Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,50

duchess’s whole countenance went a sickly shade of white.

Temperance shot a glare in Dare’s direction. Why was he doing this? Only he would endeavor to issue a challenge to a duke and duchess.

Wholly unfazed, he reclined in his seat. “Temperance and I were friends from the Rookeries.”

Bright-red splotches formed circles on the older woman’s face. Was it the reference to the friendship or the place they’d met? Or both? “Friends,” the duchess echoed, spitting it out as if she’d uttered a word she’d no familiarity with and found distasteful. “Men and women aren’t friends. It isn’t natural.” She looked to her husband.

His Grace gave an emphatic and concurring nod. “It isn’t natural.” He hammered his cane on the floor, punctuating his point with that marble stick.

“We were,” Dare said, “and we also married. So one might say we are both friends and husband and wife.”

Temperance frowned. He was baiting them. For what purpose?

“When did this take place?” Her Grace pressed, firing off questions.

“Five years ago,” Temperance said softly. It had been five years since she’d convinced herself she might be Dare’s wife and keep her heart out of their arrangement. All the while, she’d lied to herself . . . She’d failed to acknowledge that she couldn’t have taken her heart out of the equation of their union because she’d first fallen in love with him.

“Your marriage”—the duchess turned that query to Dare, Temperance edged out of the questioning—“is legal?” Hope flickered to life in the older woman’s eyes.

“It is,” Dare said quietly.

“Are you certain?” the duke pressed. “The records?” He motioned four fingers in a half circle, as he spoke. “The officiating? Was it a marriage with actual vows exchanged?” Hope filled the old man’s eyes. “Perhaps you signed whatever name you’ve gone by . . . by . . . where you lived?”

Startled, Temperance jerked her gaze to her husband.

Dare inclined his head. “I . . .” He looked away from his grandfather and over at Temperance. Their gazes locked. “I took care to sign my legal name.”

Her mind stalled and then swirled . . . with confusion. He’d . . . signed his legal name. When no one in the Rookeries, certainly not her father, would have been any wiser, ever, he’d still given her his legal name. Why? Why would he have done so? The sole point of their marriage had been to give Temperance the protection that had come from Dare’s name that was feared and revered in the Rookeries. She sought to make sense out of why he would have done such a thing.

Unless he really wanted you as his wife . . .

The duke sighed, cutting into those whimsical, nonsensical musings. “And . . . consummated? Was it consummated?” His tone, however, bespoke the resignation of one who’d already accepted the answer before it was given.

I’m going to throw up. Balling her hands, Temperance stared down at her interlocked fingers. She had anticipated being rejected. What she’d not allowed herself to consider was being plainly discussed, and the frantic puzzle of how to disentangle Dare from their marriage in front of her.

Dare covered her joined palms with one of his own, and just that, his touch, both tender and firm, all at the same time, eased the rigidity from her body. “I assure you,” Dare said coolly. “Our marriage is a real one . . . in every sense.”

Drawing her hand back, Temperance glared at him. “Stop,” she mouthed.

The duchess’s cheeks fired red. And just like that, all the hope went out of the older woman’s piercing gaze. “I . . . see.” And by the dejected quality of those two words, the duchess did indeed see.

The duke plucked a kerchief from inside the front of his jacket and dangled it before his wife’s face.

Her Grace snatched the article and blotted at the corners of her eyes.

No, this was precisely as Temperance had expected the exchange to play out. With many tears and fury from the couple over the fact that their beloved grandson had returned to their world with Temperance at his side. She turned to the duke and duchess. “I’m sorry for how all this has been handled,” she said softly. No truer words had she spoken than those. “You’ve every reason to be angry and disappointed.”

Dare lifted a single finger and wagged it. “I’d like to be entirely clear that I disagree. They should only be overjoyed.”

“O-overjoyed?” the duke stammered.

Temperance dropped her head into her hands. Why was Dare so