“It’s Hereford,” Camille whispered. “He found out about our outing, and he’s livid.”
August’s face went cold, and the numbness crept down her body, where it settled in her belly, drawing forth a ball of dread that settled as heavy as iron. “Please forgive me, Camille.” Keeping her voice to a whisper, she took her friend’s hands. “It’s my fault. I told Papa about that night. I had to admit that I went with a friend, but he must have assumed it was you. I’m so terribly sorry.”
“Why, August?” Twin spots of color appeared in Camille’s cheeks.
Papa’s betrayal stung more than she could face right now. There had been a time not so long ago when Papa would have listened to her and taken her side in the scheme. Why had he hurried off to Hereford like a schoolboy running off to tattle to the headmaster? “I had to tell him because . . .” The knitting needles continued their clacking, but she lowered her voice even more just to be certain. “Do you remember the fighter from that night?”
Engrossed in the tale, Camille seemed to have forgotten her anger and leaned in closer. “You mean the one you—” She placed the pad of her forefinger against her lips in place of the word kissed. August’s cheeks flamed—if only she could forget that had happened—and Camille grinned. “I remember him.”
“Well, he is none other than the gentleman in question.”
“No!” Mrs. Barnes jolted at Camille’s screech and gave them both a sharp look. Sobering from her shock, Camille whispered, “That’s impossible.”
“I assure you it’s not. I confronted him with it in the garden, and he all but admitted it. Same cheekbones, same nose and eyes.” Same lips. “Same height. Think about it, Camille. Only his hair was darker, and that could easily be a cheap dye, and the growth of beard, which a shave can fix. If you noticed, the gentleman had nicks on his forehead and his knuckles.”
“I confess I did not examine him that closely.” Although she raised a brow and commenced studying August very closely. “Why were you?”
August shifted under the scrutiny, fearing that her corset must have been laced too tightly after all. She kept feeling hot, and there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room. “I wasn’t . . . I didn’t . . . They were fairly obvious, I thought.”
“Not to me. And why would he participate in such a dangerous activity?”
“For coin, of course. He’s willing to marry a stranger for it. Why not fight for it, too?”
Camille raised her hands. “Because it’s absurd and he’s a d—well, you know what he is.”
“It’s true. I saw him and I know that it was him.”
Camille smiled again as belief made her eyes widen. “Oh my, that’s remarkable. I never would have caught on. Do your parents believe you?”
“No, it hasn’t stopped their plotting at all.”
Nodding in understanding, Camille said, “I think the prospect of someone of his stature in the family is enough to make them disbelieve anything they don’t want to acknowledge.”
That was an understatement. “Agreed, but we’ve gone off track. Please understand that the only reason I said anything was because I hoped that it would save Violet. I kept your name out of it, naively assuming that the omission alone would keep you safe. I’m sorry.”
Camille nodded. “I understand. I would have done the same. The last thing I want is for Violet to suffer a similar fate to me.” Just like that, the spark of intrigue was gone from her eyes to be replaced by sadness.
Guilt tore at August’s heart. “Has he punished you? Has he harmed you?”
“He hasn’t hurt me, but yes to the punishment. I am not allowed to go anywhere, nor am I allowed an ounce of privacy. I cannot be alone with anyone. Doors must always stand open, and my meals are served to me in my room. I am married and a duchess at that, but I might as well be a child who has displeased her father.”
Anger burned a fiery path through August, but she swallowed down the bitterness that rose in her throat. Her anger, no matter how justified, wouldn’t help Camille, and it might only make her feel worse. “I am so sorry for my part in that.”
“No, please don’t. He would have discovered eventually. It was not the first outing or the first punishment. Besides.” She flashed a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “His sister is always here, and she falsely believes that planning for the annual ball is still her domain. If I were not here constantly, then I couldn’t prove her wrong.”
A not-so-discreet cough from the open door caught their attention. The butler stood there with vague contempt on his face. August glanced at the clock on the mantel and confirmed that precisely fifteen minutes had passed. Apparently, it was the only amount of time allotted to Camille for a social visit. August would have complained, but she supposed she was lucky that Hereford allowed her to visit.
“I should be going,” she rushed to say when an embarrassed flush rose in Camille’s face. “I have a lot of reading ahead of me.”
They both rose, and Camille followed her out with Mrs. Barnes on their heels.
“Please say that you are coming to the ball?” asked Camille.
“Yes, of course.” She wouldn’t miss it now if for no other reason than to see her friend again. “Can you confirm that the gentleman in question is due to attend?”
Camille smiled. “Confirmed, yes.”
“Good, I will endeavor to keep him far away from Violet.”
Her friend laughed, as August had intended, and said, “Then the entertainment is sorted. I’ll turn my attention to the decorations.”
Chapter 8
Action may not always be happiness; but there is no happiness without action.
