Page 39 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
“Anselm, why does it feel like I’ve stepped into a geriatric convention?” Verity complained, trailing behind him and Marion as they ascended the grand stairs to the Whipple Theatre.
“Do try to behave, sister,” Anselm said. There was a sharp edge in his voice. “Thetonexpects you to be seen and to look the part, especially after all you’ve been through. Can you manage that feat?”
“We shall see,” Verity replied with a sly wink. “Thankfully, Marion’s here to keep me from making a spectacle of myself. Aren’t you, Marion?”
Marion caught Anselm’s eye. “Only if ye promise nae to drag me into yer mischief,” she quipped. “How much trouble can one possibly find at the theatre?”
“Plenty, if my sister’s involved,” Anselm said dryly. “But let’s leave the dramatics to the professionals on stage, shall we?”
The lobby air hummed with the requisite hushed gossip and flirtation of London society. Anselm took Marion’s arm, playing the role of the dutiful husband, as Verity glided gracefully beside them and flitted amongst various conversations before the play was to begin.
He felt a subtle shift in the room’s atmosphere as eyes landed on the three of them. He loathed such attention, yet this particular feeling was not an unwelcome one.
The usual flock of unmarried women, their eyes alight with opportunity at the sight of an eligible Duke, no longer followed him. He had first noticed it when they dined at Lord Guildbeck’s home just the other week and this evening’s engagement confirmed it.
Similarly, the speculative glances from older ladies were less sharp and replaced by something akin to approval.
“They are a handsome couple,” Lady Featherstone whispered to a guest Anselm did not recognize as they passed by, just loud enough for him to hear. “They do seem to be getting along quite well.”
Perhaps there are more uses for my Duchess than I first realized, he thought as he looked at her then.
Her rich chocolate hair was swept into an elegant twist, leaving her slender neck exposed except for the soft tendrils that framed her face. The deep burgundy gown fit her perfectly. The fabric was a bold contrast to the clear blue of her eyes which were framed by dark lashes.
Others in the room watched her for her beauty, which was unmistakable, but he saw something else. There was a spark in her gaze and a liveliness that no fine gown or jewels could ever create. It shimmered in her eyes and in the faint, knowing curve of her smile. She possessed a rare, untamed spirit that drew him in far more than her polished elegance.
She wasradiant. And worse—he couldn’t look away.
Indeed, Marion was a shield and more effective than any curt dismissal he had often given to unwanted attention in public. As they continued to circulate, he did not miss the appreciative nods of several influential gentlemen as well. They were the type of men who valued propriety above all else, and now he was one of them, a married man.
The three of them soon found Emmanuel, who had just arrived alone to join them in their box seats.
His friend bowed deeply to Marion as his eyes twinkled. “Your Grace, I must say it is an absolute pleasure to see you at such an event. Anselm speaks…mostfondlyof you.”
Marion offered a bright smile at his words, and Anselm did not miss the way her cerulean eyes gleamed in the room’s ambient candlelight.
“You surprise me, Lord Wrotham,” she said as she cast a glance at Anselm, who merely raised a brow.
“Do I?” Emmanuel chuckled. “Well, pardon me, Your Grace, but any man who has a wife like you would sing your praises. I am compelled to, as well. May I say you look radiant in that color?”
“Watch yourself, friend,” Anselm grunted. His chest itched angrily at the blatant flirting.
Marion merely smiled. “Thank ye, Lord Wrotham. Please ignore me husband. He seems to have an occasional aversion to pleasantness.”
Anselm blinked in surprise. Marion only smirked at him.
The little minx.
Emmanuel chuckled. “My pleasure, Your Grace. And don’t worry, I am fully aware of His Grace’sseveralaversions.” Then, he turned his attention to Verity. His eyes roved over her purple dress. “And Lady Verity, you look absolutely stunning this evening, yourself. Please tell me, what scandalous novel are you devouring as of late?”
Verity let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, please, Lord Wrotham. My reading habits are hardly scandalous. Unless you count novels that actually involve emotion. I daresay they offer more insight into the human heart than all your dreary political treatises combined. You men do love to drone on about policy and power, yet somehow never grasp what truly matters.” She arched a brow and her smile grew wicked. “No wonder your debates last all night. None of you know how to end things properly.”
“Ah, I’ll admit I’ve been known to read a treatise now and then. Dutifully, as any respectable man must,” Emmanuel said while flashing her a knowing grin. “But between us, I’m more of a Shakespeare man. Plenty of scandal and romance there, wouldn’t you agree? Perhaps we’re not quite so different after all.”
Verity arched a brow and her lips curled into a sly smile. “Shakespeare? How very predictable. Every man fancies himself a philosopher once he’s quotedRomeo and Juliet.You’d do better with Mary Wollstonecraft or Radcliffe. Someone with a bit of spine.”
Emmanuel let out a low laugh that indicated he was clearly delighted. “Ah, novels and manifestos… that is dangerous territory. Perhaps you might lend me one of your scandalous books? For educational purposes, of course.”
Anselm’s jaw tightened, though his face remained composed. He had seen enough of Emmanuel’s antics over the years to recognize the direction this was headed.
