Page 5 of The Dangerous Love of a Rogue
‘Your Grace.’ He caught the hand of the Duke of Pembroke’s young bride before she could walk away. ‘Would you dance with me?’
Her large blue eyes displayed her confusion, but, like her sister-in-law, she was too polite, and naïve, to deny him.
Of all the dances, it was a waltz.
He brought her close, so her breasts pressed to his chest. She stepped back, setting two inches between them.
This was going to be amusing at least.
He spun her several times, holding her securely as her hold was so light it felt as though she were trying not to touch him at all.
‘Where did you meet the Duke of Pembroke?’ he asked.
‘At Pembroke Place, Lord Framlington. I lived near his family home.’
She did know who he was then. He had misjudged her.
‘Is your marriage as blissful as you hoped…’ He was being sarcastic.
Her mouth opened, but she said nothing, unsure how to respond. Well, there it was then, another cold, loveless, society marriage that would end in sin and shame. He did not plan that for himself. He hoped for more in the marriage he sought, but first and foremost he sought a woman who would be loyal. He may have cuckolded dozens, but he did not wish for that from his wife, and he would honour her with loyalty too.
Drew saw Pembroke conversing in whispers with Elizabeth, already perhaps agreeing to play his poor wife false. Drew felt a sudden urge to punish Pembroke; he had won this beautiful woman and even now was treating her poorly. In time she’d run out of patience and turn elsewhere too, and that is how innocents became debauched.
She looked away from him as they turned, her head turning so she could keep looking at Pembroke.
Drew had been brought up to be wicked. He leaned to the Duchess’s ear as they spun. ‘Pembroke is dull. Perhaps when you tire of him you might think of me. I would be willing to warm your bed if it is cold.’ It was a joke, a silly spur-of-the-moment move.
The woman snapped her head back, a look of horror on her face, as though he’d slapped her. ‘I will never tire of my husband.’
She had not kept her voice low, not caring if others heard, and she walked away in the middle of their dance, completely ignoring the risk of scandal.
Her outburst could have left him feeling vexed. It did not, he wished a woman would stand up for him as adamantly. She truly cared for Pembroke.
He moved back and joined those at the edge of the dancing.
Pembroke met his wife not far away. He had disposed of Elizabeth. He looked at Drew with thunderclouds in his eyes as he walked through the dancers.
Pembroke did not show emotions. Drew believed him to be as unmovable as stone. When Peter told him Pembroke had married, Drew thought he’d selected a Duchess. But the look in Pembroke’s eyes, the anger, implied the man felt as much for his wife as his wife felt for him.
Drew had made a mistake.
Fortunately, before Pembroke collided with any couples the dance came to an end. The last note played as his fingers closed around Drew’s throat with a force that said she is mine. Then he hissed, ‘I had already made a note this evening to warn you not to dance or speak to my sister. Now I am also warning you to stay away from my wife or I will kill you.’ The hand at his throat pushed Drew back a step before letting go.
Drew smiled and straightened the knot of his neckcloth. He felt like laughing.
He would not have guessed that Pembroke had a heart. Nor that he would be able to make a woman fall for him so deeply.
Drew merely nodded, then turned away. He saw Miss Marlow being returned to her parents by her latest partner. She glanced over her shoulder, as though she felt his gaze. He raised a hand. She sent him a tentative smile.
She had not heeded her brother’s and her father’s warnings.
He returned to the fake marble pillar and watched.
Several of the men in the knot of the Pembroke family group rested their hands at their wives’ waists, and the couples stood close, barely inches between them. Some of them had been married for years…
The Earl of Barrington turned and said something to his wife, then kissed her lips. Barrington was Mary’s uncle on her father’s side, and Drew had heard he’d been a rake, as wicked as they came, until he married. Now he was never in town unless he was with his wife.
Wiltshire, another Duke, The Duke of Arundel, who was as hard-nosed as Pembroke, laughed about something. Then mid-conversation he turned, looked at his wife, lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them. He continued the conversation with others as if it were nothing odd.
