Chapter 22
The ballroom was a world of its own, glittering and unreal.
Crystal chandeliers glimmered like frozen constellations, shining over a sea of jewels and silks. The music of violins filled the vast space, and skirts brushed the polished floors.
Aurelia had never seen such a gathering in her life. Dukes and duchesses, foreign princes, titled ladies with hair adorned with diamonds, all of them gathered beneath one roof, moving as though this glittering splendor were their birthright.
And somehow, by virtue of her new title, she was one of them.
Her hand was resting lightly on Percival’s arm as they stepped forward together. He moved through the glamor with the authority of a man who had long commanded such rooms—tall, severe, untouchable.
His presence drew eyes, and she felt them swivel toward her as well, the curiosity in them mingling with admiration.
Her stomach twisted with nerves, but beneath them was a headiness, as if she were standing too close to a fire.
Aurelia was his wife. His duchess. And though the privilege of being here still felt too heavy on her shoulders, she was still excited about it all.
She glanced sideways at him to find he had paused to speak to two gentlemen, both gray-haired but spry.
“Whitmore,” one of them greeted with a genial smile. “I hear your ships are multiplying faster than the docks can keep them.”
“Ships are nothing without men who know how to keep them afloat, Bellflower,” Percival returned, his tone dry but filled with authority.
The second man chuckled. “And men are nothing without coins in their purses. You have managed both, it seems.”
Percival inclined his head slightly. “Coin encourages loyalty, but it is discipline that retains it. You of all people know that, Yornmouth.”
Aurelia felt the weight of his words. Neither man pressed further, but their silence and smiles were those of men confronted with someone not easily bested.
Then came the chuckle, the raised glass, and the bold observation. “Your Grace, your ventures are impressive. But I daresay, they are rivaled only by your wife’s beauty tonight.”
The statement caught her off guard, her brows rising slowly. Unsure of what to do, her fingers tightened ever so slightly on Percival’s sleeve. Her gaze flicked to him.
Would he dismiss the compliment? Would he make her invisible?
However, he looked back at her.
“She is not merely beautiful,” he declared boldly, silencing the space around them. “She is the finest part of all my ventures.”
Her breath caught. Her heart fluttered in her chest. He had spoken it without flourish, without a smile, without any of the inane flatteries other gentlemen might have used. And yet it was the most devastatingly intimate thing she had ever heard.
He could unravel her with a single word from that impossible mouth of his. That delicious, suffocating mouth.
Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Eventually, she decided to play along.
“Careful, husband.” She managed a smile, standing elegantly and gracefully like the duchess she was. “If you flatter me so openly, people will think you are sentimental.”
Something flickered across his stern face, but he turned back to the gentlemen nonetheless. “Sentimental or not, when it comes to estate matters, I defer to her more than she knows,” he stated calmly.
Twice in a row, his smooth words made her freeze for a heartbeat. Percival had deliberately included her in a conversation about business. Other women were not usually this lucky.
“Indeed?” Lord Bellflower’s brows rose with intrigue.
“Perhaps you support His Grace’s argument that the markets in the east will remain unstable. What say you, Your Grace?” Lord Yornmouth inquired.
Aurelia was too shocked to speak for a moment. But when she realized that she felt protected with Percival standing beside her, her confidence returned.
“I…” she began with a polite smile, the kind her mother had taught her to wear at balls. “I believe that unpredictability may be an opportunity. Those who prepare for fluctuations will be better placed than those who expect stability. Stability makes one careless, I think.”
A hush followed, before the gentlemen nodded slowly, their lips curling into sharp smiles.
“Sharp,” Lord Yornmouth murmured, clearly impressed.
Aurelia was proud of herself. But she knew whose reaction she cared about the most. She dared a glance at her husband, only to find him already looking at her.
Though she couldn’t read his expression, she still saw the faint curl at the corner of his mouth. A hint of pride, and probably something more.
It made warmth spread through her chest. She was glad that he had given her the opportunity. Glad that he had listened when she had declared that she was able to speak for herself, that she wanted to be seen. Because that was what she had always wanted—to belong.
