“That dance I mentioned; I think now would be a good time to begin,” Lionel said, pulling her toward the dance floor.
Amelia did not have the strength nor the consciousness of mind to resist, praying she was not about to make a spectacle of herself, embarrassing them both at their first ball as man and wife.
All these years I have eagerly devoured the scandal sheets—I never thought I would find myself written within its pages.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“They do not exist. These people do not exist,” Lionel said as the music began, and he stepped forward to press his palm to Amelia’s, trying to ignore the pleasant feeling of her silken glove against his rough skin.
Her fear was evident, radiating off her in tremulous waves, and all he could do was attempt to put her at ease. It had been a mistake to bring her here. It had been a mistake to throw her into such public scrutiny, and it had been a mistake for him to introduce her to friends and acquaintances—especially to Duncan Lock, who could charm just about any woman.
I did say she could do as she pleased once our honeymoon was over…The stark reminder left a sour taste in Lionel’s mouth, as he and Amelia turned slow circles around each other, the movement almost predatory in manner, like two animals sizing each other up. Although, Amelia was not looking at him, her chin having fallen to its habitual spot on her chest.
“Look at me,” he said firmly.
She lifted her gaze in a hurry, as if startled by the command. “Pardon?”
“You must keep looking at me. A dance is no good if all you do is stare at your feet,” he told her, not unkindly. “Ignore everyone else. Pretend they are not here.”
Amelia gave a small nod, her blue eyes fixed on his.
A few moments later, as she moved around him in a horseshoe and came back to stand in front of him, he could have sworn he saw her relax a little.
“Is the Duke a friend of yours?” she asked, nerves lingering in her voice.
“He is,” Lionel replied, a strange sensation bristling in his chest.
“Have you known him for a long time?”
“Not so long,” he said. “We were acquainted at university, but I have only known him well for the past two years.”
Why is she so interested in Duncan?
Amelia smiled shyly. “Is he always so very confident?”
“He is a Duke—of course he is confident,” Lionel replied, his tone a note curter than he had intended. “Arrogant, some might say.”
“You do not speak of him as if he is a friend to you,” she pointed out.
In truth, Lionel did not know why the mention of his friend was, all of a sudden, making him so uncomfortable. He adored Duncan. Indeed, Duncan had been something of a saving grace since his return from war, for he knew that if he saw his friend for an evening, at the gentlemen’s club or at one of their residences, he would soon forget his terrible memories. The amount of brandy that Duncan poured liberally on such nights, it was impossible to remember anything badorgood.
“He was… uncouth,” Lionel said. “Friend or not, I will not have anyone speak that way to my wife.”
Amelia raised an eyebrow. “You deem compliments uncouth?”
“If they are from the mouth of someone who is not your husband, then yes. You are too beautiful to have any other man near you,” he replied instantly, almost involuntarily, as if the words were being pushed straight from his mind to his lips with no filter in between.
She blinked in what appeared to be surprise. “I see…”
He could practically see what she was thinking:If this is a marriage of convenience, then why does it matter who compliments me?In truth, he did not know why his own mind was not heeding that same rationale.
Perhaps, it was the gown.
The moment she had stepped out of the carriage in that exquisite, unexpected garment of garnet red and gold, her honeyed hair decorated with small, glittering jewels, and that ruby at her throat—his mother’s necklace—he had thought he was looking upon a goddess. She had been smiling, eyes bright, cheeks dusted with a pretty shade of pink, her plump, slightly reddened lips reminding him of what he had almost done when he had given her that necklace.
I nearly kissed her…It had taken all of his worry for the future, combined with his military discipline, to pull away before catastrophe could occur.
But nothing could rid him of the memory of her fingertips massaging his temples, relaxing him in a way he had not felt in years. She had disarmed him briefly, and it had almost cost him dearly. He could not afford to get close to her, he could not afford to desire that intimacy between them, he could not afford to let this marriage become anything other than a formality.
