Page 44 of A Duke to Reclaim Her
He swept out, leaving Felix alone with the fire and the certainty that nothing he did would ever change the facts of his life. He sat there, watching the clock edge toward noon.
He thought about Rose, about Lizzie, about the cold halls of Carden House waiting for his return. He thought about his father, about what it meant to be a Greycliff, about the sharp, unwelcome possibility that maybe, just maybe, it didn’t have to be this way forever.
But those were thoughts for a different man.
He poured a final glass, let it warm his hands, and drank to the only thing he could count on: himself.
Outside, the city went about its business, utterly indifferent.
CHAPTER 14
“You cannot be serious,” Rose whispered. “This is beyond absurd. We have barely slept since the wedding, and now you expect me to parade through London and go to a ball as if nothing at all has happened?”
“Absurdity is the oxygen of the ton,” Felix said, not bothering to look at her. “They would not know what to do without it.”
He was in full regalia, hair combed to a ruthless shine, shirt so white it seemed to glow even in the half-dark. It was impossible not to feel his presence, and Rose found herself resenting him for how he could own a room without even trying.
“I assure you,” he said, “we will survive the evening. The worst that can happen is public disgrace, followed by social exile, and perhaps a catastrophic duel or two. Nothing to fret over.”
The carriage shuddered to a halt in front of Rutledge House. Rose could already see the flare of lanterns, the gilt-edged invitations clutched in white-gloved hands, the entire population of London’s peerage lined up like toy soldiers waiting to be inspected.
Her stomach twisted.
Felix offered his arm with a mocking bow. “Ready, my duchess?”
She glared at him. “Do not call me that. It feels like mockery.”
“You may as well grow used to it. We are expected.” He paused, gaze softening infinitesimally. “You are expected.”
It was the first moment of honesty between them all evening, and she hated him for giving it to her when she could not return it.
The door opened and then came the crush of sound, scent, and color, a surge that pressed against Rose’s ribs. Felix nodded to the steward, who announced them in a voice that could have cracked glass:
“His Grace the Duke of Carden, and Her Grace, the Duchess of Carden.”
Every head snapped around; the ripple of curiosity almost audible above the orchestra’s preamble. She recognized the faces, the ogling matrons and predatory debutantes, the bored men with their order books and gleaming boots.
Lady Rutledge herself was posted at the top of the staircase; her arm looped through the elbow of a viscount. She watched their ascent with a cat’s smile.
Felix’s grip was gentle but absolute. He led Rose up the stairs, leaning in so he could murmur, “Smile, Rose. It’s far too late to run.”
She did not smile, but her lips curled enough to pass inspection.
“Your Graces,” Lady Rutledge purred as soon as they joined the throng at the top of the stairs. Her gaze flicked to Rose’s bodice, then to Felix’s shoulders. “You are the talk of the week, if not the year.”
“Lady Rutledge,” Felix bowed. “Always a pleasure to provide entertainment. I see you’ve brought reinforcements.”
They pressed on, navigating the layers, fielding introductions, and a sea of faces. Felix took each conversation in stride, his posture at ease, mind calculating with a familiar, if bored, arrogance.
A woman drifted by, letting her silk skirts brush against his leg, and he did not so much as blink.
To Rose, it was infuriating. She wanted to throw something, or to drag him away, or to be the sort of wife who was worth more than a moment’s attention.
Felix led her to the threshold when the music started, the rhythm waltzing and grand. He offered his arm without a word, and this time, she took it. Rose was neither a natural dancer nor a practiced flirt, but Felix guided her through the opening steps with a deftness that was almost insulting in its lack of effort.
“You’re a good dancer,” she said, forced to look up at him lest she trip over her own feet.
“Thank you, wife,” he replied. “I’ve always found that dancing is a useful skill.”
