Free To Desire a Wicked Duke by Nicole Jordan Page A

Rotham.
    The duke’s own feelings were a perverse mixture of resignation, triumph, and regret.
    Resignation because he disliked losing control of his fate.
    Triumph because he now had legal claim to the one woman in the world he’d thought he could never possess.
    And regret because once again he had driven the laughter from her eyes.
    Ian glanced down at the lovely, vibrant woman he had just wed. There was no trace of Tess’s enchanting smile. No expression at all except sadness … and perhaps trepidation.
    The last thing Ian wanted was for Tess to fear him.
    “You might attempt to lighten your expression, love,” he suggested in a dry tone. “Pretend for a moment that you are not going to your doom.”
    Tess’s back stiffened for an instant before she visibly made an effort to relax. “Everyone here knows our circumstances. They would disdain the hypocrisy if either of us feigned joy.”
    “Perhaps, but your friends now look ready to draw their swords and skewer me if I dare take a wrong step.”
    She glanced around at their audience. The wedding guests were eyeing Ian with various degrees of concern, even belligerence on the part of the youngest Loring sister.
    Tess smiled at Lady Claybourne before turning back to Ian. “I believe Lily is unarmed at the moment, but she has recently become skilled with a rapier and would no doubt be willing to use it in my defense.”
    Ian’s mouth curved. “Is that a warning?”
    “You might say so,” Tess rejoined with a hint of her usual archness. A moment later, she sighed. “Youare right—we should keep up appearances. If you will contrive to say something in the least witty or amusing, I would find it easier to comply.”
    He gave a mock wince. “Meaning my usual wit is lacking. You wound me.”
    She manufactured a mild laugh, which caught the attention of half the room. Still, there was a spark of humor in Tess’s dark eyes that relieved Ian.
    “Where will we go from here, your grace?” she asked. “Bellacourt?”
    “Yes. Surely no one will object to me taking my bride to my family seat for a measure of privacy. You may invite your friends to visit you whenever you wish—the sooner the better, in fact—so they can be reassured that I am not beating you or starving you or chaining you away in my dungeon.”
    Surprisingly, interest flared in Tess’s eyes. “You have a dungeon?”
    “Not at Bellacourt. It was merely a figure of speech.”
    “What about your castle in Cornwall?”
    His eyebrow lifted. “Falwell? Actually it has quite a large dungeon. Why do you ask?”
    “A dungeon might prove useful for a friend of mine.”
    “You have a friend who chains up prisoners?”
    Tess’s soft laugh was more genuine this time. “Only in the fictional sense. She is a writer of Gothic novels and is currently plotting her latest tale. She hopes to include an element of fright—nothing too gruesome, merely suspenseful enough to make readers shiver. And a dungeon could provide ideal fodder for inspiration, especially one that might be haunted byghosts. I should like to hear more about yours, Rotham.”
    “I would be happy to oblige sometime, love,” Ian replied. “For now, however, we should join the others before they decide you need rescuing. In any event, I believe Lady Wingate wishes to toast our nuptials.”
    Tess’s smile faded at the reminder, but she accepted his arm without protest, then raised her chin as if girding herself for a losing battle.
    My bride. My wife
. The words sounded strange to Ian. Stranger still was realizing how impatient he was to be alone with Tess.
    No doubt his desire to leave Danvers Hall had something to do with his reception by the company. Since the ton was actually rather small, he knew all the noblemen present, some of them fairly well. But he hadn’t expected to be approached by each and every one of them during the course of the next hour.
    The first to pull Ian aside was Tess’s cousin Damon Stafford, Viscount