Page 66 of Duke of Myste
The jealousy that shot through Richard at the sight of another man earning that beautiful sound was so intense that it left him momentarily breathless.
“You look as though you’re contemplating murder, Brother dear,” Harriet noted with poorly concealed amusement. “It is quite entertaining, really. I had no idea you possessed such… primitive instincts.”
“I am merely observing,” Richard gritted out, his eyes never leaving the dance floor.
“Observing what, precisely? The proper execution of a country dance? Lord Pevensie’s correct deportment? Or perhaps you mean the way Jane’s eyes keep darting toward you rather than focusing on her dance partner?”
Richard’s eyes flicked to his sister’s face. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, Richard.” Harriet’s smile was positively wicked. “For all your instructions about dancing with multiple partners, Jane seems far more interested in the jealous Duke watching from the sidelines than the perfectly acceptable gentleman currently leading her through the steps.”
Richard’s gaze returned to the dance floor with renewed intensity, and indeed, he could see that Jane’s eyes kept wandering in his direction. Even as she moved through the steps with her usual grace, her eyes sought his with a frequency that suggested her thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
“This is intolerable,” he muttered, taking a step toward the dance floor before catching himself.
“What is intolerable?” Diana asked as she joined their small group. “Jane seems to be enjoying herself.”
“That,” Richard bit out, “is precisely the problem.”
It felt as if the dance stretched out for hours, though his rational mind knew it could not have been more than ten minutes. Every turn that brought Jane closer to Lord Pevensie, every shared smile, every moment of connection between them felt like torture.
By the time the music finally wound toward its conclusion, Richard had abandoned all pretense of casual observation and was standing at the very edge of the dance floor like a predator preparing to pounce.
The moment the final notes faded and Jane curtsied to her partner, Richard was moving. He crossed the space between them with swift, purposeful strides that had several couples stepping quickly out of his path.
“Lord Pevensie,” he said icily as he reached them. “Thank you for partnering with my wife. I believe the next dance is mine.”
Jane’s eyebrows rose slightly at his possessive tone, but Lord Pevensie merely bowed with good-natured acceptance. “Your Grace, it was my honor. The Duchess of Myste is a delightful dance partner.”
The moment the man withdrew, Richard moved closer to Jane than propriety demanded, his hand settling on her waist with unmistakable possessiveness.
“That was rather precipitous,” Jane remarked, though her eyes danced with amusement rather than reproach. “One might think you were… eager to dance with me.”
“Then one would be correct,” Richard replied without shame, drawing her into position as the opening strains of a waltz began. “I find I have developed a rather intense dislike of sharing you.”
“Even when sharing me was your own instruction?”
“Especially then.” Richard spun her into the first turn with perhaps more enthusiasm than the music strictly required. “I am discovering that my capacity for rational behavior diminishes significantly when other men put their hands on you.”
Jane’s laugh was pure delight. “How wonderfully irrational of you. I confess, I rather like this jealous side of you.”
“Do you?” Richard pulled her slightly closer still. “Because I fear it may become a permanent fixture. Watching another make you laugh was genuinely torturous.”
“He was perfectly proper,” Jane pointed out, though her voice carried distinct pleasure at his admission.
“I am sure he was. That is what made it so maddening.” Richard executed another turn, using the movement as an excuse to hold her closer still. “Proper or not, he had no right to that mesmerizing smile.”
“Pray tell, who does?” Jane asked, tilting her head to look up at him with an expression that made his heart race.
“I do,” Richard said with quiet intensity. “Only me.”
The possessiveness in his voice should have alarmed him, but instead, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Watching Jane dance with another man had simply been the catalyst, crystallizing something that had been building deep within him for weeks—a recognition that went far beyond attraction or even love, into something deeper and more fundamental.
“You are looking at me rather intensely,” Jane whispered, her cheeks flushing prettily under his gaze. “Is something wrong?”
“Everything is perfect,” Richard replied, though his voice had grown rough with emotion.
