Page 45 of The Duke's Hidden Scandal
Elizabeth was not in any humor to jest with him tonight and eagerly handed him her card as they shared a smile of shared joy. Lord Preston dutifully marked it for her, and while he did so, Elizabeth noticed Colin making his way through the room.
As the host for the night, he looked impeccable, his dark hair swept from his face, crisp lines on his tailcoat, and a softly embroidered waistcoat to match. He looked very handsome indeed, second only to Lord Preston. Colin’s green eyes flitted about the room with a rare urgency as she watched.
It looked for all the world like he was looking for someone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Charlotte looked about her eagerly as they arrived.
The luxurious ballroom was a sight to behold and quite took her breath away. A tiny voice in the back of her head reminded her that had she been betrothed to the duke; this house might one day have belonged to her.
Charlotte was well aware that she was already tumbling inexorably down the slope toward Lord Kilby.But I can still dream,she thought sadly as she looked all around her.
Maintaining any illusion that she could avoid Lord Kilby tonight, however, became impossible almost immediately. As soon as she set foot inside the room, the whispers began, and Charlotte had still not grown accustomed to how blatant some members of society were when discussing another’s private life.
“Lady Wentworth… rumoured to be very close to Lord Kilby… imminent marriage… did you see them at the picnic?”
Charlotte tried not to listen or notice the stares, but it was difficult to keep her composure. It was one thing to be spoken of when she was proud to be associated with another, but quite different when the very mention of his name filled her with dread.
All she could think of was the duke. Standing in his house, at his ball, and having her name spoken with that of Lord Kilby was torment of the highest order. She longed to see the duke, even if it was for the last time.
Then, out of the gathering crowd, a tall figure appeared, and Charlotte’s heart soared. The duke looked magnificent, every bit the peer he represented, his stoic mask utterly done away with. All she saw were his kind eyes as he stepped forward, bowing to her father.
“Lady Wentworth, welcome to our little soiree. I would welcome the honour of the first dance of the evening with you.”
Charlotte looked at her father, wondering whether he might refuse, but the marquess’s attention was elsewhere, looking about the room—no doubt for Kilby.
Charlotte cast off her father’s arm and took the duke’s, every part of her rejoicing that he would make such an obvious advance in a place where he was under the tightest scrutiny.
He led her to the dance floor, and there was something very different about him tonight. Nothing about the duke was soft or uncertain. Although their interactions had always been cordial and filled with shared interests, he had never seemed as forthright or certain as he did now.
Once they reached the dance floor, the duke didn’t hesitate in taking her into his arms, one hand on her waist and the other taking her hand. Charlotte looked up at him, his face open and happy, and it was in that moment that despair, and joy were warring within her in equal measure.
It seemed impossible that this man might hold her in his arms forever, yet that was all she wished him to do.
The spectre of Lord Kilby loomed large behind her as though waiting to pounce on any type of happiness she might construct. Charlotte gripped the duke’s hand more tightly, and his gaze met hers. A connection unlike any she had ever experienced transpired between them in that glance, as if he comprehended precisely what lay within her thoughts, and for the duration of his presence, he would safeguard her from it.
They moved a single step closer to one another as the waltz began, and Charlotte’s feet felt as though they were floating across the floor as he supported her—body and soul.
Other couples whisked around them, the swirl of dresses and petticoats, the merry chatter of those who had stood up for the set, a low murmur at the edge of hearing. Slowly, everythingfaded away. Charlotte was alone with the duke on an endless dance floor, their arms entwined, their movements as one body.
Colin held Lady Wentworth close as she relaxed further against him. He swallowed around the lump forming in his throat as his chest tightened at the thought of what might be written in their future. As he moved her slowly around the floor, loving the feel of her hand in his, he kept a close watch on the crowd to see if Kilby was observing them.
I feel dishonest even dancing with her, but I would not give this chance up for anything.
Colin knew the Marquess of Wensingdale intended for Lord Kilby to marry his daughter, but there had been a spark of hope within Colin’s mind ever since his discussion with Lady Wentworth in the park.
Lady Wentworth did not seem to admire Lord Kilby at all. If anything, she had conveyed herunhappinessat his attentions.
Colin had watched Kilby throughout the picnic, noting the snide way he spoke to people. Kilby was good at keeping his façade in place in public. His cruelty never dipped into dangerous waters, always on the good side of propriety, but Colin had decided in those long hours spent alongside him that he disliked the man intensely.
Lady Wentworth would be miserable with him.
A jolt of sadness ran through him then, something all-encompassing about it that caught his breath. When they first met, he would not have expected to find so much joy in her company, and now, to think that it might be stripped from him forever was a blow he had not expected. He clutched her to him all the tighter, relishing their dance, and wishing it would never end.
Elizabeth followed behind them as Malcolm guided her around the floor, and her concern for her cousin grew. It was common knowledge that Lord Kilby had set his sights on LadyWentworth—for better or worse—but Colin’s behaviour tonight seemed unlike him.
“Is everything alright?” Lord Preston asked, but his eyes were on the duke and Lady Wentworth too.
