by Lavinia Kent
Isabella did not say anything; she simply stared at her sister.
“Many believe that you ran off to have a child after Masters stopped the elopement. The rumor is that you have been living as widow in some small seaside town and raising the child.” The words flew from Violet’s mouth in flurry.
“A secret baby? And you are just telling me this now?” Isabella could not help chuckling. “They think I left because I was with child? Annie said something about that.” She didn’t know why she found it so funny except that gossip and rumor was supplying her with the one thing she had always wanted and never had.
“That is why it is important that we present you in such style. Wimberley was in complete agreement. Once you are launched and have our support, society will know that this rumor was just as preposterous as all the others.”
“But not nearly as preposterous as the truth,” Isabella felt compelled to add.
Violet laid a gloved hand upon her arm. “There is no need to think about that. It is over. Things are different now.”
That was easy for Violet to say. She had not killed a man. Was Hargrove here? There had been much debate on whether to invite him, but in the end it had been decided it was far better to keep the man in sight. Isabella peered down at the crowd below, entering the ballroom. He had not contacted her since she’d given him the papers. Was he prepared to just let the whole matter rest? Or would he take on not only her, but also her whole family?
She let her eyes focus on the entire crowd. “There are so many people down there. Couldn’t we do something quieter? Perhaps a musicale evening? Nobody ever comes to those.”
“Isn’t this where the conversation started? We want society to see that we are proud of you, that there is nothing mysterious to wonder about. Peter and I faced down rumor and you can too. Here he comes. He will walk you down, and Wimberley will greet you immediately. There will be no room for gossip.”
There was always room for gossip. Still, Isabella fixed a smile on her face and waited for her brother-in-law to join them. After all she been through she would not be cowed by a few of society’s matrons. She tilted her chin up and waited as Lord Peter held out his arm for her.
He stopped and stared.
This was why his aunt had insisted he come—and no wonder she’d left his side as soon as they’d entered the room.
Mark had always known Bella was a goddess, but as he watched her descend the stairs on Lord Peter’s arm his breath was taken away. The deep red gown clung to every curve, slipping over her body like a stream over smooth pebbles. No pebble had ever caused his body to react with such vigor, however. Her skin shone like pearls and her hair swooped in a riot of fiery curls.
His gaze moved to her face. She was unhappy. She did not wish to be here. If she could, she would run. It took only the briefest of glances for him to see all that. He’d seen that expression before and she’d always disappeared immediately afterward. He could not afford to let that happen again, not now, not when he’d finally found her.
She stopped a few steps from the bottom, scanning the crowd. He waited for her eyes to fall upon him, but before they could, Lord Peter said something and she turned to him. Her lips froze into a fixed smile. She nodded, but looked no happier. He leaned toward her, whispered. Her mouth relaxed. She said something back.
Mark wished he could hear the words. They did not look like lovers. He had assumed they were not, but it was good to see their body postures reaffirm the fact. He still had not figured out their relationship. All his sources had confirmed that she’d disappeared from Lord Peter’s house just as quickly as she’d arrived. And yet here she was on his arm, acting like she had every right to be there. Although, judging by the whiteness of her knuckles, she was not exactly comfortable.
He tried to remember exactly what Lady Smythe-Burke had said to him. She’d insisted he attend this affair and had brooked no resistance. He’d tried several times to refuse. At first he’d assumed her insistence was another plot to introduce him to marriageable chits. Everyone seemed to think he needed to meet some young thing and start a nursery. He couldn’t deny that the duchy needed an heir, but he’d already decided not to marry now—if ever. And he certainly wasn’t interested in the children that kept being paraded before him. He wanted a wife he could talk to, someone with a little life experience—
Someone like Bella. She might be young, but she understood how the world worked.
His gaze swept over her again as he had the thought. He’d never been bored talking to her—in fact, even in the midst of some activities that normally did not require talk, he’d found himself as intrigued by her thoughts as by her—well, as by any part of her, including those that were capable of stealing his own capacity for speech.
“Never thought I’d see her again—not in decent company at least.” The comment came from his left and he turned to see an older matron, Mrs. Thomas or Thompson, he believed. Her gaze was fastened on Bella and she was whispering loudly to her companion.
He stepped closer.
“I know there was never any proof of the rumor, but it was pretty clear what happened. No young girl disappears back to the country for no reason—and then stays there for years. And I heard she hadn’t been seen about Masters’s estate, no matter what he may have claimed. The girl was clearly led astray, and I am sure she didn’t protest too hard. She is Lady Carrington’s sister and blood does run true. The older sister may have trapped Wimberley’s brother—I was shocked her stomach wasn’t swollen at the wedding. It must be true she’s barren. Probably a good thing given that family’s behavior. Wouldn’t want to risk one of them falling heir to the marquess. The younger sister clearly wasn’t so lucky. I am sure there’s a brat somewhere crying for his mother.”
Mark did not hear the reply to that as his mind strove to make sense of what he had just heard.
