A gasp caught her attention, followed by a rush of whispers that filled the sudden silence that fell over the room. People stopped talking to turn and stare. People stopped dancing. Even the orchestra stopped playing.
Curious, Rose turned to see what everyone was staring at with such blatant shock.
Oh, dear God. Her eyes had to be deceiving her! But no, she knew who it was she saw standing just inside the ballroom doors, looking as though he owned the place, meeting every gaze with calm, ducal arrogance.
It was Grey.
And everyone else knew it was him as well, because unlike every other person in that ballroom, the Duke of Ryeton did not wear a mask.
Have you ever thought about going into politics, Mr. Maxwell?” she asked archly as she snapped open her fan. She cooled herself in a manner that had no secret meaning that she knew of. Whoever invented the “language” of the fan should have been slapped. What if a lady simply wanted to cool herself and not send a message? “I fancy you’d be quite good at it.”
Kellan only smiled, taking no offense. Obviously he was too pleased with himself to regret the remark.
You will always have a friend in me,” he assured her. “And in Lady Devane as well, I believe. She sang your praises very highly earlier.”
“It’s the money,” Rose replied quickly. “It’s obviously impaired her judgment.
Hundreds of eyes watched him like vultures circling a wounded dog, but they didn’t matter. Only one pair of eyes mattered to Grey at that moment.
It only made sense that he should be the only one in the room not wearing a mask. He had hidden himself for so long, that it felt somehow cleansing to put himself on such blatant display. He deserved this blatant attention. And on some level, he needed it.
Head high, he walked through the ballroom, the crowd parting for him. They didn’t draw back so much that he couldn’t hear their whispers.
“The nerve!”
“Did you see the scar?”
“Always did know how to make an entrance.”
“He’s so handsome!”
Grey stopped listening. It didn’t matter what they said. All that mattered was finding Rose, and somehow he knew that she would be waiting at the end, letting him make this walk alone as he needed to do.
Why did you come here tonight?” she asked. “Other than the fact that you’ve finally come to your senses and realize you love me.”
Chuckling, Grey reached up and untied the ribbons that held her mask. The pretty silk fell away to reveal the beautiful face beneath. “I missed you,” he replied honestly. “And you were right-about everything. I’m tired of drifting through life. I want to live again-with you.”
A lone tear trickled down her cheek. “I think that might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He grinned. “I have more.”
She pressed her fingers to his lips. “I’m tired of talking.” She kissed him, teasing his lips with the ripe curves of hers, sliding her tongue inside to rub against his in a sensual rhythm that had him fisting his hands in her skirts.
By the time they reached Mayfair, Grey’s hair was mussed, Rose’s skirts crushed, and he was harder than an oratory competition for mutes.
“I can’t believe you came,” she told him as the entered the house, arms wrapped around each other. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I wouldn’t have done it without you.”
She shook her head. “You did it for yourself not for me.”
Perhaps that was true, and perhaps it wasn’t. He had no interest in discussing it tonight. “It’s just the beginning,” he promised. “I’m going to go wherever you want to go from now on. Within reason.”
She laughed. “Of course. We can’t have you attending a musicale just to please me, can we?” She gazed up at him. “You know, I think I’m going to want to spend plenty of evenings at home as well. That time I spent out of society had some very soothing moments.”
“Of course,” he agreed, thinking about all the things they could do to one another at home. Alone. “There has to be moderation.”
Upstairs in their bedroom, he undressed her, unbuttoning each tiny button one by one until she sighed in exasperation. “In a hurry?” he teased.
His wife got her revenge, when clad only in her chemise and stockings, she turned those nimble fingers of hers to his cravat, working the knot so slowly he thought he might go mad. She worsened the torment by slowly rubbing her hips against his thigh. His cock was so rigid he could hang clothes on it, and the need to bury himself inside her consumed him.
Still, a skilled lover knows when to have patience-and a man in love knows that his woman’s pleasure comes far, far before his own. So, as ready as he was, Grey was in no hurry to let this night end, not when it might prove to be the best of his new-found life.
