Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

" K enneth, I believe it's time for the first dance." Lady Bernmere nudged her nephew with her elbow, a mischievous glint in her eyes as the music began.

The Dowager Duchess of Newden chimed in, her voice dripping with playful suggestion, "Indeed, Kenneth. You wouldn't want to disappoint your lovely wife, would you?"

Kenneth shot his aunt a look of mild exasperation before turning to Beatrice, offering her his hand with a slight bow. "May I have this dance?"

Beatrice smiled and placed her hand in his. "I would be delighted, husband."

As they moved to the center of the ballroom, Lady Bernmere couldn't resist one more comment. "Remember, dear nephew, a well-executed waltz can be quite… captivating."

The Dowager Duchess added with a wink, "And it's said that a man who dances well is equally adept in other… endeavors."

Beatrice felt her cheeks flush at the insinuation, but she couldn't help but laugh softly.

Kenneth, however, scowled slightly and shook his head. "Thank you for your sage advice, Aunt Marjorie," he said with heavy sarcasm "I'll do my best."

The crowd parted to give them space, and the music swelled. As the waltz began, Kenneth's hand rested firmly on her waist, his touch sending a ripple of warmth through her.

The soft strains of the violins and the gentle hum of the cellos filled the air, creating an intoxicating melody that seemed to bind them together.

Kenneth's breath was warm against her ear as he whispered, "You look ravishing tonight, Duchess. It's a shame I cannot pin you against the wall and make you mine again."

Beatrice shivered, feeling a delicious heat spread from her ears down to her neck. The scent of his cologne, warm, earthy, and something uniquely him, enveloped her, making her head spin. She could feel the firmness of his body through his clothes, his every movement controlled and precise yet brimming with barely contained desire.

"You're making it very hard to concentrate, Duke," she whispered back, her voice trembling slightly.

Kenneth's lips brushed against the shell of her ear. "Good. I want you to think about nothing else but me."

As they moved gracefully across the dance floor, Beatrice was acutely aware of every point of contact between them. His hand on her waist, the slight pressure of his fingers, the brush of his leg against hers—it all heightened her awareness, making her pulse quicken and her skin tingle.

"Do you know how much I want you right now?" Kenneth murmured, his voice low and husky. "I can't stop thinking about last night."

Beatrice's cheeks flushed. The memory of their night together flashed through her mind, and she bit her lip to suppress a moan. Her body responded instinctively, leaning closer to him, her fingers curling around his shoulder.

The sweet scent of roses from the nearby floral arrangements mingled with the heady scent of his cologne, creating an intoxicating blend that tickled her senses. The world outside their intimate bubble seemed to blur, the colors and sounds fading into the background as she focused solely on him.

"You're driving me insane," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the music.

Kenneth's grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent promise of what was to come. "Good. I want you to be as mad with desire as I am."

The dance seemed to stretch on forever, each second charged with electric tension. Beatrice felt like her skin was on fire, every nerve ending alight with anticipation. She longed for the dance to end yet simultaneously wished it could go on forever, just to stay in this sensual, all-consuming moment with Kenneth.

When the final notes of the waltz died down, Kenneth reluctantly released her, his eyes dark with unspoken promises. They made their way back to their friends, but the spell was not entirely broken. Beatrice's skin still tingled from his touch, her body thrumming with unfulfilled desire.

Catherine and Thomas greeted them with warm smiles, but Beatrice could hardly focus on their words.

The Dowager Duchess's voice broke through the haze. "You two were wonderful."

Beatrice managed a smile, her heart still racing. "Thank you, Duchess. It was a lovely dance."

Kenneth's hand remained on the small of her back.

As they stood with their friends, Beatrice couldn't help but feel a sense of longing, wishing they could escape the prying eyes and finish what they had started on the dance floor.

She smiled at Kenneth as she excused herself, taking Catherine's arm. "We'll be back shortly," she said, nodding to Thomas as well.

The two women walked towards the refreshments table, their steps light and quick.

Catherine squeezed Beatrice's arm affectionately. "It seems you and Kenneth are getting along rather well," she observed, her voice tinged with curiosity.

Beatrice glanced back at Kenneth, who was deep in conversation with Thomas and Lady Featherwell. A pang of jealousy surged through her as she saw Lady Featherwell lean closer, her flirtatious laughter carrying across the room.

"We are managing," she replied carefully. "Our marriage is mostly practical, just as our relations are."

Catherine stopped, looking at her friend with wide eyes. "Practical? What do you mean?"

Beatrice sighed, lowering her voice as they reached the lemonade stand. "We have a… somewhat particular agreement. We satisfy each other's needs, but there are no expectations beyond that."

Catherine looked genuinely surprised. "That doesn't sound like the Beatrice I've known all my life. You always dreamed of a love match."

Beatrice poured them both lemonade, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. "I've changed, Catherine. I've had to grow up. Life isn't always what we dream it to be."

Catherine placed a gentle hand on Beatrice's arm. "I didn't mean to insult you. I was just noting the change. Kenneth seems different now too, compared to what he was like when we first met him."

Beatrice nodded, feeling a pang of guilt about keeping her secret from her friend. "A lot can happen within a year," she agreed, taking a sip of her lemonade.

Catherine tilted her head slightly, concern evident in her eyes. "I understand that you're different now, but are you really satisfied with your arrangement with Kenneth?"

Beatrice thought back to the girl she once was, full of dreams about falling in love with a handsome duke.

Her eyes fell on Kenneth, who was still talking to Thomas and Lady Featherwell. She watched as Lady Featherwell laughed, her head tilted back, fanning herself dramatically in Kenneth's direction. The woman's hand rested lightly on Kenneth's arm, her touch lingering longer than necessary.

