Page 39 of Mad Duke March

Her sweet flowery scent wafted toward him as they walked side by side, her warmth spreading through his right side and heating him from the inside out.

And she’d let her hair down.

He liked to think she did it in an attempt to please him, although it could have been that she’d finally realized that trying to pin it was a useless endeavor.

Her hand tightened on his arm as they weaved their way through the crowd, trying to ignore the appraising gazes unashamedly thrown her way.

She quietly stood beside him, as he stopped to introduce her to his acquaintances, not saying anything beyond a simple polite word and granting them an occasional timid smile. She was different from the woman he’d gotten to know—the tigress, who was ready to rip anyone to shreds with her bare teeth to defend her family, the woman who stood up to him on a daily basis, the one who chased away his no-good friends and poured away his liquor.

Tonight, she was almost subdued.

Tyrone felt unreasonable anger at the people around them. Couldn’t they have been nicer to her?

More to the point… Couldn’t he have been nicer to her?

Because while at the moment, the ladies and gentlemen of the ton were the ones judging her, the reason why she was being judged was Tyrone’s fault.

Luckily, they were only a few paces away from his box. Soon, they’d be safely ensconced away from the prying eyes of the ton.

Before they were able to reach the box, an elegant woman stepped right in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.

Tyrone met the woman’s eyes and anger rose up from inside him. Was she going to cause a scene in front of all these people?

He knew that she wasn’t about to disappear just because he got married. She was no longer the mistress of his estates, but she was still a duchess.

The Dowager Duchess of Tyrone—his mother.

He smiled down at his wife. “Here we are. Do you mind going inside and waiting for me there?”

She glanced from him to the woman in front of them, and the confusion in her gaze was palpable. It was rude of him not to escort her inside and not to introduce his wife to his mother. He didn’t care.

His mother was dead to him. And dead people didn’t need introductions.

Pain flashed in his wife’s eyes, telling Tyrone that she misinterpreted his behavior. She complied nonetheless, herding her family inside the box.

“Won’t you introduce me to your bride?” his mother asked when they were left one on one.

“No.” His answer was firm, succinct. Tyrone didn’t want to give his mother a glimmer of hope.

“When I heard that you were at the theater,” she continued softly, her gaze imploring, “I hoped we could share a box and—”

“No,” he cut her off sharply.

She swallowed. “It is rather rude of you to interrupt me. Not to mention foregoing introducing me to your wife and her family.”

Tyrone shrugged. “I wasn’t taught manners at home.”

She stiffened. “Xander—”

“It’s Tyrone.”

She lowered her eyes, her fingers playing with her reticule. “I hoped we could talk.”

“And I hoped you’d come back for me… Twenty years ago. So I suppose we are both out of luck.” He turned away, but his mother put her hand on his arm, stopping him.

And as much as he hated to admit that, her touch felt pleasant and comforting. Perhaps, she was a heartless woman. But she was also his mother. And his body knew that. Even his mind reverted to that little boy who once knew and loved her.

“You blame me for all the sins in the world,” she said, her voice shaking. “And it’s not fair.”