Lady Carrington—that would now be Lord Peter’s wife, Wimberley’s sister-in-law. He tried to remember all he had heard about said lady. There had been scandal attached to her name, several husbands and then several lovers. Nothing, however, that had caused society to truly frown on her.
And Masters—that would be Mr. Jonathan Masters. He’d also been involved in some type of scandal a few years back. Mark had been out of London at the time, but he thought there had been cartoons—something about sex and a library. He’d have to inquire further.
But a younger sister? He didn’t remember anything about a younger sibling. And certainly not any scandal. Could Foxworthy’s death have been part of it? He’d done some investigating on his own and knew all the details of the death, and that if ever a man deserved to be murdered it was probably Foxworthy. He’d even heard rumors of a redhead being seen fleeing. That was probably Bella. He still couldn’t imagine her stabbing anyone, however. Why hadn’t she trusted him? He would have helped her, whatever the cost.
“Is that Isabella Masters—the one who eloped with Langdon?” Another whisper came from his other side. Mark could not determine who had spoken.
Isabella Masters. That was who she was. And they certainly weren’t talking about murder. And what did Langdon have to do with it? The man was a pompous dolt. He listened further.
“I do believe it is. She always was a pretty thing. It’s hard to believe she’s had a child, not with that waistline.”
“It’s the red hair—you always hear about redheads.”
“I can’t believe Wimberley invited her—family or not.”
“I heard she’d kiss any man who wanted—and I am not just talking kissing.”
“She had sex in a library—caught right in the midst of it, showing all there was to see.”
“No, that was her brother—Masters. At least he married the woman, not that they ever admitted who she was.”
“She had sex with her brother in the library? Why did nobody tell me?”
The voices continued to swirl around Mark, but his whole focus had shifted to Bella. She still stood on the stairs, froze
n. Color drained from her face as the buzz of innuendo reached her. She stepped back, almost tripping on her skirts. Lord Peter moved his hand over hers, holding her tight.
He whispered something. She did not answer.
And then she saw him. Mark felt the jolt as their eyes met. Her mouth opened. Even across the room, Mark could feel the soft breath that escaped between her lips.
Lord Peter said something else in her ear. Still, she made no response. Her eyes stayed locked with Mark’s, begging him for something, but he knew not what.
The entire room seemed locked in the same spell—everybody waiting, but for what?
Would she flee back up the stairs? Would somebody give her a direct cut? And if so, who would be the first? They were a room full of sheep waiting for a shepherd.
Mark started to step forward, then caught himself. He had no standing here.
Wimberley swept across the room, his delicate marchioness by his side. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, held out his hand in greeting to Bella.
She did not take it. She simply stood and stared. Mark willed her to move, willed her to push back her shoulders and proceed, willed her to realize that whatever came next would not be as bad as this moment, this second.
And still she stood.
The crowd did not breathe. Not a word was spoken.
They all waited.
The marchioness held out her hand also, almost trying to force Bella to action.
There was the whisper of words, but even in the silence they could not be heard.
Bella moved her lips, but no sound came out.
If it were not for the bright color of her dress, she would have appeared a ghost.
He started forward again. This situation could not continue. Bella needed him.
A hand came down on his shoulder. He turned. The Duke of Hargrove stood beside him. “I wouldn’t do that. You must remember, you are not a man—you are a duke. A duke cannot risk being involved in scandal. Certainly not with one such as she. Let her family take care of it.”
Mark opened his mouth to reply, but Hargrove’s next words stole his answer. “And wouldn’t it suit your purposes better if she is disgraced? Her family doesn’t even know the half of it, do they?”
“I do not know of what you speak” was the best that Mark’s brain could come up with. He turned back to Bella, ignoring Hargrove, ignoring the man’s cold fury.
Bella’s hand was in Wimberley’s and he was raising it to his lips, welcoming her to his home. Lord Peter stood beside her, stiff as a fireplace poker.
Where was her sister? Where was Masters? Not enough was being done.
And then she smiled.
She was dying inside. Isabella felt each breath fill her chest and knew that it would be her last. She could no longer force herself to pull in another. It felt as if the very air was filled with the spite she could hear flitting about the room. Each whisper seemed a dart aimed directly at her heart.
Lord Peter’s fingers squeezed her hand, trying to give her strength. It was not enough.
Wimberley strode over, ready to take control.
The whispers went on. If it had not been for Lord Peter’s firm grip she would have turned and fled back up the stairs to Violet. This was a disaster. There was nothing to win and so much to lose.
And then she saw him. Mark stood across the room attired in full ducal finery. If she had thought him grand before, now he robbed that last remaining breath from her body.
Their eyes met. She could not read his from such a distance. If only it were he beside her instead of Lord Peter. His touch had always given her the strength she so desperately needed now.
Her eyes called to him, begged him to help her. She didn’t know what she expected, but something.
She didn’t know why she should expect something now, when he had never been there for her before. She stood, not breathing, waiting—let him come, let him save her.
