Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

" D ance with me," Philip said to Aurelia, offering her his hand.

Aurelia had hoped to avoid him for the remainder of the evening, but Fate, it seemed, had other plans.

She had been standing near the edge of the ballroom, a glass of punch in her hand, pretending to be engrossed in the conversation of two ladies standing nearby.

But she was all too aware of Philip's presence as he made his way toward her. Her heart rate quickened, though she told herself it was from annoyance, nothing more.

Her fingers tightened around the delicate stem of her glass, her chest constricting with the tension that had simmered between them all evening.

"Must we?" she asked, her voice low.

Philip's eyes glinted with frustration. "I insist. The Duchess cannot very well sit out the evening without at least one dance with her husband."

Of course not .

The perfect image of a happy couple must be maintained at all costs. She had no choice. Not in this.

With a stiff nod she set down her glass and placed her hand in his. His grip was firm and as he led her to the dance floor she felt the familiar jolt of electricity from his touch.

She tried to ignore the warmth that crept up her arm, tried to steel herself against the pull of his presence. Philip's breath did not stink of alcohol, yet there was something about his narrowed gaze that made her think he had been drinking; something unsteady and volatile simmering beneath the surface.

Ignore him . At least until the dance is over.

When they reached the center of the dance floor, Philip pulled her closer than was proper. He wrapped his arm securely around her waist, his other hand clasping hers with a confidence that only made her feel more unsteady.

"Let me know when you start to feel pain in your ankle," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in her ear. "And we shall retreat."

Aurelia gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to snap at him. How dare he? One moment he was cold and distant, the next he behaved as though he cared about her well-being.

It was maddening. She wanted to shout, to tell him to stop confusing her, to pick a side; either be indifferent or be kind. The constant back and forth was unbearable.

"You do not need to concern yourself with that," she said tightly. "I am quite capable of dancing through the entire number."

Philip's grip on her tightened slightly, though his expression remained calm. "I care about my Duchess. What would I do if she suddenly collapsed in front of all these people?"

Aurelia's eyes flashed with anger. "You do not care about me," she hissed. "Not truly. Stop pretending that you do."

"I care about you as my wife, as the Duchess of Oakdale," he replied evenly. "That is more than enough."

Her chest tightened at his words.

Wife, in name only .

It stung more than she cared to admit.

She had started this game, hadn't she? Trying to seduce him to uncover the truth about her father and his brother. Yet, somewhere along the way, the lines had blurred. She had begun to develop feelings for him against her better judgment, and worse still, he knew it. He had seen the weakness in her, and now he wielded it like a weapon.

The music swelled around them as they moved in perfect harmony, but the tension between them grew heavier with each passing second. Her skin tingled under his touch, and despite her best efforts, his warm, masculine scent filled her senses, clouding her mind with thoughts she had no business entertaining.

She hated him. She wanted him. It was infuriating.

"Stop staring at me like that," she warned as they danced.

Philip smirked. "I cannot help myself. You are right in front of me," he told her.

"I am certain you can look elsewhere," she huffed.

She detested that he found it comical when she was frustrated.

"And if I say I do not want to?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Then I shall stop dancing." The moment the words slipped past her lips, his grip on her tightened.

"What do you want with me?" she asked as he spun her around, ending their dance with a dip.

The corners of his lips perked up. "Do you really want to know what I want with you?" he asked.

She didn't respond, but he continued anyway.

"I want to do unspeakable things to you," he whispered, his voice sending a shiver down her spine.

Her breath hitched and she felt her pulse quicken.

Was he out of his mind? They were out in public. How could he say such a thing?

"I…" She began, but her words trailed off as his fingers pressed into the small of her back, bringing their bodies closer.

"I want to take you upstairs," he continued in his low, seductive tone, his lips barely grazing her ear. "Right now. And peel this dress off your body with my teeth."

Aurelia's knees nearly buckled at his words, her mind hazy with desire. She was lost in the moment, consumed by the heat of his body, the intoxicating scent of him, and the deep, husky timbre of his voice.

She wanted to surrender, to let him sweep her away and forget, if only for a little while, the bitterness between them.

But just as quickly as the moment had come, it ended. The music stopped, the final note echoing through the ballroom, and reality came crashing back. She blinked as if waking up from a dream, and in a sudden burst of clarity, she pulled away from him.

"I…I need some air," she stammered, stepping back from him, her chest rising and falling with the effort to steady her breathing.

Philip's eyes darkened with something akin to frustration, but he didn't stop her. "As you wish, Duchess."

Philip stood at the edge of the ballroom, his fingers tight around his glass of brandy, the amber liquid swirling with every move of his hand.

His jaw clenched as he replayed the moment on the dance floor. How had he allowed his control to slip like that? He had sworn to himself that he would remain detached, that Aurelia would never know the hold she had over him.

Yet, the moment her body was pressed against his, all those careful walls he had built around himself crumbled.

He had wanted her, and worse still, he had said it. In public.

His eyes followed Aurelia as she moved about the room greeting guests, her expression serene despite the tension that lingered between them. She was graceful and poised, everything a duchess ought to be.

