A Night with the Bride(20)

“Yes, but we aren’t married yet, and who knows when we’ll see each other again? Please say you’ll come.” She looked up at him, her eyes full of trust and acceptance. “For me.”

“You only want to prove you’ve won your dare.”

Her eyes widened. “You knew about that?”

He smiled. “You and your friends are anything but quiet, love.”

She bit her bottom lip and shrugged. “Well, would it be so bad if everyone were to see us kiss? You’re going to marry me, after all. All the ton can talk about is how mad you are. We might as well give them something new to talk about.”

Attending the ball would be nothing short of torture, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny her request. Truth was, she made him feel whole, grounded, and he wanted the world to know she was his. A scandal would mean a hasty wedding, which fit into his plan nicely.

Reverently, he brushed his thumb across her plump lower lip. With her, he felt as if he could conquer anything. “Well, then, how can I refuse?”

She beamed up at him and the world, everything but her, melted away. “Thank you.” On tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “You won’t regret it.”

He smiled tightly. God, he hoped she was right.

* * *



“Well,” Mary said from beside her, looking out over the crowded ballroom. “How are things progressing with your duke? Has he kissed you yet?”

Heaven, if only Mary knew. A kiss had been only the beginning. But to reveal that now, even to a friend, seemed like a betrayal to everything she and Nicholas had shared. Instead, she shrugged and took a sip of her punch. “Perhaps.”

Mary’s eyes widened as she took in Gabriella’s meaning. “He isn’t mad, then?”

He was mad, certainly, but she would never risk his reputation by admitting it—even to Mary, who was as trustworthy as they came. “He is perfectly sane, I assure you.”

She smoothed her gloved hands down the silk skirt of her emerald-green gown and glanced around the room anxiously. He said he’d come, and she believed him, but there was a hidden part of her that wondered if he’d just said that to please her.

Then she saw him.

He stood across the ballroom, his back turned to her with James at his side. Even from behind, he cut an impressive figure. Tall with sandy-colored hair, the cut of his black tailcoat fit his muscular frame to perfection.

And he was hers.

“Pardon me, Mary.” She didn’t wait for her friend’s reply as she made her way across the ballroom with a single-minded focus. She stopped directly behind him. “Your Grace,” she said, breathless.

He turned to her and smiled. He was resplendent in his black coat and breeches and she was momentarily rendered speechless.

But his smile quickly faded as his gaze swept down the length of her, taking in her gown. Her heart stopped. Didn’t he like it?

“Green. Christ, Gabriella.” With a look of fury, he immediately began brushing his hands down his forearms, one, then the other, then again, and again, until his movements grew clipped and angry. He turned away from her, as he continued to brush his hands down his forearms, as though he were attempting to wash something away.

On instinct, she reached out to him and touched his shoulder. “Your Grace?”

He wasn’t listening. He was far too engrossed in counting, brushing off his arms, warding off the vile thoughts he’d described to her earlier.

Her heart ached for him and she smoothed her hand down his arm to try and calm him. It made little difference.

Gradually, all eyes shifted to him. But he was beyond rational thought, beyond any help she could provide.

Out of nowhere, his sister and valet, appeared at the duke’s side. Gabriella stepped back to give them space, the feeling of helplessness nestled in her breast. The valet murmured something to Nicholas and attempted to lead him away. Then, Nicholas lost control. With a low growl, he shoved his valet away from him, causing the man to careen backward into a clutch of guests.

“Stay away from me!” he snapped, moving toward the door.

Gabriella followed him down the corridor, down the stairs, and into the library. Once inside, he snatched up the porcelain tea service and smashed it against the bookcase. Shards of porcelain flew in every direction.

“Nicholas, please stop.”

He whipped around at the sound of her voice, his eyes slightly wild, the breath sawing from his lungs. “My mother wore a green morning dress the day she was taken.” He paced, back and forth in long, clipped strides, clearly attempting to keep his gaze turned away from her. “I was with her when they came, when they grabbed her forcibly and dragged her away. I couldn’t stop them,” he said, his voice tight. “I couldn’t help her.”