Page 44 of Duke in Darkness

“Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Exton!”

Gabriel should have been prepared for the bellowed announcement. But it startled him, and he stumbled against the drawing room door. Naturally the loud sound coincided with everyone in the drawing room halting their conversation to stare.

So many eyes. Tilted heads. Raised fans. Wide smiles.

And few of them kind.

THE TON DESCENDED like a pack of wolves.

Lilian barely managed a wave to Joy, who stood on the other side of the room with her parents, before being surrounded by a near-mob of acquaintances. This would be the sternest test of her mettle and patience. The group included some of the ton’s most notorious gossips, some of them harmless and some not so much, and already she could see the women dividing themselves into two distinct camps: those who were transfixed by Exton’s scar and limp and wanted to corner him in an antechamber to discover more, and those who were appalled and wished him to leave before he permanently spoiled the décor.

She loathed both.

“Well I never,” crowed one older matron in a pink turban with peacock feathers. “Aren’t you two lovebirds sneaky! When did you marry?”

“A fortnight ago,” said Lilian. “At Lambeth Palace. Archbishop Manners-Sutton is such a kind and godly man.”

“Special license, eh?” chuckled a widowed countess in purple, her eyes glinting with malice. “I find it romantic, although others might wonder the reason for such haste.”

Exton tilted his head, his gaze jet ice. “My fault. After we met…” he paused and patted Lilian’s hand, cleverly disguising his speech difficulties, “I couldn’t wait.”

A few wistful sighs sounded. Put like that it did sound romantic, rather than a mutually beneficial arrangement between a damaged duke needing heirs, and the eldest daughter of a leading family with barely a guinea to their ancient and impeccable name.

“And now you’re a duchess,” said a beautiful blonde baroness who had made her come out the year before Lilian. “Always the plan though, wasn’t it?”

Lilian stiffened at the purred barb. “If by plan you mean the good fortune to meet a gentleman of character and integrity, a decorated war hero, who by a quirk of fate inherited a dukedom, then yes.”

“Dashed good luck,” said a fresh-faced corporal in his scarlet regimentals, clearly enjoying the sheer number of bejeweled women surrounding him. “Poor soldier cousin to rich as Croesus duke. Er, I mean, apart from the deaths, of course. Bad luck for them. But congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you,” said Exton with remarkable calm considering the gauche and ill-advised nature of the comment.

“Northam must be pleased,” drawled a dandy nearly dripping in lace, wearing an eye-watering combination of leaf-green jacket and jonquil breeches. “With a duke for a brother-in-law, he’ll be extended unlimited credit everywhere. Hope you and Kingsford have him on a tight leash, young men can be so foolishly impulsive. And Northam has expensive tastes, does he not? Always impeccably attired when out and about.”

Lilian wanted to kick them all. And they seemed to be moving closer. Good grief, if she swung her reticule around, she might collect several colored feathers as trophies. “My entire family is delighted, including my grandmother. Exton, I am terribly parched. Would you escort me to the refreshment table?”

He inclined his head. “Be delighted, my dear. Back shortly, everyone.”

They walked in silence until they were out of earshot of the group, then Lilian turned to him. “I’m so sorry. Those comments—”

Surprisingly, Exton smiled. “Polite Society. An oxymoron if ever I heard one. Champagne? Or lemonade?”

Choking back an entirely inappropriate giggle, Lilian managed, “Champagne.”

While her husband turned to acquire two freshly poured glasses, she took a moment to observe the drawing room-turned ballroom. It was actually rather spacious, and thank heavens, well-lit. The string quartet sounded excellent, and several couples were now dancing a quadrille on the far side of the room where all the furniture had been removed. Her feet wanted to step in time to the music, but she fiercely suppressed the urge. Not by so much as a sniff would she embarrass Exton by expressing a desire to dance. He had done so much for her already, and she wouldn’t abandon him tonight when the sharks were circling and ready to feast.

“It’s no good, Lilian.”

She blinked at his amusement. “Beg pardon?”

“Your heels are nearly gouging a hole…trying not to move. If you wish to dance, by all means…find a gentleman.”

“I am quite well, thank you,” she replied coolly, unnerved that he had seen through her façade so easily. “Unless of course, you are trying to get rid of me?”

“Quite,” he said, taking a sip of his champagne. “So I may pursue the lady…with the pink turban. She stared at the fall of my breeches…with great interest.”

Lilian’s lips twitched wildly. “She wasn’t the only one. If you do wish an affair with Madame Turban, I would of course step aside. I fear I cannot compete with a half century of experience.”

Exton laughed. Not a polite chuckle or the annoying languid titter that Brummell had made so popular and her late fiancé had copied, but a full-blooded laugh. And for a moment, his haunted weariness seemed to ease as his eyes danced with mischief. “My, my. The well-bred kitten has claws.”