Page 12 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
She raised an elegant eyebrow at his declaration. Of course, she would not believe him.
“Then set me free, Your Grace. Set yourself free.”
Oliver realized that it was more difficult to argue with the woman up close. Her scent was subtle, but her presence was not. He was aware of their proximity—something he was responsible for—and the way her eyes flashed with every word that came out of her lips.
He had grown so tired of women with dull eyes and agreeable words—Alexandra was a breath of fresh air.
Or rather, a hurricane. One that threatened to upend his life and leave him standing in the wreckage, wondering why he had ever thought a breeze was harmless.
“Were you in love with another man, Duchess, when you married me? Is that perhaps why you insist we divorce?” he found himself asking.
Oliver’s chest and throat had tightened with an anger he could not understand. It was one thing to use his fists at Devil’s Draw—more for release than for money. It was another to make this woman agree with him.
A shadow seemed to have passed over her face, but even that could not stop him from watching the emotions flicker in her lively eyes and tug at her plump lips.
“What? No! It isn’t about a man!” Her eyes held his, and he wanted to believe that he saw honest indignation there. “I am seeking my independence, Your Grace. Nothing more. After I save my father, I?—”
“You still want to save that cad?” he scoffed, affronted.
His wife opened her mouth to speak, but the distinctive sound of a man clearing his throat halted her.
“Pardon me, Your Grace. A message has been delivered for you.”
Both Alexandra and Oliver were startled. They realized that they had been so focused on their argument—and each other—that they had not noticed the servant standing to Oliver’s left, a silver tray in hand.
Breathing hard but trying to hide it, the Duke snatched the envelope off the tray and ripped it open while his wife gaped at him.
“It is a message from our neighbors, the Dowager Countess of Layton and her son, the Earl of Layton. They’ve heard that you are staying here. They want us to come over for dinner whenever we are ready.”
“How did they find out so quickly?” Alexandra wondered aloud.
“Possibly your appearance at Devil’s Draw. We must make an appearance or two, Duchess. They know you are here. They are like bloodhounds.”
“How would those same hounds behave if we seek a divorce?”
“Oh, it could prove quite unpleasant, indeed.”
Chapter Five
“Icannot believe I’m doing this,” Alexandra sighed.
She stood beside her husband, her gloved hand resting lightly on his arm as they waited for someone to admit them into Lady Beatrice Portsfield’s townhouse.
Their smiles matched, wide and prepared to prove to everyone that they were a happy couple. They had done it before—pretending to be madly in love in front of theton.
“Do you remember the plan?” Oliver murmured.
“Smile like a silly duck. Nod and agree even if I find what you say absolutely ridiculous. Look at you adoringly,” Alexandra whispered, her hand squeezing his arm hard, a fake smile plastered on her face.
“Please do not stab me with your fan again like you did at the Countess of Ermington’s.”
She smiled at him sweetly, batting her eyelashes as she said, “That was an accident, Your Grace.”
“Of course, it was.”
Before the couple could continue their conversation, the door swung open.
“How delightful to see you, Your Graces!” Lady Portsfield exclaimed, dressed up in her finery. The long feather in her hat threatened to poke anyone in the eye if they got too close. “I was right when I told the other ladies how beautiful and radiant you two look together.”