He took a step.
She pulled air into her lungs, felt herself begin to draw strength.
And then he stopped. A hand held his arm, a strong male hand, the wrist surrounded in lace edged in palest mauve.
Hargrove.
Why did he have to appear now?
Now, when she was a single breath away from fainting to the floor in front of all society.
Now, when she was a single breath away from running from the room, never to be seen again.
Now, when she wanted to yell Mark’s name, to call him to her, to demand he recognize her for what she was to him.
She wanted to shout at the fates as Hargrove leaned forward and whispered to Mark. Mark glanced at him, and then at Isabella, his eyes full of question.
Her eyes flitted back to Hargrove. His gaze spoke for him. He was not done with her.
Wimberley said something, welcomed her to his home, gave her his approval—and it didn’t matter. She could see her path clearly now and she was ready to run down it.
She raised her eyes to Mark, expecting disgust. She saw only concern.
A smile trembled upon her lips.
She glanced back at Hargrove, but he was gone.
Chapter 30
Mark watched her smile catch. It had started out full of strength, but now the doubt leaked in.
It sliced at him like a saber slash against his chest.
“I’ll cut her direct if she even tries to speak with me. And she’d better not try to renew her friendship with my daughter. They are much of the same age, you know?” It was Mrs. Thompson again and Mark found himself almost baring his teeth at her. He’d never felt such animal impulse course through him.
“I can’t believe she’ll have the chance. Even Wimberley can’t save her now. I doubt we’ll ever be forced to see her again. Surely her family will send her back to the country—this time for the duration. I can’t imagine there’s even a chance a man would take her now.”
“Oh, they’ll take her, just not in the way she wishes.” Mrs. Thompson spoke in an undertone, but a very loud one. Clearly she wanted her cleverness to be heard.
Bella’s hand transferred from Lord Peter’s arm to Wimberley’s. She took that step forward. Her smile was back, firm and strong, but her eyes were still afraid.
He doubted any but he could read that fear, but he saw it all too well.
She took a step, Wimberley leading her forward.
He could sense the indecision in the crowd. Did they dare turn from her with Wimberley at her side?
“They will not accept her, not young and unmarried. Their worries over how she will influence their own daughters, how she will lure their own sons, will win out.” When had Brisbane returned to his side? There was no mistaking that cool, arrogant tone.
“How can they not, with Wimberley at her side?” Mark asked.
“They will manage. Fright will always win over reason.”
Mark looked at Bella. The desire to run was back in her gaze. Yes, fright could win over reason—or fright could convince one that it was reason.
Damnation. Brisbane was right. He could see it in every face, see everyone worry that they would be approached first.
“Do you want me to save her?” Brisbane asked. “A duke and a marquess together might do the trick. Or was Hargrove right? Do you wish to give her no choice but to return to you? She might not take you anyway, you know.”
It was the single beat of a heart. It could not have been longer. There was not time for an eyelash to flutter or a breath to be pulled in. There was certainly not long enough for a look of scorn to form or a head to turn away.
Mark stepped forward. No, he strode forward.
He cut through the crowd, straight and direct, unmindful of those he brushed past.
He’d had the chance to put her first once before—and failed.
Twenty feet.
This time he would not fail.
Ten feet.
He would think only of her.
Five feet. Never in battle had each bit of distance been
so painfully won.
Only of her.
Her head came up. Their eyes met again. He saw shock. Then fear. Then—could that be relief?
Did she trust him to save her? Did she finally trust him?
“Miss Masters,” he called, the new name strange on his lips.
Wimberley turned to him. And then Lord Peter. The sister, Violet, was halfway down the stairs, Wimberley’s marchioness just in front. He did not see the brother, Masters, anywhere, but it did not matter. He knew what he needed to do.
He watched the words form slowly on Bella’s lips. “Your Grace, I did not expect you here.”
Wimberley’s shoulders were back, it was clear he was ready to protect Bella by whatever means necessary.
Did he not realize that was Mark’s job?
Mark stopped a foot away, only just observing the boundaries of propriety. “What nonsense is that, my dear? Not expecting me?” He had raised his voice, to make sure everyone in the room would hear him. “How are we supposed to give your family our news if I am not here? I had hoped to speak to your brother first, but I will not risk losing my claim to any other man.”
Yet his tone told that there could be no true competition, he was a man who did not lose—and beyond that he was a duke, a duke who was not to be questioned.
“I am not sure what—” Bella began.
“I do not know what you—” Wimberley was taking no chances.
Mark stood straight, for the first time feeling like the duke he was.
“My dear Miss Masters,” he cut them both off. “It is not normally done in such a public manner, but as my future duchess you can do what you wish. I merely thought that we would tell your family of our engagement before the rest of the guests.”
He had not just said those words. He had not. Isabella fought to understand.
For a moment it felt like a dream come true. The tone of the crowd’s whispers changed. One did not risk the displeasure of the future Duchess of Strattington. They would back off for now—and wait.