Page 34 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
Choose a gown that lets you breathe, darling. You’ll want steady lungs when the Duke of Talleystone is in pursuit again.
That single line was enough to stir a frenzy of speculation: that he, at last, was seeking a wife. His past marriage—too young, too brief—was already dissected afresh in corners of the room.
“It’s time,” murmured a matron. “He’s still young enough to be considered greatly eligible.”
“I don’t care how old he is,” came the tart reply, “so long as he choosesmydaughter.”
Gerard had learned to let such talk wash over him. His gaze drifted, restless, until it settled.
Onher.
Lady Slyham. Impossible to miss, though she never clamored for attention.
She moved among her family like cool water flowing through stone, her gown catching the light in shifting shades of blue. Unlike the others, she wore her smile lightly, knowingly, both a shield and an invitation. While another widow might shrink at the scrutiny, she seemed only steadier beneath it.
“My friend,” Samuel murmured at his side, his lips curling into a smirk. “If you stare any harder, half the room will think you’ve already proposed.”
“I am not staring,” Gerard said flatly.
“No? Observing, then? Like a hawk waiting to pounce on its prey? That’s how it looks. Your favorite widow may appreciate the attention, or she may not. As for everyone else, well…”
Gerard didn’t need the warning. He knew precisely how his guests would feast on it. However, he refused to grant Samuel the satisfaction of agreement.
“Find someone else to pester,” he muttered.
Samuel chuckled, untroubled as ever. He sipped his brandy, his eyes glinting with the promise of more torment to come.
Gerard turned back to Lady Slyham. At first, it seemed she meant to spend the evening anchored to her siblings. But no, she slipped free, drifting toward the terrace doors,alone.
No one noticed. No one but him.
And as quietly as she vanished, so did he. No announcement, no excuse. It was a trickier business for him, with half the room focused on his every move. Yet somehow, he managed to follow her.
Why did she even bother trying to act as though she belonged?
The ton would have been far happier to keep her locked in a cold, dark chamber, forgotten and alone.
Wilhelmina had barely stepped inside the Duke of Talleystone’s grand hall before the weight of scrutiny pressed down on her chest. Perhaps it was her imagination, yet she felt the scrape of every gaze.
Unwelcome. Suspect. Out of place.
To slip onto the terrace was, if anything, a courtesy.
Cool air wrapped around her, sharp and bracing. It revived her, chased away the staleness of the drawing room.
Once, as a debutante, she had been able to laugh at unsuitable proposals, to turn away men who bored her, and suffer only her mother’s cutting remarks, and nothing worse than faint amusement from the ton. As a widow, she knew the price of such boldness—her own ruin, along with her sisters’.
The gardens stretched into shadow, softened by the moonlight and the glow of candles burning in the windows above. The house seemed to shimmer like a lantern in the night.
She closed her eyes and drew in the scented air, willing herself to feel alive again.
“Perhaps I should take offense,” a voice murmured from behind her.
Deep. Controlled. So familiar.
He spoke softly, careful not to draw the notice of others. “That you have deserted my guests so swiftly. Another host might not be so forgiving.”
Wilhelmina turned around. She wasn’t the least surprised to see the Duke of Talleystone standing in the shadow of the terrace.
