“The Duke of Kirkford and the Duchess of Kirkford.”
Stenfax slowly turned the corner and watched as the new Duke of Kirkford enter the ballroom. And on his arm, dressed in a pink gown, was Elise.
Chapter Seven
Elise understood the concept of humiliation. In the past three years she had endured much of it. Her husband had been a happy extender of the feeling, reveling in her shame when he could create it.
Others had made her feel the sting as well. When she first entered Society as Duchess of Kirkford, there had been plenty of people who had cut her off for the scandalous breaking of her engagement to Stenfax. She had deserved that, she knew, and had taken it with her chin lifted as high as she could manage, even if she’d wept into her pillow at night at the shame.
But tonight, on display in a shocking gown, at a ball where she never should have been, out in company when the world thought she should be closeted in mourning, she had never experienced humiliation so completely.
The music no longer played in the room, everyone had turned toward her and they were whispering, their fans moving like butterfly wings as her name echoed on the air around her. Ambrose seemed immune to it all. In fact, he even seemed to enjoy it as he dragged her into the room.
She let her gaze move around those in attendance, hoping to find a friendly face. Instead, she found Grayson Danford, Stenfax’s younger brother. His hard face was like steel as he glowered at her from his place with his new wife. Their mother was also in attendance, and even the flighty Lady Stenfax looked stunned to see her there.
None of the rest in the room gave her a smile or an acknowledging wave and her heart sank. She was well and truly ruined at last. After years of spiraling toward that end, it was here.
But as the stunned silence hung on, the Marchioness of Swinton rushed forward, dragging a very bored Marquess with her. She made a huge show out of greeting Elise and Ambrose, though Elise couldn’t have understood what she was saying if the lady had tattooed it across Elise’s arm.
Because when she turned to greet the couple, she saw that Stenfax was now standing in the ballroom door behind her. Staring at her. His face filled with shock and horror. The crowd seemed to notice it, too, for they began to look back and forth between them. Waiting for…well, a showdown, Elise was certain. A scene.
In truth, she wasn’t sure there wasn’t about to be a scene. But then Stenfax sniffed and entered the room, passing her by like she wasn’t even there as he moved over to where his family was standing.
That seemed to settle the room, for the music started again and the silence gave way to murmurs, though the stares went on. Lady Swinton sighed in relief as her party returned to something close to normal.
“Enjoy yourselves,” she said, giving Elise a look that told her the marchioness wasn’t an ally for her, either. Then she slipped back into the crowd with her husband, leaving Ambrose and Elise by the side of the dancefloor.
“I have some business to conduct,” he said, releasing her arm at last. It felt like being released from a prison. “But you’ll save a waltz for me later.”
Elise pinched her lips together. “I shall not dance, Your Grace. It wouldn’t be right. None of this is proper.”
He leaned in. “Perhaps not. But I’d best not find you dancing with someone else, then. Or else you’ll be walking home. In that dress, you won’t make it.”
He turned on his heel and left her standing there, well and truly caught by her circumstances. God, but she hated Ambrose. She had hated Toby, as well. The cousins were two of a kind, raised entitled and cruel.
She knew very well just how cruel.
“Your Grace?”
Elise turned to find a gentleman approaching her. He was handsome in his own way, though he had an almost baby face. Probably because he had to be at least five years younger than her own six and twenty. His face also seemed familiar and she froze as she realized he was someone she’d seen circulating at Vivien’s home.
“G-good evening,” she stammered, praying this man wasn’t about to out her. What a spectacle that would create. She’d never be able to leave her house again and what few acquaintances she might have left after this night would never speak to her after that.
He edged closer. “Forgive me for the forwardness, Your Grace. We have not been introduced.”
She drew a few calming breaths. “But you know who I am.”
“I do. You’re the Duchess of Kirkford. And I am Theodore Winstead.”
“The Viscount Winstead’s youngest?” she asked, finding the information about his identity in the long list of names her mind somehow found space for.
He smiled. “That is me.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Winstead,” she said.
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you, Your Grace.” He shifted as if uncomfortable, and she saw how his gaze flitted to her cleavage, so heavily on display. She blushed even though this gown was meant exactly for that purpose.
Just not for here.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked.
She stiffened. To dance with him would only cause more consternation and possibly a great deal of trouble with Ambrose. So she shook her head. “I may not look it, but I’m still considered in mourning,” she said, ducking her head in embarrassment. “It wouldn’t be right.”
