Page 58 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
She met his gaze and no longer bothered to hide her disdain. She knew her response had to be sharp, but subtle.
She was, after all, a duchess now. She would not give him, or anyone else, the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“You look as though you could use a drink, Your Grace,” Lord Thistlewaite said to Anselm with a clap on the back as he handed him his flask. “Do not tell my wife, of course.”
“I am quite all right, Lord Thistlewaite, but do appreciate the offer,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “I am indeed on my way to find a drink, if you will excuse me.”
“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug as he shimmied across the dance floor.
After fetching himself a proper drink, Anselm looked around for the sight of Verity and Marion throughout the ballroom.
Prior to his encounter with Lord Thistlewaite, he had just finished a particularly tedious discussion with Emmanuel.
He spotted Verity first. She was by the refreshments, trapped in conversation with Lady Featherstone. He looked about but still could not find Marion, until he looked right in the middle of the dance floor.
There she was, plain as day, looking as intriguing as the most wicked night.
She was resplendent in her ivory gown, which hugged her generous curves as she moved with grace to the playing tune. His chest tightened at the sight of her dance partner as they turned.
Lord Quinn.
He did not care for the way the lord was leaning in as they went about their dance, nor the smarmy smile that was plastered on his pasty face.
A flicker of annoyance, sharp and unexpected, twisted at him as he drained the last of his glass.
“Ah, Anselm,” Emmanuel drawled as he followed his friend’s gaze “Quinn, isn’t it? Rather taken with your wife, by the looks of it. Perhaps you should offer some counsel on the appropriate distance a man ought to maintain with a married woman. Seems the boy has forgotten his place.”
Anselm scowled. The rational part of him knew he could not cut in without making a scene, yet the tightness in his chest persisted. It was not just the sight of Quinn’s clear flirtation withhis wife. That he could handle. No, it was the way Marion held herself. Her smile was brittle and fixed. Her shoulders were stiff, and her eyes, even from this distance, seemed to burn with polite indignation. She was not dancing; she was enduring.
“She is uncomfortable,” Anselm whispered to himself. The words were barely audible yet Emmanuel heard them.
“She is a duchess, Anselm. She can handle a little attention, and it comes with the territory. She will need to get used to it if she wants to keep up with the likes of you.”
“Not this kind of attention,” Anselm snapped. His jaw clenched into a tight line. “I will not allow it.”
He watched Quinn lean in, far too close. His lips were moving as Marion’s head drew back. She barely said a word as her eyes grew darker.
Fury, hot and consuming, ignited within Anselm. He did not care about propriety, scandal, or theton’sincessantly wagging tongues. All he saw was his wife, and she was upset.
He strode across the ballroom. Anselm became a dark, unstoppable force that cut through the glittering dancers as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea. His path was direct, unwavering. Lord Quinn, still smirking, was mid-sentence when Anselm reached them.
Without a word, Anselm’s hand landed right on his shoulder, and he squeezed.
“My lord.” Anselm’s voice was low and laced with a chilling authority. “I believe this dance is concluded. Now.” He pulled Quinn away from the dance floor a bit too roughly.
Instinctively, the younger man stumbled at the unexpected intrusion.
Quinn recovered as he dusted off his jacket and straightened his cravat.
“Your Grace! W-What is the meaning of this? I was merely enjoying a dance with Her Grace!”
Anselm ignored him. He kept his gaze fixed on Marion, who was now staring at him with eyes as wide as a doe’s. He extended his hand to her.
“May I have the honor of this dance?”
She took his hand. Her fingers trembled slightly as he pulled her into the waltz that had just begun. He guided her with expert movement around the dance floor and the band’s sweeping symphony created a swirling rhythm around them.
