She Kissed Him In Front Of Everyone To Save Him — Not Knowing That She Had Just Saved The Richest Duke
Chapter 10
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Alistair looked up from his wine glass. "Is the food not to your liking?""The food is excellent," Lydia said, her voice tight. "The geography is the problem. I feel as though I need a shouting trumpet to speak to my own husband."Alistair’s eyebrows rose. It was the most genuine expression she had seen from him since the ballroom.Slowly, he set his napkin down, picked up his wine glass, and stood. He walked the length of the room, the candlelight catching the hard angles of his face. He didn’t sit in the chair next to her; he leaned against the edge of the table, crossing his ankles, looking down at her. He was too large, too close. The scent of cedarwood and clean linen enveloped her."Better?" he asked.Lydia looked up at him. "Why did you really agree to this? Don’t tell me it was just to avoid debutantes."Alistair stared into his wine. The silence stretched. When he spoke, the gravel in his voice was thicker."Because I saw your face when you dragged me out of that alcove. You were terrified. Your hands were shaking. You knew exactly what it would cost you. And you did it anyway." He looked down at her, his gray eyes piercing the gloom. "No one has ever fought for me, Lydia. They fight for my title. They fight for my money. But no one has ever looked at me, thought I was a helpless fool, and thrown themselves on the sword in my place."Lydia’s breath hitched. Beneath the tailored clothes and the ruthless reputation, she saw a flicker of profound, isolating loneliness."You aren’t a helpless fool," she whispered."No," Alistair agreed, reaching out slowly. His knuckles brushed lightly against her cheek, sending a jolt of raw electricity down her spine. "But I am glad you thought I was."The Wellington ball was the undisputed peak of the London season. To be absent was a social misstep; to attend under a cloud of scandal was a death sentence.Lydia stood before the towering mirror in her chambers. She did not recognize the woman staring back. The faded spinster was gone; in her place stood a weapon forged of midnight blue velvet and diamonds. The gown was cut dangerously low, exposing the pale curve of her shoulders, while the Westmorland diamonds rested heavy against her collarbone—a collar of ice that caught the candlelight and threw it back like daggers."You look formidable, Your Grace," Mrs. Gable said quietly, adjusting the train."I feel like a target," Lydia muttered.A knock sounded at the door. Alistair entered.He stopped dead. He was in formal evening wear—stark black and blinding white, a diamond pin gleaming in his cravat. He looked lethal. But as his eyes swept over Lydia, the predatory stillness shattered. His jaw tightened, a muscle feathering near his ear.He walked slowly across the room. He didn’t speak. He reached out, his warm, bare hand wrapping around her bare shoulder. His thumb brushed the base of her throat, right above the heavy diamond necklace. Her pulse leaped wildly against his skin.