He nodded slowly. “Then what about a turn around the terrace?”
She lifted her gaze to him. He did look very interested and there was nothing unkind about his face or his eyes. “Very well. It might be nice to escape the stifling warmth of this room.”
He extended an arm and she took it, letting him lead her from the room. Outside a few couples and groups were gathered and most of them turned as the pair exited. Elise stiffened as the whispers from inside extended to the terrace.
A few shot her glares, then returned to the ballroom like she had a disease they might all catch. She released Mr. Winstead’s arm and walked to the edge of the stone terrace.
“I have seen you before,” Winstead said, coming up to lean against the terrace beside her. “I think you know where.”
She refused to look at him as she gripped her fist against the scratchy stone. “I do. I’ve seen you there, as well. But you’ve never approached me. Why do it tonight when I’m a pariah?”
“You’re popular at Vivien’s,” he explained. “And…”
He trailed off, and now she did turn toward him. “And?”
“And Lord Stenfax has seemed protective and interested. He isn’t the kind of man one thwarts easily.”
“You have no idea,” Elise murmured as she looked once again at the dark garden below. “But you have the wrong notion. He is not interested. You saw him stalk past me without even a look tonight.”
The young man nodded. “Yes, that action gave me the bravery to approach you at last.”
Elise looked at him again. She felt nothing when she did so, not even a flutter of desire or interest. Yet she knew the Winstead family had money. This young man likely had means to keep a mistress if he wanted her. And there wasn’t anything unattractive about him, exactly. He just wasn’t…
Stenfax.
She frowned and drew a few long breaths, wishing she could press those thoughts of Lucien from her mind forever. Wishing she could make all her memories go away and start fresh.
But she couldn’t.
“If I approached you at Vivien’s,” Winstead continued. “Would you welcome that?”
She swallowed hard. “I would,” she said, though the sound of the words was hollow. “I hope you will and we can get to know each other better there.”
He smiled and looked even younger. Lord, she would rob a cradle before this was finished. What a ridiculous notion that was.
He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a brief kiss to her glove before he said, “I ought to go in. But I hope to see you again soon, Your Grace.”
“Good night, Mr. Winstead,” she said. “I’ll stay here for a while.”
He nodded and left her on the terrace. She looked around after he was gone. It seemed her unwanted presence had inspired all the others to leave, as well. It was just as well. She didn’t think she could take more pointed stares and whispered insults tonight. If she could hide outside for a long enough time, perhaps she could find some way to convince Ambrose to allow her to go home.
She stared up at the sky with a sigh and a prayer for just that. The moon was just a sliver tonight and she looked up at that hint of beauty, focusing on it rather than her own awful circumstances.
“Elise.”
At the sound of her name, she gripped her fist tighter on the stone. She didn’t have to turn to know who had said it. But she did and caught her breath.
She’d seen Stenfax once tonight, but it didn’t matter. Every time she looked at him, he took her breath away. He was as beautiful dressed formally as he was naked while he took her.
Well, almost as beautiful.
“You shouldn’t be out here with me,” she said, forcing herself to look away. “I’m sure they are watching you.”
He ignored the comment and took a long step toward her. “It doesn’t matter. Elise, we need to talk.”
Elise didn’t respond to him immediately, and for that Stenfax was glad. It allowed him an extra moment to look at her, a tiny sparkle of moonlight bouncing off her luminous skin. Her dress was shocking, but it was beautiful. All that perfect flesh, teasing at more but not revealing it. It made a man want to glide his hands inside the folds of fabric and touch her until she shattered.
She licked her lips and he fought hard against the urge to do just that to her and more.
“Did you come out here to tell me that Mr. Winstead is evil?” she asked.
He frowned. Oh yes, he’d marked young Winstead’s interest in Elise. Watching her walk outside with the man was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. Harder still was not bursting out behind them and tossing the man into the bushes below.
“I have nothing negative to say about Winstead except that he’s a pup,” he said through clenched teeth.
She looked at him evenly, one fine eyebrow arching. “Well, he won’t be forever, I suppose.”
He shook his head. “No. I suppose not. Truly, I have never heard anything untoward about him.”
She folded her arms. “Are you encouraging me to choose him as my protector then?”
“No,” he whispered, trying to ignore the intense pain that ricocheted through him at that thought. The thought of someone like Winstead touching her. Giving her pleasure and having her return it. They were painful, erotic images that flooded his mind. “I could never do that.”
