Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

“ T his is rather dull,” Percival commented, casting an eye over the room. “I’m starting to recall why I shunned societal events as long as I did.”

And indeed, he was.

By anyone else’s standards, the ball would have been considered a success. But to him, it was dreadfully dull, and that was putting it mildly. He was starting to resent the stilted conversations and games they all played, as compared to the carefree conversations he used to have with his comrades in arms.

Thinking back to his camp, he sorely missed his brothers in arms and their easy camaraderie. Despite the cold and harsh conditions, he had always felt warm around them. They had comforted one another in times of loss and rejoiced with one another in times of happiness. He certainly hadn’t missed walking on eggshells the way he had to do with the ton.

He would give anything to escape it all, but he damn well couldn’t if he didn’t want to make an enemy of the Crown. Thankfully, he had Eli to at least converse with. The man was a welcome respite from the dreadful lot he was to pick from.

“I do not think your wife thinks so,” Eli quipped with a smirk.

“Why do you say so?” Percival asked, looking around for her.

They had barely spent a minute in each other’s presence since they had arrived, and he was starting to wonder if she had somehow forgotten that the whole point of them coming to the ball was to show the ton that they were very much in love.

Eli pointed in the direction of the dance floor, and Percival frowned, wondering why he would, considering Louisa knew better than to dance with another man.

His eyes narrowed, and his eyebrows knitted together when he noticed the way she smiled gaily while being spun in another man’s arms—and not just any man, but her previous suitor.

“She seems to be enjoying herself, isn’t she?” Eli teased, grinning wolfishly. “Isn’t that Lord Pemberton, her previous suitor?”

Pemberton. What a silly name.

It fit the man perfectly, considering how silly he was dressed. Percival knew he was being petty, but seeing how happy his wife was in the Viscount’s arms made him angry.

Yet, he didn’t want to admit the reason to himself.

“It is, isn’t it?” Eli continued, either unaware or uncaring that he was irritating him. “I wonder if perhaps there is some unfinished business between them. Perhaps?—”

“Don’t you dare,” Percival warned darkly.

Eli raised his hands in surrender, but his eyes still glowed with mirth.

Percival wondered then why he chose to maintain the relationship between them.

“I’m only trying to help lighten an otherwise tense mood.”

“There is no tense mood,” he gritted out, placing his glass down on one of the tables with more force than he had intended.

A gasp alerted him that he had shattered the glass, but he paid no attention to it even as a footman cleared away the spilled wine and checked his hand for cuts. He yanked his hand back and discarded his stained gloves, before making his way to his wife, who still hadn’t noticed the commotion she had caused.

He pushed past the couples on the makeshift dance floor, who glared at him for ruining their rhythm, but he ignored them till he was standing behind his wife and her all-too-willing partner, from the looks of things, waiting till she spun around and faced him, before he took her hands and pulled her flush against his chest.

As much as he’d have liked to deny it, he admired the way her cheeks flushed whenever he was near her. He enjoyed the sight of her pale skin turning red, from her cheeks to her neck to her very ample cleavage, which she had let another man see.

Rage buried the desire he had been feeling, pushing him into step with the dance.

“That was rude,” she scolded. But her words lacked heat, and she was unable to meet his eyes.

“Dance, or you’ll cause a scene.”

“More than you already have?” she asked, casting a glance around the room.

“Indeed,” he answered without remorse. “You seem to enjoy dancing.”

“I did,” she answered stubbornly, still not moving.

His ire flared, but he quickly pushed it down, not wanting to scare her even though he badly wanted to shake her.

How dare she enjoy dancing with another man? And not just any man, but a former beau.

“It isn’t right for us to be seen dancing publicly,” she tried again.

“Is it more wrong than you dancing with a former suitor?” he snapped.

Her cheeks reddened again, and he frowned at how the innocent act doused the flames of his anger.

“Percival.”

“I do not care what the ton thinks of it,” he told her firmly. “I want to dance with my wife, and I will do so. They can wag their tongues however they like.”