Wearing only his trousers, he took Rose’s hand and led her to their bed. He climbed onto the mattress and pulled her down beside him, lying so that they were face-to-face.
Warm fingers came up to gently touch the scar that ran down his face. Odd, but he hadn’t thought of it at all that evening. In fact, he’d almost forgot about it.
“I heard you that night,” he admitted. “When you told me you loved me.”
Her head tilted. “I thought you were asleep.”
“No.” He held her gaze as he raised his own hand to brush the softness of her cheek. “I should have said it then, but I love you too, Rose. So much.”
Her smile was smug. “I know.” She kissed him again. “Make love to me.”
His entire body pulsed. “I intend to, but there’s one thing I have to do first.”
Rose frowned. “What’s that?”
Grey pulled the brand-new copy of Voluptuous from beneath the pillow where he’d hidden it before going to the ball. “There’s a story in here that I want to read to you.
And then the world stopped and there was nothing but Rose as she slipped from the crowd to stand before him. Grey forgot about Lady Devane. He forgot about everyone but her.
She wore a mask, but even if he hadn’t recognized the hair and the dress he would have known it was her. He knew her scent, the shape of her mouth. He recognized her by the way his heart rejoiced at her nearness.
She stared at him, her mask doing nothing to conceal her wonder. “Why are you here?”
Grey smiled down at her. Did she notice that he’d pinned the rosette from the gown she’d worn their first night together to his lapel? “Because I hold you above my horse, my fortune, and my pride.”
Her brow puckered. “I beg your pardon?”
“Those were the traits you said you required in a husband, were they not?”
Her face relaxed, and he thought he saw a glimmer of understanding in her dark eyes. “Yes. I believe they were. You came here just to tell me that?”
He laughed. Her face was so bright below the edge of her mask, her eyes damp and warm. It broke is heart-and buoyed it as well-to know he was responsible for all of that. “No. I came here to dance with my wife. And to do this.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her in front of the entire ballroom. He didn’t care about the gasps or that everyone could see. He didn’t care what they said or whether or not his behavior was proper.
He was a duke, damn it. A scandalous one at that.
When he lifted his head, Rose’s eyes fluttered open. Her breath came in short, gentle heaves. “I’m very glad you decided that could not wait until I get home.”
Grey offered his arm. “Shall we?”
“There’s no music.” But she took his arm anyway.
The orchestra had stopped playing shortly after he walked in. Grey turned his gaze in their direction, nodded at the leader and once again the room was filled with music.
Oh, ho!” his brother cried, clasping him close in a fierce embrace. “Did you think you’d escape without saying hello?” Then, for Grey’s ears alone, “I’m so frigging proud of you I could just piss.”
“Please don’t.” Grey gently pushed him away, meeting the other man’s bright gaze with a lump in his throat. “But thank you.”
His mother hugged him as well, so overcome that she began to weep. Grey didn’t know what to do with her, but Archer gave her a handkerchief and Rose discreetly took her aside so she could compose herself.
That left Grey with Bronte, who looked as though she was on the verge of tears as well, her blue eyes watery behind her mask.
“You,” he said firmly. “Let you and I get one thing straight right now. I don’t care if you’ve already asked Archer. I don’t care what your groom’s family wants, or who you think you’re trying to protect. I will give you away, or there will be no wedding. Is that understood?”
The cupid’s bow of his sister’s mouth trembled and for a moment he thought he had been wrong about her and now she hated him, but then she threw herself into his arms, laughing.
“I love you,” she whispered against his ear before kissing his cheek.
She was gone before Grey could even hug her back, which was probably just as well given the burning in his eyes.
“We’ll be all over the scandal rags tomorrow,” Archer crowed with a bit too much enthusiasm.
“No doubt,” Grey agreed. “I’m afraid I have provided enough entertainment for one evening. Dinner tomorrow?”
His family accept the invitation with quiet aplomb and a great deal of unspoken pride, but it was obvious all the same.
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