Page 79 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

He was fundamentally damaged. He had killed in the war, and he had let his own cousin die. His friends had died. Last night, he had drunk enough to avoid the nightmares, but what of the other nights?

Men like him did not deserve to have beautiful, loving things in their lives because the temptation was to crush them. The damage was so easily done, and so very long-lasting.

He would never forgive himself if he hurt her. And if he allowed this closeness to continue, the hurt would be unavoidable.

This was a marriage of convenience.

Yet here she was, sleeping peacefully in his arms, oblivious to all the thoughts running through his head. He looked down at her, at the tiny freckles that dusted her nose, the luscious sweep of her lashes against her cheek. Sleep rendered her face soft and innocent, more so than ordinarily.

How could he have this and no more? Was it worth pursuing something else, or should he just accept what he had?

Keep her this close and no closer?

Another impossibility. He wanted her too much.

And by wanting her, he risked crushing her entirely.

“I think,” Jessamine announced over breakfast, “that we should host a masquerade ball.”

Andrew, who had been trying very hard not to think about his wife in any inappropriate attire all morning, started. The image of her wearing the clothes of a shepherdess or Marie Antoinette, or Aphrodite, or any other of the common costumes ladies enjoyed, seared through him.

How was he supposed to resist her if she kept packaging herself in such irresistible ways?

“And why is that?” he asked.

“Because I’m a duchess, and strangely enough, I would like to host. We went to Lady Marwich’s ball, and I think that did a great deal to cement our place in the world, but we should host our own. William will grow up in a household that is well-respected by the ton.” She sipped her tea. “And a masquerade ball will be the event of the Season.”

Andrew almost wanted to refuse. Not to deny her, but because it had never been his desire to host the ball of the Season, and certainly not to invite the ton into his home en masse so they could gawk at everything.

Then again, she made an excellent point. This was not about him.

William’s future did not wholly rely on their societal standing, but that did make a difference.

And they had done so much to forward that goal; why should they not do more?

“All right,” he said. “When?”

“I was thinking in ten days. That way, everyone has a chance to anticipate it, and we give the servants time to prepare.” She offered him a sunny smile. “What do you think?”

“I can deny you nothing,” he said honestly.

“Excellent. I shall use that wholly to my advantage.”

“I have no doubt,” he murmured, but he found himself unable to bite back his smile. Her joy was infectious. “Do you have a list of invitees?”

“Oh, yes. All the most notable gossips will be there, you may be sure. Anyone who is anyone. And if they insulted us, then we will treat them with particular kindness.”

Andrew felt his entire body go still. At the thought of someone entering his home and insulting either Jessamine or William, rage threatened to swallow him.

“If someone dares come to insult you in my house, then they will not be in my house for very long, Jessamine. You may be sure of that.”

“Oh,” she said merrily, “one look at your face, and they would never dare.”

“I mean it, Jessamine.”

“I know, but don’t you see? Those are the people we must win over the most.”

“No. Those are the people whose opinions will be least likely to change. What they want is a source of gossip, something they can spread among their friends and that will ideally cause some sort of stir when they announce it. Approving of us—liking us—is simply not something that benefits them.”