level of respect due your station, but I have no intention of allowing you to demand anything from me, including my decisions.”
Her eyes flew wide, and a hand fluttered to her chest. “I should begrateful? Is that what you’re telling me? Perhaps thankful that you have not tossed me in a dungeon with only moldy scraps of bread for meals and no abuse of my person?”
“You’re dramatic,” he ground out.