She recalled the cruel words Lady Featherwell had said after the news of their engagement, warning her that Kenneth would soon tire of her and seek a mistress. The memory of those harsh words stung anew, amplifying her discomfort.

Beatrice clenched her fan tightly, the delicate ribs biting into her palm. Lady Featherwell's flirtatious behavior was unmistakable, her every move designed to capture Kenneth's attention.

"Yes, I am fine with it," Beatrice replied firmly, even as uncertainty gnawed at her.

At that moment, Viscount Eastfold approached them, his face lighting up with a smile. "Your Graces, what a pleasure to see you both."

Catherine returned his smile before the Dowager Duchess came over to whisk her away. "Catherine, dear, I must introduce you to some of Thomas's extended family."

"Of course, grandmamma. If you'll excuse me, Bea. I'll be back," Catherine said and gave Beatrice's hand a squeeze before following the Dowager Duchess.

Beatrice was now alone with Lord Eastfold.

The Lord turned to Beatrice, his eyes twinkling. "You look enchanting tonight, Your Grace. May I have the honor of the next dance?"

Beatrice glanced towards Kenneth, who was still deep in conversation with Lady Featherwell.

A surge of defiance spurred her decision.

"I would be delighted, Lord Eastfold."

As they moved to the dance floor, Lord Eastfold took her hand, leading her into the waltz. His grip was firm but gentle, and he guided her expertly through the steps.

"You seem to be enjoying the ball," he remarked, his gaze warm and appreciative.

Beatrice nodded, her eyes briefly meeting Kenneth's across the room before she quickly looked away. "It's a lovely event," she replied, focusing on the rhythm of the dance, pretending not to notice his gaze burning into her.

"Indeed, it is," Eastfold agreed, his eyes twinkling with warmth. "And might I say, Your Grace, you look particularly stunning this evening. That gown suits you beautifully."

Beatrice felt a blush rise to her cheeks at the compliment. "Thank you, My Lord. You're too kind."

Eastfold chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Not at all, Your Grace. I'm merely stating the truth. I'm sure I'm not the only one who has noticed your radiance tonight."

Beatrice smiled politely, unsure how to respond to such flattery.

Her mind flashed back to Kenneth's flare of jealousy the last time Lord Eastfold had flirted with her, a reminder of the tension it had caused.

She glanced around the room, searching for a safer topic of conversation. Her eyes landed on a large painting hanging on the far wall, depicting a serene landscape.

"I must say, Lord Eastfold, the artwork in this ballroom is quite impressive. Have you had a chance to admire it?" she asked, hoping to steer the conversation in a more neutral direction.

Eastfold followed her gaze, his expression brightening with interest. "Ah, yes. It is a fine collection. I particularly admire the use of light in that landscape. It's quite masterful."

Beatrice nodded. "I couldn't agree more. The artist has captured the essence of the scene beautifully."

"You have a remarkable understanding of art, Your Grace," Eastfold commented, his admiration evident.

"Thank you, My Lord. Art has always been a passion of mine," Beatrice replied, her smile genuine.

"As it should be," Eastfold said warmly. "There's something truly magnificent about a piece that captures the essence of its subject."

Beatrice's smile widened, but then the conversation took a more practical turn.

"However, not all pieces of art hold the same value. The true worth lies in their potential as an investment. The right piece can bring in a substantial profit if sold to the right buyer."

Beatrice's smile faltered. "You see art primarily as a commodity, then?" she asked, trying to mask her disappointment.

Eastfold nodded, oblivious to her dismay. "Indeed. It's all about knowing the market and seizing opportunities. A well-timed sale can make all the difference."

Beatrice's eyes narrowed slightly though her tone remained polite. "But isn't the true value of art found in its ability to evoke emotion and inspire? To capture the beauty of a moment and connect with the soul of the viewer?"

Eastfold chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "You have a romantic view, Your Grace, but the world is moved by money more than beauty. Art that doesn't sell is simply a pretty picture collecting dust. The greatest masterpieces are those that fetch the highest price."

Beatrice's eyes narrowed slightly. "Is that why you're so eager to discover more about Westback? Because you see potential profit in his work?"

Eastfold nodded without hesitation. "Yes, precisely. Westback's growing reputation makes his pieces a valuable investment. Uncovering his identity could be quite advantageous."

Beatrice felt a wave of disillusionment wash over her. She had always viewed art as a form of expression, a way to capture and convey the essence of the human experience. Hearing Eastfold reduce it to mere financial transactions was disheartening.

Despite her disillusionment, she kept her thoughts to herself. She didn't want to let Kenneth see how much Eastfold's words had affected her. Instead, she used this moment to get back at Kenneth, who was still watching them intently.

"I see," she replied lightly. "It's an interesting perspective."

As the dance came to an end, Eastfold led her back to the edge of the dance floor. "I hope we can share another dance later, Your Grace," he suggested, his hand lingering on hers.

Beatrice curtsied politely, her smile barely reaching her eyes.

"Perhaps, My Lord," she said before turning and walking away.

She took a moment to catch her breath, her mind racing.

Kenneth might be more comfortable with Lady Featherwell, but he had to have noticed her exchange with Eastfold.

Yet, the evening had left her feeling more disenchanted than ever.

Was this truly the society she was now part of? A world filled with rakes, gossip, and opportunists?

Nevertheless, it all made sense to her. This was the society that had shunned her because of her brother's actions. Now, she had to put up with their hypocrisy.

Still, despite her conversation with Lord Eastfold and the nauseating feeling it had provoked, her mind couldn't help but wander back to her husband.

And how livid she had felt seeing him close to Lady Featherwell.