Page 28 of My Demanding Duke

Hugh couldn’t resist indulging his urge to tease her—and was rewarded with a charming blush and a rosebud mouth curved into amoueof amusement laced with censure.

“You’re incorrigible,” she retorted, a definite smile now playing on her luscious lips.

“Yes, we decided that earlier,” Hugh agreed.

He squeezed her hand and allowed her return her attention to the play. Meanwhile, he was forced to focus his attention away from his manhood, which was now straining painfully against his breeches.

He turned his gaze to the audience, paying particular attention to the sweaty, spot-ridden faces of the louts in the pit. Nothing was more certain to take the wind out of a man’s sails than the sight of another, slovenly drunk man.

A face amongst the heaving crowd caught Hugh’s attention—Gravesend. The boy’s features looked remarkably intact for a lad who had been caught wronging Daniel Shatter. As though sensing Hugh’s gaze upon him, the young man turned and lifted his head to stare up at Hugh. Though far away, there was no mistaking the look of pure malice on Gravesend’s face.

Hugh felt a stir of disquiet in the pit of his stomach, as he recalled Bartie’s warning that he had made an enemy on his wedding night. He shrugged off the feeling with an irritable shake; Gravesend was a penniless baron, what harm could he do to the holder of one of England’s most powerful titles?

Hugh lifted his chin haughtily and returned his gaze to the stage. The Rivals' witty dialogue washed over him unheard, his mind consumed by the venomous glare he'd received. His fingers tightened around his wife's delicate hand, a protective instinct rising within him despite his earlier dismissal.

He suddenly realized the source of his disquiet: Anna. His life had always been his own, his actions bearing consequences only for himself. Now that Anna was his, he was responsible for protecting her. Judging by the stirring passion he felt at the very idea that Gravesend might harm his new bride, Hugh realised with startling clarity that he’d be quite capable of killing any man who sought to hurt her.

The strength of his feelings shocked him somewhat. He had allowed no one to penetrate the thick walls of indifference he'd built around his heart after Jack's death. And yet, in just a few days, Anna had not merely found the cracks—she'd slipped through them.

On stage, the play came to a final, chaotic end. The audience bellowed in approval, loudly applauding the actors as they took their bows.

“What fun,” Anna cried, turning to Hugh with a smile.

“Quite,” Hugh agreed, hoping that she would not press him for his opinion on the play—for he could not recall even one scene.

The audience below began to move as one undulating mass toward the doors. Hugh and Anna remained seated in the comfort of their box, until the worst of the crush had left. Anna filled the time with excited chatter about the play—the actors, the writing, the staging.

“You are a lover of the theatre?” Hugh guessed, suppressing a grin at her gaiety. Her enthusiasm was charming, especially when contrasted to the jaded cynicism of most ladies of the ton.

“I am now,” she answered, “This was my first play.”

“First of many,” Hugh rushed to assure. Her enthusiasm was not just charming now but touching. A woman of Anna’s social rank would usually have had many opportunities to visit the theatre, but Anna’s circumstances had not been usual. He wondered what else she had been deprived of, living at the mercy of her father’s profligate ways.

The crush now ended, Hugh stood to assist his wife from her seat. He offered her his arm, which she took without hesitation, then led the way to the bustling foyer.

There, a crowd lingered, glittering and loud under the chandeliers. Uninterested in entertaining anyone, Hugh adopted his haughtiest, most ducal expression as he pushed through the mass of bodies.

Unfortunately for Hugh, there was one man immune to his forbidding visage: Lord Beaufort.

“Falconbridge,” Bartie hailed as they passed. “How exciting to see you with your new bride. Your Grace, my congratulations on your marriage. You might be pleased to know that the whole theatre was praising your elegance and beauty.”

This last part was directed to Anna, who looked rather alarmed by the news.

“Anna, may I introduce you to Lord Beaufort,” Hugh said through gritted teeth before turning to his friend. “Bartie, this is Anna, Duchess of Falconbridge. Tell me this, my friend, are youeverat home? Everywhere I go, there you are.”

"There’s plenty of time to stay home when the season is over,” Bartie replied, his jolly nature still bouyant despite Hugh’s questioning. “As to my being everywhere you go, I like to think that the fates themselves have divined that our paths should cross—after all, you might not be married if it wasn’t for me."

He winked at Anna, who in turn glanced at Hugh with confusion.

“It was like seeing Cupid’s bow strike,” Bartie continued, addressing her in a stage whisper loud enough for Hugh’s benefit. “He prowled the periphery of the Morland’s ballroom like a wounded beast, until I took pity on him and told him your name.”

“That’s quite enough of that tale, Bartie,” Hugh interrupted, with a quelling glare.

“Now that you are married, and his heart is not so wounded, his pride has returned,” Bartie finished, with a mischievous wink to Anna—who looked rather too pleased for Hugh’s liking at Bartie’s ribbing.

“I will endeavour to keep him on his toes, Lord Beaufort,” Anna replied, her own smile playful. “For as they say, pride comes before the fall.”

“It’s too late for that I fear, your Grace; your husband has fallen so deeply for you that there’s no hope left for him at all. Oh, I do love a good love story!”

---