Page 42 of The Iron Duke's Flaming Christmas
Alas, my love, you do me wrong/ To cast me off discourteously/ For I have loved you well and long/ delighting in your company…
She closed her eyes, her voice filling the room, swept away in the song, telling the story of the lover who was betrayed. Toward the end, when she was singing the last refrain of the chorus, her eyes fluttered open, gazing at the duke, feeling so moved by the emotion the song evoked within her that her voice was thick with tears at the end.
And who but my lady Greensleeves…
There was a hush in the room. The duke was staring at her hard, his dark eyes scorching. Slowly, he started to clap. Then everyone around him started joining in, clapping loudly, coming over to her to congratulate her. She could tell that their words were genuine, because she saw the same strong emotion that she was feeling mirrored in their faces.
“Well done, Miss Bomind,” said Lady Gwen, in a loud voice, a sour look upon her face. “Although anyone can sing that song well. It takes no particular skill.”
“That is wrong,” declared the duke, his eyes never leaving Selene’s face. “For a simple song, expressed from the heart, is far more powerful than the most technically challenging song in the world.”
Selene could barely breathe. Their eyes met and locked. Once again, she felt like they were the only people left in this world.
Chapter 22
“You appear as if you are not really here, Your Grace,” remarked Lady Gwen, her eyes sliding to Ian’s face as she sipped a glass of champagne.
“I hope you are not still thinking about the governess and her unseemly display at your party two days ago, for I am still flabbergasted that she inveigled me to accompany her when she had the nerve to sing. Quite shocking, indeed.”
Ian’s eyes flickered to the lady, as he tried to smother a stab of irritation. They were attending the Winter Ball at Denmore Manor, a neighboring estate, which was the home of the Earl and Countess of Denmore.
He hadn’t wanted to attend, but Lady Gwen, of course, had insisted on going, and that he must accompany her.
I would much rather be home talking with Selene in the library… or doing some other deliciously shocking things to her, such as slowly kissing my way up her legs until she begs me to take her…
He stifled a groan, trying to push the thought away. He had been managing to avoid the governess since the party in theconservatory, when she had appeared like an exquisite vision and then, quite shockingly, had sung so beautifully, in such a heartfelt way, that he still got goosebumps just thinking about it.
He still didn’t know what had possessed her to do such a thing—only that he was glad she had, for he knew the memory of her standing there, so unbearably beautiful, her eyes closed, crooning the song about love and loss, would haunt him for the rest of his days.
He turned to Lady Gwen. “Why did you do it, then?”
“Do what?” she asked, blinking in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Why did you agree to accompany her?”
“I… I was trying to be kind,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. She took a long sip of her champagne, gazing around the room.
“My dear mama always taught me that it is a charitable thing to be kind to those less fortunate.” She paused. “Clearly, she is brazen indeed, to insist upon doing such a thing at your party. I still have not gotten over the shock of it. It was very unseemly.”
“I thought she did a superlative job,” he replied, a hard note creeping into his voice. “Her voice is beautiful, and she sang from the heart. Everyone remarked upon it.”
“Did they?” Lady Gwen pursed her lips, looking like she had just sucked on a lemon. “Perhaps they were just being polite, Your Grace.”
There was an awkward silence. After a moment, the lady drifted away. Ian almost slumped with relief. It was getting harder to be polite to her, especially when she was growing more emboldened with him.
She was starting to make pointed, rather than veiled, remarks about how close they were and joking about when an announcement was imminent. She had been doing it at the party the other day just before Selene had astonishingly decided to sing.
I would rather be boiled alive than married to that lady.
He frowned, feeling even more irritable. Lady Gwen was beautiful, elegant, refined and titled. In theory, if he was looking for another wife, she would be a fine catch. Except for the fact that she was spoilt and indulged and self-centered, that is. Living with her would be the greatest trial of his life.
Imagine if Selene was your wife. That wouldn’t be a trial. In fact, it would be sheer bliss coming home to her and welcoming her into your bed.
He shivered, both with lust and annoyance at himself, draining his glass of champagne. Indulging—however briefly—in these fantasies about her were not productive. He could never marry her. And that was the end of it.
“Trenton! It has been an age, old chap.”
He spun around, stiffening. It was the Marquess of Eaton, a gentleman who he had never particularly liked.
