Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Truth be told, Alexander didn’t know precisely why he felt so very strongly about the sight of his wife smiling at another man.
Oh, yes—it was because the man in question was who everyone had presumed she would marry, back when she lived in London.
Never mind that he was old enough to be her father, thereabouts, and never mind that from what he had ascertained over the past year, Lord Scunthorpe hadn’t mourned her absence in the slightest. The very fact they were there, laughing and smiling together, made his blood boil!
What was Godwin thinking, inviting the man? And tonight, of all nights, when Alexander’s hold on control was so very thin…
Not that Godwin could have known that, but it made everything so much more difficult to bear. He gritted his teeth against the scrape of cutlery against plates and the clack of spoons against bowls.
Miss Parsons leaned in closer. “Is everything all right, Your Grace?” she asked.
“Fine,” he muttered.
“Samuel and I thought there might be a good opportunity for some dancing later,” she said, with a little smile that indicated she knew precisely what she was doing. “I suggest you ask dearest Lydia before someone else does.”
Alexander inhaled, forcing his grip on his fork to loosen. His head pounded. “Do you have a particular investment in the situation?” he asked, forcing the words out.
“I? What investment could I possibly have?”
“Are you conspiring with Lydia?”
Miss Parsons laughed lightly. “In what manner? All her actions are her own, I assure you.”
“But you do know the situation between us?”
Miss Parsons’ gaze hardened. “Of course. I am one of her closest and most longstanding friends. Of course I know of the situation, and of course I wish for her to remain married to you rather than have you cast her off. This is her home, and you of all people ought to understand that.”
He frowned at the mention of him of all people.
Of course he understood the importance of a home, but what he didn’t know was why he would have a better understanding of the concept than most. Because he didn’t feel at home here?
Because his past made him feel as though he had no home?
Miss Parsons couldn’t have known that, so it had to be for a different reason.
Thinking of Helena and his father merely made him more frustrated, so he looked back at Lydia, who had turned her attention to the people on either side of her.
Nothing about her behavior made him feel as though she had any lingering feelings for Scunthorpe, but Alexander couldn’t stop himself from seeing the way she had smiled at him and the way she had patted his hand.
He spent the remainder of the meal saying as little as possible and watching Lydia, and the moment the gentlemen retired to the drawing room after dinner for light entertainment, he sought his wife out from where she was sitting with her friends.
Unfortunately, so it would seem, did Scunthorpe.
“Your Grace,” Scunthorpe said, stepping aside so Alexander could go ahead.
Alexander stalked to Lydia’s side, noting with irritation the amusement on her face as she looked up at them.
That was the moment Godwin began organizing the dancing Miss Parsons had promised, coming to secure her hand for the first dance, and Alexander then had a reason to approach Lydia aside from the possessive need to claim her in front of everyone.
It didn’t help that all the memories of her naked, wet body all over him were constantly playing at the forefront of his mind, and he disliked having her bestow her smiles on anyone else.
Knowing what he did about the futility of his attraction to her and any relationship they might develop, once she learned the truth about him, did not make any of the feelings in his chest go away.
If anything, they burned stronger. He had to have her now, claim her now, because later he would not be granted the chance.
“Dance with me?” he said, extending a hand.
Her eyes sparked with mischief. “Is that the best you can do?”
“I would be honored,” he added, irritation and amusement combining, “if you would dance this first with me.”
“Well, as you asked so very nicely, dear husband.” She placed her gloved hand in his. “As a tribute to trying.”
He’d said that perhaps they could ‘try’, to appease her, and now he wished he had not. Now she believed there was a chance things could work out for the best, but he knew better. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to deny her. Or worse, to allow someone else to take the first dance.
“I saw you talking to Lord Scunthorpe,” he murmured, feigning disinterest.
“Ah, yes.” She smiled up at him, but there was a determined glint in her eyes. “He very kindly said hello, and I apologized for the way I left things last year.”
“You were courting him.”
