Page 67 of Duke of the Sun

“And yet, you cannot admit that you might be a well enough man to be at Cordelia’s side?”

Michael leaned in close to him, his voice barely above a whisper. “You tread into water you do not understand, Rhys,” he hissed. “I know what cloth I am cut from, and to tread warily into marriage is a nicety I believe a woman like Cordelia deserves.”

Rhys pressed his lips together. “I understand.”

“Are you through with the questions, now?”

“Don’t push it.”

Michael leaned against the podium once more, too annoyed with his boxing partner to focus his attention on him any longer. The garden seemed to fill with more people, if it was at all possible, and pressed in upon them steadily. Michael let his gaze search through the sea of Ton members, desperately looking for Cordelia.

His heart threatened to stop.

Cordelia was where she had been, but Irene was nowhere in sight. Instead, there was a tall gentleman standing beside her, and they were deep in the throes of a conversation. The man smiled down at her and, even from a distance, Michael saw her laugh.

Without thinking, Michael’s hands tightened into fists.

“Rhys,” Michael growled, “Who is that man talking to my wife?”

Stepping forward, Rhys’s eyes narrowed as he stared across the garden. “Looks like the Earl of Vaun to me,” he murmured, his gaze flicking over to Michael nervously. “Colin Evans, the man who was once betrothed to Cordelia Celeston.”

Michael’s eyes widened. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from the two of them, and could hardly hide his aghast expression. They looked like old friends, reminiscing and remembering the previous days they spent together. A fiery heat exploded through Michael’s chest the longer he stared. His vision warped, and he soon imagined them holding hands, walking through the garden as a married couple, carrying a few children along with them. The jealousy surged through him relentlessly, swimming through his veins alongside his very essence.

“You alright, Michael?” Rhys asked, clapping his hand down on his shoulder.

Michael shrugged his hand off. “We will see each other at the ring, won’t we?”

“Well, sure, but -”

“Good afternoon, Rhys.”

Michael twisted and nudged around the throngs of crowds within the gardens. The pristine weather pulled all of London’s society out into the day, and they gathered all around the dahlias and the daffodils. Michael, however, was intently determined, and it would take a lot more than a series of nicely dressed men and women to stand in his way of reaching Cordelia. As he drew closer, he could hear Cordelia’s laugh.

Eyes from the nearby Ton held onto her and the Earl.

Michael was seething by the time he reached Cordelia, almost tempted to carry her over his shoulder out of the gardens. If the entire city wasn’t watching, he might’ve been more inclined to do just that. He reached for her, and snatched onto her wrist.

“Come along,” he snarled as he loomed over her, “Wife.”

Cordelia stared at him in confusion, hardly an ounce of fear visible across her way. She tugged back on him slightly. “The party is hardly over!” she hissed. “We were staying in order to -”

“Do not try and scold me like a tutor, Cordelia,” Michael quickly whispered. He hardly recognized himself with the venom in his voice. “We are leaving.”

The crowd parted all around them simultaneously, curious eyes creening to get a snippet at the gossip unfolding right in front of their eyes. Michael kept his stare straightforward, not loosening his grip over Cordelia’s thin wrist one bit. She begrudgingly trudged along behind him. Cordelia didn’t offer any more bouts of arguing, but there was an annoyance in the way she walked, a certain sort of march that spoke more words than she ever actually said.

They were silent all the way to the carriage. Michael informed the driver of their early departure, and climbed into the carriage after his wife. Cordelia crossed her arms over her chest as she sat in the corner farthest away from Michael, her gaze focused on the world passing by out the window.

Michael sat diagonally from her as the carriage began to rumble along the London streets. He glanced in Cordelia’s direction every now and then, unable to stop himself from sneaking a look at her. The irritation in her stare never changed, radiating a sort of anger he hadn’t seen on her before.

He bit back his scoff. What was there for Cordelia to be mad about? Michael was the one who saw her talking with her previously betrothed suitor, who now had a wife and children of his own. Cordelia hadn’t even realized all the Ton members surrounding her, all the eyes that curiously watched the scandal unfold in front of them. Michael intervened at the right time, he told himself. He could’ve come by sooner, if he had only realized it. He told those words to himself over and over again, desperate to erase the desperate heat of jealousy that plagued him still.

If he was jealous, that proved the very thing Michael sought incredibly hard to avoid.

Feelings, unmistakable and blatant, for Cordelia.

Don’t be ridiculous!

As quickly as the thought came, Michael shoved it away, raising his chin within the carriage. He didn’t have a shadow of a doubt regarding the matter. He did not have feelings for Cordelia, but rather the feeling of an impending responsibility that came along with singing the marriage contract. Despite not living aside one another for a few years, Michael was bound to make sure the rumors were separated from their name, no longer plaguing him or the legacy he might leave behind.

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