Page 58 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

“It might become your concern. Christian, if you don’t intend to wed the woman, then⁠—”

“Of course I don’t.”

“I’m only concerned that⁠—”

“Enough, please.”

Edwin wisely closed his mouth.

Christian shifted, a little shocked at how quickly he had become angry. Since when had the mention of a woman—even Thalia—made him snap at his old friend?

He cast a quick glance at Edwin. “Sorry, I am a little on edge.”

Edwin chuckled. “I’m not angry. Oh, look, here they are.”

There was no need to elaborate on who they were.

Tensing, Christian glanced over at the entrance of the gardens, just in time to see Thalia walking in. Her brother strode ahead of her, pinch-faced and looking thoroughly unhappy with the situation. An older woman had her arm hooked through Thalia’s, and they were whispering together.

Christian swallowed thickly. Thalia was wearing a delicate blue silk gown, one that hugged her curves beautifully. The color flattered her, too.

He wasn’t sure about her shawl, though. It looked very pretty but certainly not warm enough for the chilly night. She ought to have worn something warmer.

A light breeze stirred her hair, a long bright red tendril escaping her knot and fluttering out behind her.

Heat pooled in his gut. He imagined striding across the lawn, wrapping an arm around her waist, and pulling her towards him. He imagined kissing her in full view of everybody, deep and passionately enough to make them all swoon in shock.

He cleared his throat.

Remember your place in all this. Remember her place.

He glanced briefly at his friend and found Edwin already looking at him, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“What on earth are you looking at?” He scowled.

Edwin chuckled. “Oh, nothing. I am just thinking that the look on your face reminds me very much of mine once upon a time.”

“Oh, enough,” Christian huffed. “Excuse me, I had better go and greet them.”

He strode across the lawn, trying not to think about the earlier fantasy of himself grabbing Thalia and kissing her senseless.

“Lady Thalia,” he greeted once he was close enough. “How good to see you.”

Thalia’s gaze shot up to his, long and intent. There was light in the garden, of course, torches and braziers and candles strung over their heads as if they were at Vauxhall. Still, the buttery glow was not quite enough to illuminate her face entirely. He could not read her eyes properly.

“Your Grace,” she returned, as polite as always. “Have you met my stepmother? This is Lady Augusta Hamilton, the Dowager Marchioness of Hawton.”

He bowed. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Hawton.”

Lady Hawton bobbed a neat curtsey, watching him closely. He thought he saw a knowing spark in her eyes, but it was simpler to pretend that he did not.

“And I believe you and I have already met,” interjected an annoyed voice to his left.

Breathing in, Christian turned with a smile on his face. “Lord Hawton,” he greeted.

“Please,” the Marquess said, smiling tightly. “We can be more informal than that, surely? Or do you prefer the helpful buffer of formality?”

“I have no preference,” Christian answered sweetly. “I am glad to see you all here. Are you fond of fireworks?”