Also, she was glad she was crossing another item off her list: Get along with high society.
For the remainder of the exchange, she answered when addressed, smiled with quiet composure, and listened as though she belonged.
And though Percival did not look at her again, she felt his gaze, heavy and lingering.
The evening progressed. When the gentlemen left, she and Percival were left alone once again.
Aurelia’s eyes strayed to the couples on the dance floor. The scene dredged up a memory of standing at balls with her sisters, whispering about who might ask them and who they might refuse.
Back then, she had thought it all so simple. A girl, a gown, a hopeful heart. Now, she stood here as a duchess. Wife of the most unreadable man in the room.
Her hand tightened on his arm as another dance was about to begin. Her breathing grew shallow.
Would he ask her to dance? She doubted he would be interested. Percival had always seemed above such things. Above frivolous rituals, above pleasure for the sake of it.
Her throat went dry.
Even if he did ask, she doubted she would survive it. Dancing with him meant having his hands on her body and those dangerous blue eyes of his boring into hers. She could already hardly breathe when he stood beside her.
Yet, she couldn’t push away the daydream. She couldn’t help but think it would be magical.
When her eyes rose to see what caught his attention, she froze. His gaze was already fixed on her, as if he could hear her thoughts.
His lips parted, and she wondered what words would come out. He wanted them to leave? Perhaps the place was too noisy for him? Did she irritate him so—
“Dance with me, Duchess,” he requested with an extended gloved hand.
Her eyes widened, caught off guard.
Percival asking her for a dance, despite being her husband, was something she could easily view as an unachievable goal. But here he was, standing before her, after uttering the words that still managed to freeze the air around her.
However, when her lips parted so she could agree, her heart flipped. It wasn’t only his striking charm or the intensity of his gaze, but also her nerves.
She tried to look away, to busy herself with her skirts as certain thoughts flooded her mind. It was a huge responsibility being his wife, his second wife.
What if she didn’t act well enough? What if she couldn’t dance well enough? What if her steps weren’t as splendid as the ones to which he was accustomed?
Aurelia tried to take a deep breath, to silence those thoughts. His hand hovered between them, waiting, but she was trembling, consumed by her insecurities.
“Aurelia,” he called in the softest of voices.
She melted. It did something to her, calming her in the strangest of ways.
Her brown eyes slowly rose back to his face. And that moment, she realized that was all she needed. Not some disturbing thoughts or depressing fear. All she needed was that charming face of his.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she placed her hand in his.
His fingers curled around hers in appreciation. It was a most subtle movement, but its effect was undeniable. Heat filled the tiny space between them as they moved toward the throng, their dark colored attire matching in a way that made them stand out.
Every eye turned toward them, following the feared Duke of Whitmore and his duchess. Aurelia’s pulse spiked, but something about the feel of Percival’s palm pressed firmly against her back—guiding her into the circle of dancers—soothed her nerves.
The music swelled when the second dance began. With a hot possessiveness, Percival took her hand and lifted it. And, at that moment, Aurelia wanted him to do with her whatever he pleased.
They moved to the music, almost on instinct. His hand cradled her waist, his fingers spanning the curve through the silk of her gown.
All she felt was him. How he laced his other hand through hers, pulling her arm up and out until her chest pressed against his. Surely he must have felt her heart thudding against her ribs.
And when she least expected it, he broke the silence, his tone dipped. “Tell me… Did you use to dream of nights like this?”
His mouth nearly grazed her ear, each syllable making her shiver.
A memory with Celia resurfaced at that question. It made Aurelia smile softly.
“Yes,” she answered in a whisper. “I dreamed of it endlessly.”
Percival paused, studying her face. “And now?”
His hand slid higher, just beneath her shoulder blades, though his thumb stroked dangerously close to the side of her breast.
Her lips parted. A sound escaped her, half laugh, half whisper. “Now it is… more. And less. I am not the girl I used to be back then.”
“No.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingering there, unreadable and devastating. “No, you are not.”
