Page 55 of How to Love a Duke in Ten Days
He nudged his chin toward the extravagant ballroom as couples began to join them, though many merely watched, enthralled. “The part where you’re alternately the most envied woman in the room, and the most pitied.”
At that, she tilted her head to look up at him, a puzzled frown tilting her lush mouth. “Pitied?”
“While I am an obscenely wealthy duke, let us not forget what I look like beneath this,” he mocked. “You’re marrying a monster.”
Her lashes fluttered beneath her own mask, which concealed nothing but flawless skin kissed by the sun with adorable freckles. “You are mistaken, Your Grace, I could never bring myself to marry a monster.” She said this with such solemnity, such conviction, that a curious obstruction lodged in his throat. He had to clear it before replying.
“Either way, they’re all looking at you.”
“Don’t say that!” She would have faltered if he’d not caught her and smoothed the ruffle with an extra twirl. Piers found the misstep more than passing curious as he stared down at the soft curve of her cheek just barely visible beneath white feathers.
“Why ever not? Don’t ladies always take a rather mercenary pleasure in the jealousy of others? Don’t you yearn to be the object of admiration?”
“Not this lady,” she muttered. “I prefer isolation to admiration, truth be told.”
“Because… you are shy?”
His question caught her off guard, and she took more than a passing moment to reply. “Am I shy?” She musthave been addressing the inquiry to herself, because she provided the answer. “I suppose I am. But even if I weren’t, I’d not care for this…” She nodded to the grandeur of the ballroom. “Because it’s all empty, isn’t it?”
“Empty?” he scoffed. “I find it rather overcrowded.”
“Your castle may be full of people, Your Grace, but it’s empty of authenticity.”
Without meaning to, Piers clutched her closer. Could she be real? Did he hold in his arms the rarest of creatures? A woman of substance. Of integrity? One who tended more carefully to the capacity of her heart than to her coiffure? One who thrived on intellect and honor and genuine interaction rather than the empty endorsements of her peers?
He’d begun to despair that such a person ever truly existed.
Her beauty certainly appeared effortless. Her blushes authentic. Her grace artless.
Her kisses… innocent. Untried and unpracticed.
Was it truly possible that he’d found his heart’s desire on a train platform, covered in tweed and mud?
“I wish they’d stop staring.” A fretful note touched her voice, making it almost childlike. “When is this dance going to be over?”
A protective instinct he’d not known he possessed encouraged him to press her closer into the defensive shell of his body. “Relax against me,” he urged upon sensing her hesitation.
“I don’t think I know how.” Her breath was quickening again, the pulse in her neck visibly rapid.
“Do try.” He gazed down at her, the picture of the adoring groom. Indeed, his fond smile was more genuine than he could remember in a long time as he did what he could to soothe her.
“Don’t let them see your fear,” he cautioned. “They’re like hyenas in the wild. They’ll surround you and laugh whilst they rip you apart, all the while fighting over the shreds of what’s left of you.”
At this, she quivered but relented, drawing tighter against him, deciding for the moment that he was the lesser of two evils. “I—I don’t think I’ll make a very good duchess.” She gave a forlorn sigh. “Perhaps you’ll want to change your mind.”
Never,he thought with more conviction than he’d expected.
He released her from his grip to hold his arm above her head, twirling her beneath it until their arms were stretched as far away from each other as they could.
Her eyes widened, as she realized that if he let her go, her momentum would tip her over.
Unworried, Piers enjoyed her skirt as it twirled and swayed against the floor like a fountain of liquid silver.
He demonstrated his strength, his control, as he tugged her back to fit scandalously against him, without missing one step.
Once again, the room erupted into enthusiastic applause.
He might have noticed it, if he’d not been so enthralled by the press of her body against his own. Gods but did he intend on enjoying every single one of her curves.
