Page 61 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
“I am sure we did fine tonight.”
“We did not,” she answered in such a hard tone that he turned to her. “Make sure that your friend attends our next social engagement so I can meet him. Our story must be believable, Spencer.”
When she was met with silence, she looked back at him… only to find him smiling, as if something about her demands pleased him.
“As much as I do not tolerate demands,” Spencer said quietly, “I understand.” His eyes flashed dangerously. “But let me warn you that the next time you speak to me in this manner, I will not take it well.”
“I look forward to it,” she bit out, turning her face away.
But he caught her chin, drawing her attention back to him.
“Do push me, Duchess,” he murmured, and she could only gaze back at him in challenge. She would not be deterred. “Do push me and see where it gets you.”
He was goading her right now, and rather than scare her, it sent a dark heat through her. She smiled at him.
Pulling her face free from his grip, she merely ignored him, believing she had the upper hand.
Perhaps he had heard the ladies, after all, when she thought he had not been paying attention.
Perhaps Eleanor would see more and more of her husband.
Chapter Sixteen
“Put your hand on the crook of my elbow,” Spencer muttered under his breath two nights later as they arrived at a dinner party hosted by the Viscount and Viscountess Cardale.
Eleanor did as instructed.
“Now, step closer to me,” he added.
“I do not need you to tell me how to look affectionate,” she mumbled as they moved further into the house. “I believe it is you who needs to wipe that scowl off your face. You can pretend to be happy that I am your wife.”
He stopped and turned to face her, his expression utterly solemn. “I am ecstatic to be your devoted, doting husband, Eleanor. Does it not show?”
She only rolled her eyes at him as he led her toward the clamor of conversation coming from the open door up ahead.
Her arm relaxed against his, and she couldn’t ignore how his body brushed against hers, warm and strong. She was on his left side, so when she looked up at him as they entered the drawing room, she could see the edges of his scar.
What left such a permanent wound?
But her questions about Spencer Vanserton would only ever pile up, for how closed-off he was.
“Well, well, well.” A loud male voice rose above the din, drawing more attention to them as they beheld the guests gathered in the room.
Eleanor caught a dark-haired man striding toward him, his warm smile immediately putting her at ease. She did not take long to guess who he was, for her husband immediately stiffened next to her.
“If it is not the Duke and Duchess of Everdawn emerging from their honeymoon bubble. Although, by the rumors and sightings of His Grace, the bubble did not form very well in the first place.”
Eleanor instantly liked his teasing tone. She stepped forward, offering her hand. “You must be the Marquess of Avington, my husband’s close friend.”
“His one and only, I believe. Indeed, that is me.” Lord Avington reached out and took her hand in his, swiftly bringing it to his lips. “And you must be his very beautiful, very mysterious Duchess, Lady Eleanor.”
Eleanor flushed and smiled when he brushed a polite kiss over her knuckles before straightening up.
“That is me,” she said. “Althoughbeautiful…”
“Oh, do not be modest. You are the loveliest woman in the room, and your title befits you.”
“That is enough, Theodore.” Spencer’s words were clipped as he pulled Eleanor back to his side.