She gasped softly when his hand slid across her back, pulling her flush against him. Eventually, their steps settled into a rhythm. Her skirts tangled around his boots, and her thighs brushed against his.
Every touch threatened to undo her composure. Threatened to reveal that she was wet for him on the polished ballroom floor.
“I was their disappointment,” she suddenly confessed.
Aurelia wasn’t sure why she said that. But standing in the ballroom made her remember nights when her parents were too ashamed to look at her because she had yet to find a suitor.
“My parents,” she murmured, almost to herself, “were always strict. But after Celia… after she was caught in a scandal, everything became more difficult. More suffocating. They feared the same of me. Demanded perfection. And when I failed…” She swallowed, keeping her chin high even as her throat tightened. “I became their disappointment.”
Percival said nothing for a moment, but she could feel his gaze burning into her.
“You should know,” she added quickly, forcing cheer into her voice, “that I never blamed Celia. She is happy now with the man she loves. I only… I only wish they had let me be happy, too.”
Despite the smile on her face, Percival saw the way it wavered. He saw the way she blinked hard, holding back tears, refusing to show weakness.
“It does not matter what they feel,” he said, his voice deep and rough.
She jerked her head up, confused.
His eyes caught hers, steel and fire. “Their opinion means nothing. Not anymore.”
Her lips parted, and her heart skipped a beat. She wanted to laugh, to tease, to deflect. She needed to, or else she would crumble under the weight of his words.
“Then I suppose,” she whispered, “that only my husband’s opinion matters now.”
She chose to tease him.
Percival’s expression darkened, and his hand tightened on her back, pulling her into him until she could feel the unmistakable bulge in his trousers pressing against her belly.
She gasped.
“No, Aurelia.” His voice was low and dangerously intimate. “Not mine. Yours. Only your opinion matters now.”
The silence that fell between them came with half-desire, half something too tender to bear. She tried to look away, but his gaze anchored her. Her throat went dry, her body trembled.
To save herself, she whispered hastily, “I… I am not very good at forming opinions. I only know that I have a list of things to achieve, and I have only managed to achieve three so far.”
“A list?” His brow arched, though he still moved with her in perfect rhythm.
Before she could respond, he guided her through another spin before pulling her back against him. Her breasts were squished against his chest, her body screaming for more.
Surely he knew it wasn’t proper for them to be so close in public, never mind the fact they were married.
“People are staring,” she stated, reddening slightly.
He looked around then back to her face.
“I can see that,” he said with a nod. “We make a striking pair.”
She reddened even further but she shook her head.
“I meant that we are too close,” she told him.
He leaned close enough to whisper in her ear.
“I find that I do not care much for propriety tonight, Aurelia.”
His breath on her ear and scandalous words set heat stirring low in her belly.
“What list?” he asked, returning to their former conversation like nothing had happened.
Panic rose in her chest. She had not meant to say that out loud. Her lashes lowered, but there was no escape.
Slowly, haltingly, she confessed, “A list of goals. Things I must do. Tonight, I achieved one goal—to get along with high society. Another was to marry. And another was to… restore my reputation. I must also bring you closer to Lottie.”
His steps slowed then. He stared at her, before his jaw hardened. Except it was not with anger.
“You included me in your list,” he said quietly.
Aurelia swallowed, her voice soft. “Yes, I did.”
Something in his gaze shifted, raw and unguarded.
But before she could say more, his lips curved, his smile faint but cutting. “And what other goals remain on this mysterious list of yours, wife? Duties you have yet to… perform?”
The insinuation set her blood on fire. Heat spread through her body. She blinked rapidly, and her throat went dry.
All of a sudden, she was unable to meet his eyes.
He was teasing her. He was unraveling her.
“Percival…” she whispered, mortified, aroused, undone.
But he only smirked before changing the subject, as if he hadn’t just set her entire body ablaze.
“I want to be closer to Lottie, too,” he admitted suddenly. “I do not know how, but I want to.”
Aurelia softened. Her heart melted all over again. She knew that admission must not have been easy to make.
Looking up at him, her lips trembled with a smile she could not contain.
“Then we will work it out,” she whispered. “Together.”