Page 80 of Duke of Pride

The carriage came to a halt. Stephen looked out for the first time since he left Colborne House. Walden Towers blazed with light, every window glowing against the night. Not a lot of people were invited, but still, he could hear the buzzing of chatter and the sweet music.

The grand entrance hall was a spectacle of elegance. Crystal chandeliers dripped with candlelight, and garlands of evergreen and white roses winded up the staircase. The air hummed with music and laughter, the scent of beeswax and perfume thick enough to drown in.

I shouldn’t be here.

And then he saw her.

Victoria stood at the top of the stairs, stunning in ivory silk, her gown embroidered with silver thread that caught the light like frost. A delicate diadem rested in her golden-brown curls, and two simple diamond earrings adorned her ears. But nothing was more radiant than her eyes, herself, her whole being.

“I see that you’re a glutton for punishment,” Frederick said by his side.

Stephen was still watching Victoria as she spoke with that unpretentious elegance to a lordling. He had once been such a fool, comparing her to the ladies of the ton and finding her lacking.

“Yes, it seems that I am,” he muttered.

“Let’s go.” Frederick pulled him toward their hosts.

“Frederick!” Maxwell was happy to see them. “Colborne.”

Stephen managed a small bow.

“Annabelle couldn’t come. You understand, Penelope?” Frederick asked.

The two of them launched into a conversation about pregnant women and then newborns and toddlers.

Stephen barely registered their words. His entire being was attuned toher.

She was standing right next to her brother, her body stiff, ready to attack or to be attacked. He knew that it was his fault she was so guarded. He fixated on the way her gloved fingers tightened around her fan, the slight hitch in her breath when their eyes met.

“Miss Victoria, a dance?”

It was as if the world stopped. Her eyes fell on him, and her first reaction was that defiant part of her he came to adore. Her look clearly said,You can’t be serious right now.

The moment their hands touched, Stephen knew he’d made a mistake. The best kind.

Her fingers were ice in his, her posture rigid. But her eyes—God, her eyes were blazing. The candlelight caught the sapphire in them, turning them into something fierce, something alive. And he was lost.

The waltz began. He pulled her closer than he should have, closer than propriety allowed, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when the warmth of her seeped through his gloves, through the layers of fabric between them. Not when the scent of her, orange blossom and something uniquely her, wrapped around him like a vice.

After days upon days buried in his self-made mausoleum, he was alive once more.

He didn’t speak. What was there to say?“I’m sorry?”Too hollow.“I miss you?”Too weak.“I can’t breathe without you?”Too true.

So, he said nothing.

He let the rhythm of the music take over and led her onto the dance floor. He could feel the tension in her, the way her breath hitched when his thumb traced the curve of her hip, the way her fingers flexed against his shoulder as if she wanted to push him away and pull him closer at the same time.

Stephen wanted to ruin everything—destroy his good name and her dignity, set the world on fire. If he leaned in and kissed her, she would be bound to him, the scandal too great, and this ball would be their engagement party.

But then her words echoed like the Furies of the myths to torment him.

“I would never marry you,”she had said, making sure that she had singled him out of all the men in existence and found him lacking.

Hewaslacking. He deserved this, the stiffness of her body when their bodies came too close, her gaze flicking away, avoiding him.

He took the punishment along with everything he could—her warmth, her scent, the way it was not all spite when she looked at him.

The last notes of the waltz rang out, and she pulled slightly away. He didn’t let go of her hand, keeping her closer just for a fraction of a moment. There was nothing else around them. Not the other guests, not the rustling of silk skirts, not the sound of polished boots on wooden floors. Not even Frederick, who was looking at him worriedly across the ballroom.

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