Victor arched a brow. "Truly? Because it looks as though she's about to dance."
Andrew turned his head sharply, and his stomach tightened at the sight before him. The gentleman—tall, impeccably dressed, and entirely too pleased with himself—was leading Lavinia toward the dance floor. Her hand rested lightly in his, and she was smiling.
Andrew instantly saw red.
Before he had fully processed his own movements, he was striding across the ballroom. The closer he got, the more his pulse thundered in his ears. The gentleman had barely led Lavinia to the center when Andrew reached them. Without a word, he extended his hand and, with gentle but firm insistence, pulled Lavinia's hand away from the man's grasp.
Lavinia gasped softly, her eyes widening in surprise.
"I think it's only proper that the duchess dances with her husband, Lord Collins, wouldn't you say?"
Lord Collins forced a sharp smile. "I must admit, Your Grace, I did not anticipate such a reaction from a man of your reputation." His tone was polite, but the insinuation beneath it was clear.
Andrew's grip on Lavinia's hand tightened ever so slightly. His jaw clenched, his posture stiffening as barely contained fury simmered beneath the surface. He took a measured step forward, his voice lowering to a dangerous register. "I would advise you to watch your words when addressing me, Lord Collins," he said.
"Of course, Your Grace," Lord Collins said smoothly, mellowing. "Enjoy your dance."
Lavinia, still stunned, turned to Andrew. "What are you doing?" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the soft hum of the music beginning to play.
Andrew didn't answer immediately. Instead, he guided her onto the dance floor with effortless precision, his grip on her waist firmer than necessary.
"You will dance with no one else tonight," he said. His eyes locked onto hers, unwavering, commanding. "Understand?"
Lavinia nodded, still very obviously flustered. "I couldn't turn him down for a dance. It would seem...rude."
"You're allowed to be rude...occasionally," he said and looked down at her.
Lavinia tilted her head up, her brows furrowing slightly. "Why are you acting like this, Andrew?" she asked, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the music.
His jaw tightened. "Like what?"
"I believe there may not be a word in the English dictionary to describe this behavior," she retorted.
Andrew did not falter in his steps. "I am simply doing what any husband would do when other men take too much interest in his wife."
Her lips curved, teasing. "How peculiar. For a moment there, you almost acted like a real husband."
"You have every right to be upset with me, Lavinia," Andrew said. "I know that my actions—and sometimes, my inactions—can be...frustrating."
"You know?" she questioned and arched her eyebrows.
Andrew exhaled, his grip on her tightening for the briefest second before he forced himself to loosen it. "I do."
Lavinia studied him, searching his face as they moved across the ballroom floor in perfect, practiced steps. "And yet, you still persist in being this way."
"This way?"
"Distant. Confusing." Her voice was quieter now, as though she hadn't meant to reveal so much.
Andrew exhaled sharply. "It was not my intention to confuse you," he said, his voice measured. "But that doesn't change the fact that we are still married, Lavinia."
"I did not forget that," Lavinia answered and looked away.
Andrew looked away too. "I may not have been your first choice, Lavinia," he said. But as my wife, you cannot be seen openly enjoying the company of other men. It gives the wrong impression."
Lavinia's spine straightened, and something in her eyes darkened. Her lips parted, as though she had something to say, but she quickly pressed them together, her jaw tightening.
Andrew instantly regretted his words. They hung between them, thick and suffocating, like a dense fog that refused to lift. The moment they’d left his lips, he had known he’d had made a mistake. He hadn't meant to say it...not like that, not with that edge of... what? Possessiveness? It had crept into his voice before he could temper it, revealing far more than he’d intended.
