Page 50 of A Duchess Untouched

Even though he had not told his younger brother why he was so eager to attend the ball being thrown by the Earl and Countess of Essex, he knew that Oliver had a strong instinct for his moods and feelings. Oliver could probably tell that there was something more important than the ball itself.

“Of course, I know where I am,” Matthew grumbled, wondering if his plan to find Mary Wills at the ball made sense after all.

“Do you?” Oliver asked, lifting an eyebrow. He raised his glass toward one side of the dance floor. Matthew’s eyes could not help but follow the movement. “I am asking because it seems everyone here is looking at your wife, while your eyes keep darting elsewhere.”

“What? What are you…”

When what his brother was trying to show him finally came into view, his jaw dropped. The world around him seemed to have stopped. He could no longer hear the orchestra or the murmurs around him. They had faded into the far background. He no longer knew where he was.

While his eyes had been scanning the room for Mary Wills, Selina had chosen to grace the dance floor. Of course, he knew she was beautiful. He knew she had chosen a midnight-blue gown that accentuated her collarbones and the curve of her waist. He had seen her hair swept up in elegant curls. Yet now she looked not merely beautiful, but devastating—and she was dancing in the arms of young Lord St. Vincent.

Suddenly, Matthew’s temple began to throb violently as he watched St. Vincent rest a hand against the small of his wife’s back, guiding her through the waltz. Selina, meanwhile, laughed, her head thrown back. She wore a dazzling smile he had never seen when she addressed him. Her dance partner even leaned close to whisper in her ear, and rather than taking offense, she laughed again, her eyes dancing flirtatiously.

Matthew had thought he knew fury, but now he realized he was wrong. His chest tightened. He could not breathe, and when he finally did, it felt as though his lungs were on fire.

Throughout the dance, Matthew’s eyes followed the pair. Most of the ton seemed riveted to the two. There were murmurs, perhaps even growing gossip, about how lovely the two looked together, while he, the husband, was right there, trying not to tear the place apart.

Then the dance came to an end. Couples bowed to mark the close of each partnership, while some remained in the middle as the orchestra began another piece. St. Vincent kept hold of Selina’s hand. He bowed and offered her his arm again. She did not hesitate; she laid her gloved hand on his sleeve, and they began dancing to the music once more.

“Matthew,” Oliver began, sensing his brother’s foul mood. “What are you doing? Wait. Matthew?”

What was there to wait for? The Duke was already crossing the ballroom, a streak of darkness blotting out the light. He moved through the clusters without apology, forcing guests to make way. Some stared in shock as he strode toward the dance floor, the music still playing.

“I am afraid I will have to cut in,” he growled at St. Vincent, who paled at the sight of him. “I will finish this dance with my wife if you do not mind.”

St. Vincent stumbled back, his pallor changing to crimson with both humiliation and indignation.

“Your Grace, this is… We have just begun the set,” he protested.

“Leave us.”

At that moment, Matthew did not care much for etiquette. His eyes flashed with anger. It must have been clear to the younger man, who turned on his heel and hurried off the dance floor.

“Have you lost your mind?” Selina whispered, her cheeks flushed as her eyes darted left and right. “Do you mean to make a scene in front of everyone? People are staring!”

“I do not care who is watching,” Matthew declared, telling the truth as it was. His anger was too hot and too potent for him to care about anything else. “They can write about it in their damn gossip columns if they want to.”

“You had no right to speak to Lord St. Vincent like that. The man was entirely polite, and he was merely dancing with me!”

“Oh, I have every right to claim my wife’s hand for dancing,” Matthew corrected, his hand wrapping around her waist and tightening as he pulled her against him so she could feel the hammering of his heart. “I simply do not like watching another man’s hands on you. I do not like seeing someone else make you laugh. What did he tell you to make you smile like that?”

“You have barely spoken two words to me all night! You have ignored me for days. Now you mean to walk onto the middle of the dance floor and act as if I belong to you?”

“You do belong to me,” Matthew said, his tone raw and brutal. “I have already told you that; you are mine. And do remember this, Selina: I do not share my wife with others.”

“Those are remarkably strong words from a man who has been away from his wife for years! You do what you want with me whenever you want. Then you retreat, making me wonder if I imagined it all. How could you possibly know I will not take a lover the second you leave again?”

Matthew froze.

What did Selina just say? Did she understand what she was saying? The world around him seemed to shatter and spin into a million shards. The mere thought of seeing her with another man, someone who could be touching and tasting her instead of him, was unimaginable pain.

The dance had already been terrible enough. Why did St. Vincent have to hold her that close? Make her laugh? But Selina taking a lover after Matthew was gone? It would not do. No, it would not.

Without a word, Matthew stopped dancing. He tightened his grip on her wrist and pulled her toward the edge of the dance floor. People watched and gaped at them. There were whispers, too, but Matthew no longer cared.

“Matthew, you are making a scene,” Selina whispered harshly. “Let me go. I do not wish to be a part of this.”

But his mind was already too fractured to hear her. He ignored her and led her to the library. There, he locked them both inside, bolt and all.