Benjamin Disraeli
Evan smoothed down the lapels of his tailcoat and checked the length of his sleeve again. Both were fine. Stewart was an excellent valet who would have thrown himself bodily across the threshold before allowing Evan to leave without every stitch of clothing in place. Knowing that, however, did not stop him from checking his bow tie in the gilt-framed mirror they passed. Perfectly straight as expected, but the silk felt as if it was about to choke the life out of him. Perhaps sharing that he would be selecting a bride tonight had pushed Stewart toward fastidiousness that bordered on desperation.
“You are fidgety tonight, as if it were your first ball.” Christian Halston, Earl of Leigh, gave him a cold once-over with a raised brow before turning his attention to the couples twirling on the dance floor below them. They stood along the gallery above the open room, where Evan had hoped to catch a glimpse of his intended bride before approaching her.
“No, but this is my first bride.” When his finger slid easily between his collar and throat, Evan was forced to admit the tailoring of his suit was not the problem. It was the woman dancing somewhere below.
Taking one last look at his bow tie, he turned to try to find her. It did not take long for his eyes to make their way to the golden-clad woman dancing a quadrille with several couples around her. She moved gracefully and with confidence, an easy smile on her face. A tasteful collar of diamonds set in gold glittered at her throat, with a matching bracelet encircling her gloved wrist. She dressed with the extravagance of a seasoned duchess, not the demure pearls and semiprecious stones of a young, unmarried woman. But that was to be expected when her family was wealthier than most peers.
Her partner, a young viscount who was heir to an earldom, was no match for her. His movements were practiced and lacked her natural grace, and he kept stealing glances at her as if he were saving them up for later. Finally, he leaned over and said something near her ear that made her laugh. A polite laugh that lacked enthusiasm, Evan noted with satisfaction. Nevertheless, the melody of that sound reached him through the music of the orchestra and the din of the crowd. Surprised to find that he wanted her laughter for himself, his hands tightened on the balustrade as she leaned in and replied, making the man los
e his rhythm as he joined in her laughter.
“Where is she?” Leigh’s straightforward voice broke through his jealous stupor.
“She’s there. Dancing with Atherton.” The gold fabric fell artfully off her shoulders and dropped to a low bodice that emphasized her narrow waist before draping elegantly in folds that cascaded like liquid waves down to the floor. The gown was almost definitely a Worth original. The cost of one of those alone could keep Charrington Manor afloat for several months.
That was the goal and what he should be focusing on. And while the thought was there, lurking in the dark and decidedly mercenary recesses of his mind, it had been shoved to the side by a much more pressing and visceral consideration. He wanted her. He wanted her laughter, her sharp tongue, her quick mind, but even more urgently, he wanted to strip the gown from her body and feast on the lush curves hidden beneath. And to find all the places the honey tones of her skin turned to cream.
“The one in gold?” Leigh interrupted his thoughts again as he brought himself closer to balustrade to peer down at her. “But that is not the young Miss Crenshaw.”
“No, it is her older sister. She’s the one I have decided to take as my bride.”
“Ah, well, lucky for you she is not mannish at all, despite what they say.”
“Mannish?” It was likely the only word that would have removed his attention from the woman and put it on Leigh.
Leigh shrugged and continued to stare at her. If he’d had opera glasses, he probably would have used them. “She sits in business meetings with her father, she reads financials in the Times, and she belongs to one of those women’s clubs in New York. They call the younger one the pretty one and the elder one the . . . well, the mannish one.” His sharp gaze turned on Evan. “Surely, you have heard this?”
Evan had not heard that. “No, but I am hardly surprised. Our group never handles differences well, do they?” He regretted the words as soon as he had said them. Leigh knew better than anyone how flaws were not tolerated among most.
Leigh gave no indication that the words had bothered him. “I confess, it never occurred to me to not imagine her with a square jaw in need of a shave.”
“But you saw her at the ballet.”
“Did I?” Leigh looked up toward one of the two chandeliers hanging above as he searched his memory. “I only remember the younger one at the ballet. Are you certain the elder Miss Crenshaw was there?”
“Yes. It is how I recognized her at the fight.”
“Ah yes, she was at your fight. I thought she was familiar.” Sardonic humor was evident in Leigh’s tone. “Does she know that it was you she kissed?”
“She does.”
“And what does she think of that?”
“I believe she has tried to forget it happened.” Evan smiled. Despite the way he dreaded a forced marriage, he was quite looking forward to sparring with her again.
She whirled one last time to the fading notes of the song, smiling up at her partner. He dearly hoped she was not getting too fond of the boy. Something along the balcony caught her attention, drawing her gaze up, and their eyes met. The smile faded from her lips. Even across the great distance between them, an awareness of her pulled at him.
She glanced away but looked back just as quickly. There was no doubt in his mind that she felt the attraction between them as well. After tonight she would be his and everyone would know it. There was a satisfaction in that he had not felt in a very long time. It was even better than brawling an opponent into submission. As he watched, she raised her chin and intentionally gave him her back as she allowed Atherton to lead her into the crowd until they both disappeared.
Having watched the exchange, Leigh gave a soft grunt that was as close to a laugh as Evan had ever heard from him. “I am glad now that I decided to come along with you. I will have a front-row seat to the moment when you make your intentions known. Should be interesting.”
