Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
“Mama!” Marianne’s eight-year-old daughter, Diana, pulled at her dress.
“Diana! What are you doing here? You should be in your bed!” Marianne looked at her daughter in a blend of tenderness, surprise, and horror.
Daphne knew her niece was well-behaved. The fact that she sneaked out of her bedroom to join the ball must have been because of a small emergency.
While it was Wilhelmina and Gerard who were hosting the ball this evening, Marianne had brought along her children as well.
The babies were all supposed to be nestled upstairs in the nursery far away from the sights and sounds of the ball.
But again, Daphne could not begrudge the little girl’s curiosity one way or another.
If my mother and father had been the type to host lavish events, I certainly would have done everything in my power to see what was happening.
Diana must have been of the same mindset as Daphne. Her hair was fixed in a fussy twist, and she’d managed to dress in a pretty, little pink gown with yellow flowers.
The girl glanced at her aunt, her eyes wide. She gave a small smile as if to reassure everyone that she was fine, then said, “John and Martin are throwing a tantrum, Mama. Well, Martin started it. He did not want to sleep. He wants you.”
“Oh.”
Marianne and Daphne exchanged glances. The latter was aware that if one of her twin two-year old nephews began crying, the other thought it his duty to join in. Otherwise, they were two lovely little toddlers. Then again, the boys probably woke up from their slumber, missing their mother.
“Go on ahead, Marianne,” Daphne urged. “I will tell everyone that you will be back when you can.”
Marianne sighed dramatically, but she wore a small smile that showed she did not mind going to her children. She loved her little ones dearly and didn’t really care much for the ton. Attending balls, even ones hosted by her family members, was merely a matter of duty for the Duchess of Oakmere.
Daphne’s heart was full as she watched her sister leave the ballroom. She did not like being alone in social gatherings, but she knew her sister’s children needed her more.
The feeling of love and relief quickly dissipated as soon as she saw a cluster of couples heading her way.
They must have sniffed the fact that their prey was all alone, with her fierce older sister away on maternal duty.
She clenched her fists by her sides, her reticule dangling idly around one wrist, as she braced herself for the onslaught.
“We were just discussing your sudden absence, and now, reappearance,” Lord Salthouse, a Viscount who had once tripped over his own feet while leading Daphne through a reel, murmured.
The words were meant to express how much he and his companions cared about her, but Daphne recognized the tone and manner.
His smirk confirmed everything. “You were gone for a while, and people wondered if you were merely taking a break from Briarwood’s intense attention.
Then, you were back, married to a Duke no less!
What is your Duke like when he’s away from London? ”
“My lord, I was not well. I needed some time in the country to recuperate,” she explained, trying to keep her voice calm and strong.
During the time she was talking, eyes were on her. They were not even pretending to be anything else than the vultures they were. Eyes were sharp enough, and they looked like they had claws that would soon grab at her.
“Awfully convenient,” Lady Hastings murmured. “That right after this time spent in the country, you found yourself wed to the Duke of Wolfcrest. Quite intriguing timing, indeed.”
The woman, only a few years older than Daphne, looked absolutely titillated.
Daphne knew what the woman was insinuating and the accusation filled her with indignation.
How dare she make such assumptions? How dare she?
“He is certainly handsome, though,” Lady Beechmont said. She was perhaps two decades younger than her own husband. “One could see why a lady would do anything to snatch him.”
The tone was still arguably against Daphne, but the woman’s voice also held a sense of wonder. She was truly curious, and perhaps even envious, of Daphne’s current station.
Lord Salthouse either agreed with Daphne’s assessment or he was just being vindictive. He leaned in, with a voice that was deliberately malicious.
“Oh, I do admire your ambition, Duchess. I am certain my companions would echo the sentiment. To marry the Duke of Wolfcrest so soon after Lord Briarwood was known to trail you everywhere… it cannot be mere chance. There is calculation in you, I wager. Your wedding was far too hurried. After all, why would a Duke behave in such a rash manner? No beauty simply compels a man of his rank to such action. Perhaps your aim was merely to silence scandal, for the man has more than enough to contend with regarding his… reputation. I must say, I am impressed. Refusing an Earl when your sisters are duchesses… clever indeed. Tell me, did you perhaps ensnare Wolfcrest by other means to secure your position?”
