Page 56 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
She took a moment to catch her breath, her mind racing.
Kenneth might be more comfortable with Lady Featherwell, but he had to have noticed her exchange with Eastfold.
Yet, the evening had left her feeling more disenchanted than ever.
Was this truly the society she was now part of? A world filled with rakes, gossip, and opportunists?
Nevertheless, it all made sense to her. This was the society that had shunned her because of her brother’s actions. Now, she had to put up with their hypocrisy.
Still, despite her conversation with Lord Eastfold and the nauseating feeling it had provoked, her mind couldn’t help but wander back to her husband.
And how livid she had felt seeing him close to Lady Featherwell.
Chapter Eighteen
Kenneth watched as Beatrice and Catherine moved away, feeling a pang of something he couldn’t quite name. Just as he was about to follow, Thomas approached him, drawing him into a conversation.
“How are you faring, Kenneth?” Thomas asked, his tone casual yet laced with concern.
Kenneth’s instinct was to deflect, to focus on the familiar territory of business. “The estate is doing well. We’ve managed to?—”
Thomas raised a hand to stop him, shaking his head with a wry smile. “I didn’t mean business-wise. How are you really?”
Kenneth clenched his jaw, a brief flash of irritation crossing his features. “Good,” he replied curtly, not willing to delve into the complexities of his emotions.
Thomas raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Is that so? You know, my friend, you’re a terrible liar.”
Before Kenneth could respond, Lady Featherwell approached them, her presence commanding attention.
“Gentlemen,” she purred, her eyes lingering on Kenneth, “what a pleasure to see you both.”
Kenneth barely mustered a polite nod, his interest waning as Lady Featherwell began her flirtations. She directed most of her attention towards him, her tone becoming more intimate with each word.
She leaned in slightly, her smile coy. “Your Grace, I couldn’t help but notice your wife is quite taken with Lord Eastfold. They make a charming pair on the dance floor, don’t they?”
Kenneth’s gaze snapped to where Beatrice and Eastfold were dancing, a surge of jealousy hitting him like a punch to the gut. The sight of the Viscount’s hand on Beatrice’s waist, the way she smiled at him—it was unbearable.
Lady Featherwell touched his arm lightly, drawing his attention back to her. “Your Grace, it’s been ages since we last danced. Perhaps later, you might spare a dance for an old friend?”
Kenneth forced a smile, his eyes still flickering to Beatrice and Eastfold. “Of course, Lady Featherwell. It would be my pleasure.”
As he watched Beatrice and Eastfold glide across the dance floor, Kenneth’s thoughts were a chaos of frustration and desire. The ease with which they conversed, the genuine laughter they shared—it gnawed at him.
Lady Featherwell continued to chatter beside him, but her words barely registered. His focus was solely on Beatrice, his mind replaying the night they had spent together, mingling with the jealousy that the sight of her with another man stirred within him.
When the dance ended, Kenneth watched as Beatrice and Eastfold parted, exchanging polite smiles. Beatrice turned and began to leave the ballroom, her movements graceful yet hurried.
Lady Featherwell leaned in closer to Kenneth, her voice dripping with suggestion. “Your Grace, I do believe you promised me a dance. Shall we?”
Kenneth barely registered her words, his attention still on Beatrice’s retreating form. “Forgive me, Lady Featherwell. I have an urgent matter to attend to. If you’ll excuse me.”
Without waiting for a response, he strode away, leaving a pouting Lady Featherwell in his wake. His eyes never left Beatrice as he watched her disappear through the doorway.
He quickened his pace, determined to catch up with her. The sight of her in another man’s arms, the way Eastfold had lookedat her, had stirred a possessiveness within him that he couldn’t ignore.
As he exited the ballroom, he caught a glimpse of Beatrice turning down a quiet corridor. With purposeful strides, he followed her, his heart pounding in his chest. They needed to talk, to clear the air between them.
And perhaps, he admitted to himself, he needed to stake his claim, to remind her that she was his wife and his alone.