Interesting was one way to view it. Evan half expected to come away with his eyes scratched out.
“She seems to have a mind of her own,” said Leigh. “How do you intend to gain her cooperation in this marriage?”
“I am not certain her parents will give her much of a choice. In time, she will come to understand that I will hardly make the worst husband.”
“That leaves much to chance. What if she decides on the young viscount there?”
“Her parents prefer a duke.” Evan had seen their eyes glaze over in pleasure when he was introduced to them. He knew the type enough to understand that it was his title they were after. A mere viscount would not do when one was in search of a duke.
“Sterling.” Leigh and his brother were the only ones who still called him that. Leigh had been two years ahead of him at Eton, and despite the lame leg that had him using a cane, he had managed to wrangle control as head student of his class. Much of that was to do with the tone he was using now. “Do you remember the first rule I taught you in fighting? Never, under any circumstances, underestimate your opponent. That includes women, perhaps especially women. You cannot leave this up to her. We already know she has an independent streak. She ostensibly snuck out to attend the fight, so she is not above a bit of impulsiveness. If you do not take control, then she could very well find someone else ready to snatch her out from under you.”
The heat of suppressed anger prickled through Evan’s chest, swelling it with ire at the very idea of someone taking her from him. “What would you have me do? Abduct her?”
“That’s one way to handle things. However, the logistics would likely get in your way. Without a special license, you would need to get her across the border and married as soon as possible, and you do not have an estate in Scotland to satisfy the residency requirement.”
The stillness of his features suggested he was entirely serious. Stunned, Evan said, “I see you have given this a disturbing amount of thought. I was jesting.”
Leigh shrugged. “I like to win, so I consider all angles. Have you considered ruin?”
“She does not care a whit for her reputation.”
“Be that as it may, her father is trying to secure some fairly major deals while in London. Having a daughter with a scandalous reputation would not help him, nor would it help her younger, unmarried sister. We all break to pressure at some point. The question is, where is Miss Crenshaw’s breaking point?”
“I do not care for the idea of ruining her.” He did, however, like the idea of kissing her. Of having the time alone with her to properly explore her, having her open beneath him, all soft and warm. Perhaps a gentle reminder of the passion that flared between them would be enough to convince her.
“Sometimes I wonder why you and I are friends. You’re not nearly ruthless enough in your ambition,” Leigh said in a wry tone.
“That is because you are ruthless enough for both of us.” Giving his friend a grin, Evan made his way to the couple below, ready to claim his bride.
* * *
* * *
August had known to expect Rothschild at the ball, but the reality of seeing him again was far different than what she had imagined. She had anticipated she would feel self-righteous anger and a renewed commitment to keep her sister safe from him. And both of those were there. Yet, as much as she wanted to, she could not deny the fluttery anticipation in her belly when she had met his gaze.
She hated to admit it, but it was because she was as attracted to his looks as any other woman. Perhaps it was because she had seen him as the Hellion, before knowing him as the duke who meant to take Violet from them. Despite their argument in the garden, there had been a tiny seed of a spark even then. How unlucky that the one man she found more appealing than all others was the one man she most despised. August had once thought herself above such base emotions, but it appeared that she was not. Not one of the men back home whom she had kissed had managed to rouse her interest half so
well.
Damnation!
Lady Helena March waited for her with two glasses of champagne in hand. August had met the young widow at a small dinner party her first week in London where they had bonded over their mutual love of sweets and their distaste for small talk. Ever since, they managed to seek each other out when they attended the same events. The sight of a friendly face—no matter how recently the friend had been made—in the midst of her turmoil was enough to make her knees weak with relief. Thanking Lord Atherton for the dance, she sank down onto the edge of a chair. Her gown was not made for sitting and pulled across the bodice. To be fair, it was not made for much other than standing and the occasional dancing. The silk fabric was temperamental and prone to wrinkling, but August couldn’t bring herself to care about that at the moment. Now was the time to get her thoughts in order, because Rothschild’s expression had left no doubt that he had come prepared to do battle and win.
“Where is Violet?”
“Your mother intercepted her on the dance floor with the intention of introducing her to Lord and Lady Hampford.” Lady Helena sank into the chair beside her and pressed a coupe of champagne into her hand. “I have danced with Lord Atherton enough to know that look on your face. Here, you need this.”
August smiled as she brought the glass to her lips and drank deeply, hoping to settle her nerves. “It’s not Lord Atherton. He was perfectly charming.”
Lady Helena tilted her elegant blond head and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “As a child, he once coaxed me into the woodshed with the promise of a nest of baby rabbits, only to pull a lizard from his pocket, toss it on me, and run away. Charming is not a word I would use to describe him.”
August laughed. Despite the fact that Lady Helena was the daughter of an earl, she had an easygoing manner about her and was always ready with a smile and a jest. Older than the debutantes surrounding them, August found her to be charming, intelligent, and generous.
The Heiress Gets a Duke Page 10