Daphne felt her whole body turn cold. The air around her seemed to have frozen. She could almost see the particles swirling around them. She observed the smirks on the women’s faces and could almost hear their thoughts.
She thinks she is better than the rest of us, but she is nothing but a trollop.
Daphne was no stranger to whispers and gossip, but she had never been so blatantly accused before that night. Her body trembled with repressed rage.
How could this man think so poorly of her?
Then again, she remembered her own mother all but accusing her of compromising herself with the Duke.
Yes, it was indeed strange for a man who was as wealthy, titled, and handsome like Adrian to marry so suddenly.
However, their accusations were false. She was just a woman trying to survive with virtue and reputation unscathed.
She ran away from Briarwood only to be subjected to more rumors with the Wolf.
Her mouth opened, ready to give a scathing remark at the fifty-year-old lord with the young wife. However, a shadow had already fallen over their little, suffocating circle. She did not have to turn to feel his presence.
Adrian was there, and he made it impossible for anyone to ignore him. He placed his large hand on the small of her back. The chill she felt after Salthouse released his vile accusation turned into warmth. No matter what she did, her body responded to him.
There was something different in him, then. An air of violence. Even with his notoriety, he had never given her any reason to be afraid. Tonight, though, she knew that others would have enough reason to.
“Lord Salthouse,” Adrian said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl that made the hair on Daphne’s arms rise.
“I suggest you remember your place. You are in a room hosted by my bride’s family.
My family. Your words, your insinuations, have consequences.
” His hand pressed firmly against her waist, anchoring her with quiet authority.
“And you would do well to recall that you are speaking to the Duchess of Wolfcrest.”
Salthouse turned pale, paper white. The change occurred so suddenly that Daphne almost expected his gaunt body to faint.
“I apologize, Your Grace. I thought you would think of my opinions as a means of solidarity among men. After all, there are many women who hunt for men’s fortune like a sport.”
Lady Salthouse’s face had turned red, with anger or humiliation, Daphne could not tell.
“That is not how one speaks of my Duchess,” Adrian said, close and calm.
“You will learn discretion, one way or another. I can see to it that bankers ask awkward questions, that partners ‘discover’ inconvenient balances, that your comfortable life becomes a matter of tedious, ruinous scrutiny. I prefer manners; I prefer men who know theirs. But I will not hesitate to remove your comforts if you persist. Do you hear me, Salthouse?”
This time, the older lord looked like he would agree to anything Adrian would say. He nodded profusely, eyes wide with fear.
“You may be excused,” Adrian ordered.
Daphne could not help but gape at her husband.
Who is he, really, that he could simply call out an order?
The little cluster quickly dispersed at that command, too. He watched them dismissively, with head held high. She could have quickly attributed it to arrogance, but no, it could not be that. This man knew what he was about. He was simply saying and taking things as they were.
The Duke turned to her, eyes burning intensely. She could not believe how she could see protectiveness there. For her? For the woman he could not decide what to do with?
As before, destiny did not seem too eager to leave her with time to think. The music began, strains of a waltz quickly rising and filling the ballroom.
“May I have this dance, Duchess?” Adrian asked, offering his hand, even though his jaw was still clenched and his eyes were still blazing with the remnants of his fury.
She nodded, gently placing her gloved hand in his. There was no reason to say no. For one, they were a united front now. Two, her body always turned toward him.
The dance was supposed to be like any other she had ever been part of. However, the moment Adrian guided her onto the floor, she knew it would not be.
His amber eyes were intent on her face, and she watched him back as a response, a blend of acquiescence and challenge. That was how confused he made her feel.
Their dance quickly turned into something else, perhaps a conversation or a melding of souls. All she knew for certain was that it made her chest hurt. She could barely breathe, and yet she was also aware of how they were drawing attention.