She bit her lip as if in quiet contemplation, and the action sent heat through his blood. Then, she nodded, taking her position as the musicians began playing the next song.

A waltz, he noted.

Percival had only ever danced the waltz when he wanted to play and seduce, and now he would be dancing it again with his wife. It was almost too fitting a punishment for her.

Her eyes widened as realization dawned on her.

He performed the first steps of the dance, his hand firm around her waist, and again she was flush against him. His hands pulled her into him as he led her into the movements, gliding across the floor with ease. Their closeness was scandalous in every sense but he didn’t care.

He noticed the change in her as she moved. She was graceful and channeled her inner vixen well for the steps, and he wondered just who had taught her to dance like that. Her movements were fluid as she followed his leading so submissively.

He was supposed to be seducing her, but he found himself effortlessly seduced. The feel of her slim waist beneath his hands made images of her spread out beneath him as his tongue tasted her intimately flash through his mind. He groaned as intense lust shot through him, his body taut with tension and the need for release.

The dance reached its crescendo. She gave him a sultry smile, looking up at him from beneath her thick lashes, and he frowned, pulling her harder against him. If he hadn’t danced with her, she would have smiled at Lord Pemberton the same way.

“Percival,” she gasped at the way his hands gripped her.

“I will not have you smiling at any other man like this,” he warned.

“What are you doing? This is?—”

“You are mine, Louisa,” he growled. “Mine. I will not share you with any other man. Remember that.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock, the dance effectively forgotten. But before she could speak, the dance came to an end, earning them cheers and claps from the guests.

“Perc—”

He walked away from her before she could finish, angry with himself for losing control and angry with her for causing him to.

Damn. He had lost control terribly.

He felt her eyes on him as he walked away from her, but he needed to leave as quickly as he could. If he stood next to her, breathing in her heady scent, he was sure he would have done something as stupid as kissing her so soundly that all the men would know that she was irrevocably his.

God knew that he wanted to.

He wanted to do more than kiss her. He wanted to yank up her skirt and taste her and mark her with his teeth so she would no longer forget who she belonged to.

He went back to the refreshments table and poured himself some punch, even though he wanted something stronger to quell the lust roaring in his blood.

Damn. His wife was wrecking his carefully constructed self-control, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Who would have thought that you would still move so well after being away for as long as you have,” a familiar voice said next to him.

He looked up to see an old schoolmate.

Victor Bradbury, the Duke of Heathonton, smiled as he walked up to him. He had his usual cronies around him, and frankly, Percival was in no mood for subtly barbed conversation.

“He had always been the best at dancing, don’t you remember, Victor?” Meryn Heathers, the Baron Winten, commented.

“I do remember.” Victor laughed. “It was how he nearly stole all the ladies from us.”

They laughed, drawing more attention to them.

The smell of varying colognes and hair products permeated the air, and all at once, Percival found it hard to breathe.

“You have found a perfect match in your wife,” David Stanton, the Viscount Keaton, piped up. “She moves just as well as you do.”

“I might invite you to tea at my manor the day after tomorrow,” Lord Winten added.

“I wanted to invite them to the opera house tomorrow,” Heathonton rebuffed. “You know I have the best seats.”

“You are so snobbish.” Lord Keaton laughed.

They were all having a jolly good time, unaware that Percival was struggling to draw breath. He wished Eli was with him to at least divert their attention elsewhere, but alas, the man was probably off mingling somewhere.

Just as the edges of his vision began to blur, he smelled the familiar scent of roses that dragged him back from the abyss.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Louisa greeted.

“Good evening, Duchess,” Heathonton, ever the rake, greeted with a wolfish smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you. We were just talking about you. It’s a shame we had not been introduced before, or I would have married you.”

Louisa, ever graceful, dipped her head with a polite smile. “Indeed?” she asked. “I guess I’ll keep you as an option if my husband misbehaves.”