But Philip knew the fire that lay beneath that exterior, the way her eyes could blaze when she was angry, the warmth of her skin when she was near him. She infuriated him and yet he could not deny the magnetic pull that kept him tethered to her.

"Your Grace," a simpering voice interrupted his thoughts.

Philip glanced to his right and immediately recognized the faces of Lord and Lady Compton, a particularly meddlesome pair. He offered them a curt nod, his patience already wearing thin.

"We were just saying what a lovely evening it has been," Lady Compton said in a sickly-sweet voice.

Her husband, Lord Compton, nodded along, his gaze moving between Philip and Aurelia. "Quite the gathering, though I must say, it is difficult to imagine such joy after the…tragic passing of your brother."

Philip's grip on his glass tightened and he resisted the urge to lash out. The Ton still spoke of Gabriel's death as a tragedy; an unfortunate accident that had taken his brother too soon, but Philip knew the truth. Gabriel had not died by accident. His death had been planned.

"He was such a lively man," Lady Compton continued, her eyes wide with exaggerated sympathy. "I do hope you are managing well, Your Grace. It must be difficult to bear such a loss."

Philip's breath came in short bursts, fury bubbling beneath the surface. If they only knew. If they could only comprehend what Gabriel had truly been.

"Ah, Compton!" a voice broke through the tension and Philip turned to see two of his friends, Thomas and Kenneth, striding toward them.

Thomas, with his easy grin and sharp wit, clapped Lord Compton on the back. "Not bothering His Grace with your nonsense, I hope?"

Lord Compton let out an awkward laugh and his wife's expression faltered at the sudden interruption. "Oh no, no, we were simply offering our condolences…"

"Quite right, but surely it's not the right place for it; we're at a ball, after all," Kenneth remarked, his voice smooth yet firm. He gave Lady Compton a pointed look. "Why don't you join the others at the refreshments table? The roast pheasant is said to be excellent."

With that, the Comptons made a hasty exit, leaving Philip standing with his friends. The tension slowly left his shoulders, though his anger still simmered.

"Those two have an unmatched talent for ruining a perfectly fine evening," Thomas muttered, rolling his eyes. He turned to Philip, his grin returning. "You are most welcome, by the way."

Philip exhaled, shaking his head. "Despite all your faults you have excellent timing, Thomas."

"And you adore me for that, don't you, old boy?" Thomas quipped.

Kenneth chuckled and nodded toward Philip's empty glass. "You look like you could use another drink."

"Desperately," Philip responded.

The three of them moved toward the refreshments table and Philip quickly refilled his glass while Kenneth and Thomas poured themselves glasses of wine.

As they leaned against the nearby wall, Kenneth glanced over at Aurelia, who was speaking with one of the older matrons, her smile polite and measured.

"You know," he began. "I have to say, for a man who supposedly married for revenge, you certainly look at your wife in a most…unchaste manner."

Philip shot him a warning look. "Kenneth…"

"I am merely observing," Kenneth continued, smirking. "It is difficult to believe that this marriage is purely strategic when you can barely keep your eyes off her."

Thomas chimed in, his grin widening, "Remember the good old days? The three of us, tearing through London's finest taverns, charming the ladies, and making fools of ourselves? Hard to imagine now, what with us being domesticated."

Philip scoffed. "Speak for yourselves. I am hardly domesticated."

Kenneth arched an eyebrow. "Oh no? Then what was that display on the dance floor earlier?"

Philip's gaze darkened, but he didn't respond. He hadn't forgotten the moment. The way he had pulled Aurelia closer, the way his words had tumbled from his lips before he could stop them. But it had been a mistake.

"You are both insufferable," he muttered, taking another sip of his drink.

"Come now, Philip," Thomas said, his voice softening. "You do not have to pretend with us."

Kenneth nodded in agreement. "We understand your anger, but revenge has a way of…consuming a man. Even Hamlet learned that lesson, though I suppose it was too late for him."

Thomas groaned, shaking his head. "Pretentious, Kenneth. Quoting Shakespeare at a ball? You will bore the ladies to tears."

Kenneth rolled his eyes, although his expression remained serious as he turned back to Philip. "All I am saying is, be careful. The Duchess may be your wife in name only, but do not let your anger toward her father cloud your judgment. Taking out your frustration on her will not bring you peace. It will just cost you more in the end."

Philip stared into his glass as Kenneth's words echoed in his mind. He had sworn to himself that Aurelia was nothing more than a tool. But was that true anymore? Could he still claim indifference when he felt the fire in his veins whenever she was near?

"I know what I am doing," he said finally, although the conviction in his voice was much weaker than before.

Kenneth and Thomas exchanged glances, but neither of them pressed the matter further. Instead, they raised their glasses in a silent toast.

"To old friends," Thomas said with a grin, though his eyes remained watchful.

Philip raised his glass, clinking it against theirs. But as he took another sip, his thoughts remained with Aurelia and the nagging question of whether his revenge was worth the cost he was beginning to pay.