Of course, a man like him would be precise and powerful.
He took it onto the ballroom floor. But what surprised her was the way their movements were synchronized, as if their bodies were attuned to each other.
As if they had been doing this for long.
She could only imagine that they looked like they were truly fragments of a whole who were magically being reunited on the dance floor.
“You didn’t have to make a scene, Your Grace,” she murmured, as the music entered into its more serene parts.
“What do you mean? I did not make a scene. If anything I make every attempt to avoid making spectacles, given the opportunity.”
He was right about that, and yet, he had let himself be swayed by an older lord who had nothing better to say or do.
“You know what I mean. Salthouse is nothing more than a grumpy man,” she said.
She was half-lying here. Salthouse might be a cranky man, but he was one who the ton respected. That was how hypocritical their circles could be. They would side with a man who judged others while not looking at the problem within his own estate.
“Ah, so you were referring to him,” he murmured, although it was clear that he knew what she was saying all along. “But I merely want it to be clear that nobody may to speak to you like that. And I fear his taunts would not have ebbed until we nipped them in the bud.”
“We?” she echoed, afraid of how the word made her pleased.
“Yes. We. All anyone could see now are the two of us dancing as one. Do you not feel it?” he asked.
Of course, she could, but she still stung from his rejection. Had he simply conveniently forgotten about that night?
No. Her husband was playing a game, and even though she might seem very innocent—and she could be for the most part—she could play the game, too.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, raising an eyebrow.
They did a little turn, then, still moving easily with the music even as they held a full conversation.
“You do.”
“There was no need to explain. You know what they must be thinking. It all fits too neatly in their minds; I was the woman who followed every rule and still did not secure a husband. Then came a man who hounded me, whose attention everyone noticed, whose name they whispered with mine. They waited for the scandal to break. And when I disappeared for a short while, only to return as a Duke’s wife…
Tell me, what would you think, if you were in their place? ”
Adrian’s first response was to tighten his grip on her waist. It was bordering on inappropriate, and she knew he did not care. Perhaps she should just stop caring. After all, no matter what she did, people would still see her the way they wanted to see her.
“Listen to me, Daphne,” he said, his voice roughened to a growl, his eyes burned into hers, unblinking.
“You are the Duchess of Wolfcrest. You belong to me. In name, in protection, in every way that matters. If anyone dares to touch you, to slander you, to even breathe ill of you, they will learn exactly how vicious the Wolf can become when provoked. And I assure you, Duchess… they will regret it.”
How could a slow waltz create so much tension between them? It was like they were right on the edge, within the eye of a storm. His declaration pushed the boundaries of their cold arrangement.
She knew it.
Of course, he knew it, too.
The Wolf might be surrounded by various stories, but one thing never changed. He was always portrayed as a shrewd man, darkly intelligent. She knew that they were right about that.
Daphne fell quiet then, letting the music move them to new heights.
When the music ended, Adrian guided her toward a dramatic flourish. Then, he led her off the dance floor, his hand not leaving the small of her back. It was a man who needed no permission.
He was her husband, after all, and he declared that he owned her. Normally, she would balk against such a declaration, but she did not mind it.
Not at all.
As they walked toward the edge of the room, Daphne focused on not swaying. She still felt dizzy, not just because of the dance but from all the emotions he invoked from her in such a short period of time.
Surprise. Outrage. Fascination. Desire.
She took a deep breath as she stomped on an unwanted feeling that kept threatening to rise.
She had to remind herself that her husband was merely protecting his territory.
His property. Men took pride in not just their estates but also their wives.
Whether or not he felt something for her, people would always associate her with him.
He simply could not allow anyone else to hurt her feelings.
As they neared the exit, Adrian paused. They exchanged a glance. In that moment, she saw something vulnerable in her.
Gone was the cold, possessive Duke in that moment.
No. She should not look at him like that. He was protecting himself from the possible shame of people talking about his wife.