Page 43 of Duke in Darkness

Gabriel shrugged. “Can’t help it if I have…the most beautiful wife in London.”

The blush deepened. “Hardly that.”

“Yes. You are. And that gown…”

Lilian straightened her shoulders, an action that only pushed her magnificent breasts further forward. “You really like it?”

He barely suppressed a groan, his hands positively aching to yank down her bodice and free the plump bounty. No gown in the world better represented his wife: simmering sensuality just waiting to be unwrapped. “Indeed. And your hair.”

Twisting her reticule cord around one finger, Lilian smiled. “Dawn suggested something less, ah, stern would be appropriate.”

“I approve. Although I’ll always prefer your hair loose…across a pillow.”

“Exton,” she scolded again, but he ignored the admonishment. Even though they were alone, rejecting what she had been told was improper remained as instinctive to her as saluting a higher ranked officer would be to him. Behavior that might never be unlearned. Besides, it wasn’t like he’d say such intimate things in public. He would at least attempt to be ducal.

A quarter hour later, they were in a slow-moving line of carriages stopping long enough outside the ornate three-story Castlereagh residence at number 18 St. James’s Square to let passengers alight, before turning left onto King Street or straight ahead to loop around the square. Much worse than the journey here, as he could practically taste freedom from the too-small space closing in on him by the minute. Yet he couldn’t wrench the door open and leap out of the moving carriage into the cool darkness. Couldn’t smash a window to allow some air in. Couldn’t do anything that would draw undue attention to himself.

They were in Lilian’s world now. She would be the colonel giving the orders, he the inexperienced corporal, and the situation was of his own making. While most cousins of dukes strolled about town and shamelessly used the family title to get what they wanted, Gabriel had shunned almost everything to do with the ton while wholeheartedly embracing life in the army. The order, the discipline, the notion of being part of something greater had always been appealing. Both Quentin and Simon had been horrified when he’d purchased a second lieutenant’s commission practically the minute he’d left Eton, and insulted when he didn’t attend their parties while on furlough. Indeed, the Jordan-Ives men had lived at opposite ends of a scale.

But the downside of that: now he stood in the middle of a battlefield with a strategy containing outdated and incomplete information on the terrain, friends, and foes. He and Lilian had certainly grown a little closer, but he’d still only known her a fortnight, and the depth of her loyalty hadn’t been tested. Bloody hell he missed the army, and the security of being surrounded by those he could trust with his life.

Finally the carriage came to a temporary halt, and a footman jumped down from his perch to open the door and unfold the step. Gabriel climbed out first, cursing inwardly as he placed more pressure on his bad foot than wise. These pretentious shoes would have him limping worse than usual. Then he held out a hand to Lilian. “Shall we?”

After smoothing her cape, she smiled and placed her hand on his sleeve. “Indeed.”

Gabriel watched in admiration as an air of complete calm enveloped her. She now looked as steely and high in the instep as Wellington, which was very reassuring. Two footmen bowed deeply and opened the double doors, and he handed over their invitation to the butler standing just inside.

The gray-haired man bowed. “His lordship and her ladyship are receiving guests to your right, Your Graces. The drawing room has been modified into a ballroom for the evening.”

Gabriel inclined his head, but his skin kept heating and chilling with anxiety, and it took an act of strong will to force his feet forward. Even with Lilian at his side, he wished he were anywhere but here.

“Exton!”

Emily Castlereagh’s delighted exclamation from the receiving line both startled and warmed him. The viscountess deliberately held out both her hands to demonstrate her friendship rather than a hug or kiss to the cheek, and a lump settled in his throat at her thoughtfulness. Taking her hands, he squeezed them, hoping the gesture conveyed the depth of his gratitude and longstanding affection. “Emily. What a pleasure to see you again.”

“Oh, Gabriel,” she said softly, a shadow crossing her face when her gaze rested on his scar. Then she lifted her chin. “I should scold you for an hour. Fancy making me wait an eternity before replying to my invitation! But I am too glad to see you. It’s been far, far too long.”

“My humblest apologies.”

“Good heavens you have your mother’s eyes,” Emily said with a sigh. “I still miss her so. We had such fun at our salons. How is Imogen? I hear she and Clarissa are retiring to the seaside.”

Gabriel gritted his teeth. The bloody townhouse might be a lot cleaner, but it still leaked like a sinking ship. “Indeed. At her request, I might add. Not banished. Whatever the gossips say.”

“Sometimes I wish we spent more time at Loring Hall, I do miss my country menagerie. But London has its pleasant diversions, and we travel so frequently.”

“Of course. May I present my duchess...the former Lady Lilian Nash.”

The two ladies smiled politely at each other and began a conversation, while Gabriel moved on to shake Robert Castlereagh’s hand. “My lord.”

The Foreign Secretary gripped his hand, but it wasn’t a show of strength, just respect. “Your Grace. It is damned good to see you up and about. I am sorry for your loss, but I know the dukedom couldn’t be in better hands. And married! A fine choice, I think. Emily and I wish you much happiness,” he finished gruffly.

Gabriel nodded, relaxing slightly. “Thank you. Your marriage is one to aspire to. Something very attractive…about ladies with spine. And sauce.”

Castlereagh laughed. “Damned right there is. Your duchess should prepare herself, Emily thinks to haul her onto several fundraising committees. But I hope you might be free for a brandy later. Once this nonsense is over and done with.”

“Of course. Lilian, may I present Lord Castlereagh…”

His wife chatted briefly with the viscount, but they couldn’t linger in the safety and pleasantness of the receiving line no matter how much he wanted to. So he military-straightened his shoulders, and re-took Lilian’s arm, leading her toward the drawing room where the other guests mingled. Even from here, he could hear the string orchestra tuning and warming up their instruments. As soon as the hosts entered, they would begin to play properly.