The men laughed, and Heathonton gave Percival an approving look.

Percival looked at his wife in a new light, wondering when she had become so confident.

“I’ll keep that as an option.” Heathonton grinned, winking at her.

She smiled back and nodded. “Would you mind if I borrowed my husband, gentlemen?”

“Not at all, Duchess.”

She took Percival’s arm and smiled at the men again before pulling him away to another end of the room.

“I’ve already bid my family and the hosts goodnight if you want to leave now,” she whispered.

He gave her a grateful look and a nod.

She smiled up at him, and they made for the door.

Percival waved to Eli when he caught his eye from across the room but hurried his steps, needing to be far away from the crowd as quickly as possible.

The carriage ride was silent, but he could see her contemplating whether or not to break it. Suddenly, the carriage ran over a pothole, propelling her out of her seat. But he grabbed her shoulders, steadying her, and her hands landed on his knees. They froze as they realized the position they were in and then jumped apart.

The carriage bounced again, throwing her off her seat. But this time, she didn’t fall to the floor. Percival rapped on the roof of the carriage, and the vehicle rolled to a stop.

“Yes, Your Grace?” Wiggings, the driver, called.

“Wait.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Wiggings answered without needing further explanations.

“What are you doing?” Louisa asked, startled.

“Come sit beside me,” Percival gritted out, tired of watching her struggle.

“What?” she blurted out, her eyes wide.

“Sit beside me,” he reiterated. “There’s enough space, and I’m tired of seeing you fly out of your seat.”

“There’s no need…”

“Please, don’t argue.”

She looked like she wanted to, but then she sighed and moved to sit beside him, her eyes not meeting his as she put as much space between them as she could. He rolled his eyes and rapped on the roof once again, and soon they took off.

The silence he usually found comforting irritated him, and he found himself getting angry that she wouldn’t even attempt to make conversation. Not that he could fault her for her silence. She had made every effort to give them a semblance of a happy marriage while he spat on her attempts at every turn.

When the carriage finally slowed to a stop, he climbed out first and then held out a hand to help her down, surprising her. She took it but said nothing even as they stepped into their home.

She turned to leave, but he stopped her with a hand. Her eyes were wide and questioning as they looked up at him.

“I should thank you for helping us leave early,” he began, averting his gaze. “I needed to leave and… thank you.”

She nodded and then turned to leave, and all at once he was upset. If she didn’t want to speak to him, why did she help him then?

He grabbed her hand more forcefully than he had expected, and she yelped, turning to him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Why don’t you want to speak to me?” he asked angrily.

“You’re hurting me,” she complained.

He looked down at his hand wrapped around her arm and released her, dropping it to his side. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“What exactly is it that you want from me, Percival?” she spat. “You don’t want to make me happy, yet you get angry when others do. You pull me closer and then push me away, claiming it was a mistake. What do you want from me?”

“What do you mean by I don’t want to make you happy? I married you,” he argued. “I saved you from a marriage you didn’t want.”

“ I’m starting to think this was a mistake,” she murmured.

He stepped closer to her, hating the way she stumbled back. “Surely you don’t mean that.”

“Please let me be, Percival,” she begged. “I understood when you said what happened between us was a mistake. I accepted the hand fate has dealt me, but you don’t get to claim me as yours when you haven’t made me yours. You haven’t even decided if you want me to be yours. Isn’t my grief justified?”

“Louisa, you misunderstand my intentions,” he insisted. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” she asked.

“From myself.”

“Why?” she asked, exasperated. “I never asked you to.”

“You didn’t need to. You don’t understand.”

She stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his cheek. Her sweet rose scent wrapped around him like a cocoon.

“Then make me.”

He groaned, grabbing her face in his hands and kissing her like he had wanted to since he had seen her descending the stairs in that dress.

She moaned into his mouth, and he knew right then that there was no way he was going to stop himself. He had punished himself for long enough by denying himself the pleasures her body offered.

“Take me to your chambers, wife.”