“I suppose the more accurate term is that he was courting me. But it was never a love match. I was perfectly satisfied with the situation—no one else had offered for me, and it was a relief to know that such a gentleman wanted me.”
Alexander snapped his jaw shut. “He has been married before.”
“Am I to punish him for the premature death of his wife?” she demanded. “That seems cruel, don’t you think?”
Any other time, Alexander would have agreed.
And he knew nothing bad about Lord Scunthorpe; on the contrary, he believed the man to be a very good sort of fellow.
But seeing Lydia talking and laughing with him had made him see red, and he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “You could have looked elsewhere for a husband.”
“In the end, I did,” she replied serenely. “But how could I have predicted that I would become a duchess? Even my father, who loved me dearly, could not have foreseen this future for me.”
Alexander should think not, but just the mention of her father made him remember what he had done.
How he had contributed to her father’s death.
The grief she had experienced because of it.
“I don’t want you talking with him more than necessary,” he pressed, gripping her waist a little tighter.
“For what reason?” she inquired.
“Because I said so.” Because she was infinitely more lovely than last year, and it wouldn’t do for him to grow attached now.
Even if Alexander didn’t believe he could stay, he didn’t want another man falling in love with his wife. Or worse, his wife falling in love with another man.
He could endure much, but he could not endure that.
“How charming,” she said dryly.
“More to the point, you are not currently available for marriage.”
“Not currently.” This time, she tilted her head back. “But I ought to make plans, you know, for if you cast me off.”
He stiffened, but although he knew she said that as she wanted him to reject the prospect, he couldn’t bring himself to. At least, not directly.
He would keep her, and she would continue as his wife, but he would not be in the picture to defend her.
“There is no need to flirt with other gentlemen,” he said through gritted teeth. “They have no claim over you.”
Her eyes glinted, and he knew she was disappointed with his answer, the lack of confirmation one way or the other. “You are overthinking,” she said. “I was not flirting.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I rather think you won’t if you thought my smiling was flirtatious. You cannot outlaw smiling, Alexander, not even to appease your jealous heart.” She laid a hand on his chest for the barest second. “So don’t get carried away.”
He wanted to get carried away. To take her home and back to his bedchamber so he could get carried away all night!
Instead, he had to hold her in front of everyone, unable to appease the sudden need that rampaged through his body, with the cravings still sending aching cramps through his limbs.
Her smile faltered as she glanced up at him. “One day,” she whispered, “you will have to tell me what ails you.”
“Yes,” he muttered.
“Then I can help you.”
Then you will flee from me.
He didn’t say the words, but he thought them. And Lydia, oblivious to his internal certainty, found her smile once again, believing she could help him, believing he was worthy of being helped, believing there would be nothing to forgive.
He could tell her about the opium, the laudanum. But that was where he would draw the line. For both their sakes.
Even after, sometimes when he looked at her, he wondered if there could be a future. If she could love him, knowing everything.
A fool’s dream. And one he could not quite forget.
The evening had gone well—surprisingly so, given Alexander’s mood when they had first arrived, and his obvious anger at seeing her smile at Lord Scunthorpe—but Lydia should have known that could not last.
In the end, it was a gentleman Lydia presumed had been a childhood friend of both Samuel and Alexander.
He was a portly man, overly jovial, and evidently not a formal member of the ton.
He was too much the country gentleman, ingratiating himself with all the genteel members of the dinner party while revealing his distinct lack of good breeding.
Lydia took a dislike to him immediately.
And, she suspected, he had done the same to her; she had not invited him to a single one of her dinners or other gatherings.
The simple reason was that although he had called when word got around of her being at the house, he had spent the entire visit making her feel uncomfortable, and she had seen no reason to prolong the relationship.
Now, however, he was finally invited, and he made it plain that he was in his element.
And that she, Duchess of Halston, had been neglecting her duty in neglecting him.
“What a joy it is to see so many familiar faces!” he chortled, sending her a malicious glance. “And all gathered together in this way. I confess, I have missed seeing this society all together.” He gave an overly dramatic sigh. “I am sure you can imagine my distress.”