They’d arrived in London the previous day, upon which Isabella and her parents had been taken directly to a town house that Anthony had rented for them. After seeing them in, he’d said his good-byes and left for his own home. Isabella hadn’t seen him since and had grown anxious for his company as well.
“I’ll be right there, Mama,” she called back, unable to keep from laughing as she glanced at herself one last time in the mirror, finally seeing herself the way Anthony probably did—not plump, as she’d always imagined, but sensual in every conceivable way as the ice-blue silk slithered across her every curve, hugging her br**sts and hips. There was no doubt in her mind that her fiancé would find it most appealing.
Satisfied, she turned her back on her reflection, opened the door to her room and stepped out onto the landing. With a deep breath, she began her descent, and when she finally entered the parlor, the hum of voices that had busily been discussing some topic or other faded into silence as everyone stopped to stare. “You look incredible,” Anthony finally managed, coming toward her as if in a daze. “I . . . heavens!”
“Does that mean you’ll dance with me this evening, Your Grace?” she asked, batting her eyelids.
“It means I’ll throttle any other man who tries to,” he murmured as he raised her gloved hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss upon her knuckles.
They arrived at Darwich House a half hour later to begin their progress along the receiving line. “I say, Kingsborough! Who is this lovely lady on your arm?” Lady Darwich asked as Anthony bowed before her and Isabella curtsied.
“My fiancée, Miss Chilcott,” he told her cheerfully.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure,” their hostess said with a frown, raising her quizzing glass as she gave Isabella a head to toe inspection. She nudged Lord Darwich, who was standing at her side, quite soundly in the ribs.
The earl bowed toward Isabella before returning his attention to Anthony. “Your father would be proud of you, and . . .” Lord Darwich’s words trailed off as his eyes went beyond where Anthony stood. “Dear me, you look rather familiar. In fact—”
“You remember our daughter, Lady Margaret; Lady Margaret Chilcott now by marriage,” Lord Deerford said, stepping closer as he brought the rest of the family with him. “And Miss Chilcott here is our granddaughter.”
Lady Darwich looked momentarily as if her eyes might burst from their sockets, but she recovered and, with a smile, eagerly waved them toward the ballroom. “What a pleasure it is to see you again after so many years, Lady Margaret. Oh, we’re so happy that you were able to join us this evening, so very, very happy.”
Anthony didn’t doubt that for a second, for the Darwich Ball was about to become the most talked-about event since the wedding between Cleopatra and Caesar.
“The Duke of Kingsborough and his fiancée, Miss Chilcott,” a footman announced in a booming tone, barely drawing a breath before adding, “accompanied by the Marchioness and Marquess of Deerford, along with their daughter, Lady Margaret Chilcott, and her husband, Mr. Chilcott.”
The last part was almost swallowed up by the buzz of voices that rose through the air. For the first time since assuming his title, Anthony was happy to be a duke, for as he led Isabella down the steps to the dance floor, the crowds parted as if he’d been Moses.
Nobody quirked an eyebrow at the woman on his arm as he pulled Isabella into his embrace with every indication that he desired a waltz. He gave a curt nod toward the orchestra, the whispers ceased and a hush descended upon them while the first strains of music rose and fell to a steady beat.
“Oh my,” Isabella muttered, looking around as Anthony swept her across the dance floor in a wide circle. “It appears you’ve shocked them into silence.”
Anthony smiled down at her. “Quite impressive, don’t you think?”
With a grin, she nodded, allowing him to take the lead as he twirled her about, the remnants of the rogue in him holding her scandalously close. The music faded far too soon for his liking, but as they drifted to a stop before his mother, he remembered that there was still one very important matter to attend to.
Everything that was about to happen was for show—an act that would hopefully make it clear to the ton that Isabella and her parents were under his and the Deerfords’ protection, and that nobody was to say a word against any of them if they valued their own heads.
“Darling,” his mother said, her voice higher than usual so as not to be missed by anyone. Nobody moved as she went toward him—not even the rustle of a single skirt could be heard. Smiling, she turned her attention to Isabella, and taking her hands in each of her own she said, “What a pleasure it is to see you again, my dear.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Isabella said, curtsying as well as she was able to with her future mother-in-law holding on to her.
Louise and Huntley approached them next, followed by Winston and Sarah, the Deerfords, Isabella’s parents, and even Casper, who looked ever the gallant rake in his evening black.
Flanked by them all, Anthony waved over a footman who was carrying a tray of champagne flutes. Ensuring that each of his family members received a glass, he then addressed the crowd, not feeling the least bit nervous at all this time. He’d won Isabella’s heart, and so the fear he’d always had of speaking aloud before others dissipated. None of these people mattered as long as he had her by his side. “It is with great joy in my heart that I not only announce my engagement to the lovely Miss Chilcott but also welcome her mother back into our midst. She has been missed for far too long, but thanks to Mr. Chilcott, she has found her way home.” He raised his glass high in the air. “A toast! To the love of my life, a woman with more courage than any I have ever known, and to family, without whom our lives are meaningless.”
There was a pause, a slight hesitation, and then there was a clap, followed by another and another and yes . . . another. Within seconds the whole ballroom was resonating with the beat of it. There was even a loud whistle. Anthony breathed a sigh of relief. Isabella and her mother would be safe, as would her father. The ton had given its approval.
Later, when Anthony led Isabella outside for a bit of fresh air (though to be honest, he was far more interested in the privacy the outdoors offered), he felt content. A life shared with the woman he loved—a woman who’d somehow become his friend and ally—stretched before him, and he looked forward to it more than he’d ever looked forward to anything else before.
“Happy?” Isabella asked, weaving her fingers through his.
Not caring what anyone might think or say, Anthony pulled her against him, his lips dangerously close to hers. He could feel her breath upon his chin, and as it whispered across his skin, it left a path of embers in its wake. “With you, always,” he murmured right before his lips touched hers, not in desperation but in reverence and adoration. Disengaging, he said, “Though I do feel sorry for our mothers.”
“Oh?” Isabella’s eyes went wide with wonder.
“For I fear they will have to abandon all hope of arranging that grand Society wedding they were hoping for—I’m getting a special license first thing in the morning.” Before she could protest, he kissed her again, more deeply and more passionately, pouring all his love for her into that one starlit moment, reminding her not only how deeply his affection for her ran but also why waiting a moment longer to take their vows would never work.