Married at 17 to a Cold Husband Who Moved His Mistress In — The Duke Said “Mine”

Chapter 4

Lord Blackmoor did not hurry. That was the first thing Rosalind noticed. Reginald Vane moved through the ballroom with the slow, deliberate stride of a man who believed the room belonged to him. Conversations faltered as he passed. A few guests stepped aside politely. Others simply watched, because everyone could feel it now — something had shifted in the careful architecture of the evening.

When he reached them, he did not bow to the Duke of Ravensmere. He barely inclined his head.

“Your Grace,” he said stiffly.

Gideon returned the look with quiet indifference. “Lord Blackmoor.”

Rosalind felt the tension coil between the two men like a drawn blade.

Reginald turned to his wife. His gaze swept over her hand, still resting in the Duke’s, and something dark flickered in his expression. “I was unaware,” he said slowly, “that my wife had secured such distinguished company.”

Rosalind withdrew her hand at once. “Your Grace was kind enough to request a dance.”

“Indeed.” Reginald gave a thin smile. “Kindness is not a quality for which the Duke of Ravensmere is particularly known.”

Gideon said nothing. His silence was somehow worse than any retort.

Reginald shifted his attention back to Rosalind. “You have been busy this evening.”

She recognized the quiet threat in his voice; it was the same tone he used before a door slammed, before a household went quiet. But she straightened her shoulders anyway. “I was asked to dance. And I accepted.”

“Yes.”

For a moment, something almost like surprise crossed Reginald’s face. His wife had never spoken to him so directly before. It unsettled him.

Before he could respond, Gideon spoke, his tone perfectly calm. “Your wife dances exceptionally well, Blackmoor.”

The familiarity of the surname without the title was deliberate. Reginald stiffened.

“Does she?”

“Yes.” A pause. Then, quietly: “I suspect there are many things about Lady Blackmoor you have never noticed.”

The insult landed without a voice being raised. Reginald’s jaw tightened. The nearest guests had stopped pretending not to listen. The orchestra played on, but the air around the three of them had grown so thick it felt like silk stretched to tearing.

Reginald leaned closer to his wife. “You will return home shortly,” he said under his breath.

“That will not be necessary,” Gideon replied calmly.

Reginald’s head snapped toward him. “I beg your pardon?”

The Duke’s voice remained perfectly measured. “I have arranged a carriage for Lady Blackmoor this evening.”

Rosalind blinked in surprise. Reginald laughed sharply. “You have arranged—” He stopped himself, because suddenly he understood something. This was not courtesy. This was protection. And the realization infuriated him.

“My wife requires no assistance leaving a ball,” he said coldly.

“No.” Gideon tilted his head slightly, his gray eyes drifting briefly across the ballroom to where Vivienne laughed with two gentlemen near the orchestra. Then back to Reginald. “I imagine,” the Duke continued quietly, “Lady Blackmoor spends many evenings leaving rooms unaccompanied.”

Reginald’s face darkened.

The implication was unmistakable. Everyone knew. Everyone had always known. But no one had ever dared say it aloud. Until now.

The silence stretched.

Then, unexpectedly, Reginald stepped back. Not out of submission — out of calculation.

“Enjoy the remainder of your evening, Your Grace,” he said tightly. He looked at Rosalind one last time. “We will speak at home.”

Then he turned and walked away.

Rosalind felt the familiar chill of dread settle in her chest. She knew that tone. She knew exactly what awaited her later.

Beside her, Gideon watched Blackmoor disappear into the crowd. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet. “He frightens you.”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

The Duke’s expression hardened. “He will never lay a hand on you again.”

Her breath caught. “You cannot promise that.”

His gaze moved slowly back to her, and the fury in his eyes was controlled but unmistakable. “Yes,” he said softly. “I can.”

Across the ballroom, Vivienne Trent had turned toward them. And she was smiling — but it was not a pleasant smile. It was the smile of a woman who had just realized that something dangerous had entered her carefully arranged life.

And Rosalind had the uneasy feeling that tonight, everything was about to change.