“Why?” She turned away as she asked the question, but her pain was clear whether she faced him or not. It dripped from her voice, it sat on her rolled shoulders. “You don’t want me. In fact, all this must thrill you.”
“All this?” he repeated, uncertain what she meant.
Her shoulders bent further. “This idea that I am here in the height of humiliation. Being rejected by people I once called friend. Being forced to fuck for my freedom, my life.”
He heard the wavering tears in her voice, even though she hadn’t yet begun to weep outright. Suddenly he had a wild urge to take her in his arms, to take her away from this night and this life. To save her. To keep her.
But he couldn’t do that. There was too much history between them. Still, he found himself moving toward her.
“None of those things give me any pleasure,” he said as he reached out and placed a hand on her bare arm. She looked at it sitting there, her entire body shaking. “Once I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to make you feel the same brokenness I did when you left.”
She lifted her gaze and a single tear escaped her eye, trailing down her cheek. She didn’t move to wipe it away, but let it drag down to her chin.
“Oh, Lucien,” she whispered. “I did. I assure you, I did.”
He caught his breath. There was something so real in what she said. Like she had truly suffered for her choices, the same way he had suffered for them.
“Elise,” he whispered.
But she looked past him rather than letting him in. She looked toward the house, and he saw her face crumple even further. “I see that Kirkford is looking for me,” she said. “Goodnight, Lucien.”
She pulled from his touch and walked away without a backward glance. He watched her go, incapable of following, incapable of stopping her.
But when she was gone, he at last caught his breath. There was something more going on here. Something more than he had ever understood before. And now he wanted to know what that was. He wanted the answers he’d never dared seek before, ones he thought he’d known all these years.
But he had no idea if that search would send him spiraling out of control…or send him home to the only woman who had ever held his heart.
Elise sat stiffly in Ambrose’s carriage as they made their way home. She had been lucky the new duke had suffered a headache that had forced them from the ball early.
Still, she couldn’t stop thinking of Stenfax on the terrace. He had reached out to her and she had said too much, she had tried to make some kind of excuse for herself. She had told him of her suffering. As if that mattered. She had done what she’d done. The why of it wouldn’t help anyone.
“Well, Elise,” Ambrose said, drawing her attention to him, away from the troubling thoughts of her encounter with Stenfax. “I hope tonight has helped you understand how very alone you are now.”
She pinched her lips and fought the urge to bark out a humorless laugh. Somehow she didn’t think this feckless buffoon would appreciate that. “I already knew that, Ambrose, I assure you.”
He leaned closer, and he was all but looking down her dress as he did so. “You don’t have to be in a precarious position, Elise. You could stay right in your home, you could even find yourself with a bit of pin money again. You just have to give me something in return.”
Elise’s stomach turned. And there it was, spoken out loud at last. Ambrose wanted her to be his mistress. And wasn’t that what she was looking for herself, a powerful protector? Except the very idea of bedding her hated husband’s equally hated cousin was disgusting beyond measure. The street itself was more appealing.
The carriage pulled into her drive and Elise edged toward the door. “Let me make this clear to you, Ambrose. No. Never. I would never trade myself for your house and your protection. Good night.”
She fled the carriage before he could react, but she heard his salty curse, hurtled at her as the carriage pulled away into the darkness.
For a moment, she stood in her drive, trying to calm herself, trying to catch her breath. But it was impossible. Ambrose was right that tonight had proven just how alone she was in the world.
And it had also shown her that being alone was more dangerous now than ever. She had to move forward with her plan to escape this man, this house, and to escape the tangled feelings that Stenfax inspired in her.
Ones that would lead to nothing but more pain and more ruin for them both.
Chapter Eight
Stenfax swung off his horse and looked up at his mother’s London home as a groom came rushing down to take his mount. He let out a long sigh. He wasn’t looking forward to this. But it had to be done.
Her butler opened the door as Lucien came up the steps two by two. “Good afternoon, my lord,” he said, taking Stenfax’s hat and gloves.
“Hello Riley,” he said. “Are my mother and sister in residence?”
“They’re taking tea in the west parlor, my lord. Shall I announce you?”
“No need,” Stenfax said, smiling at the man before he moved down the hall.
He heard their voices as he approached. Their mother, soft and slightly silly, Felicity’s voice bright and intelligent. As he entered the chamber, both of th
em turned, and there were two reactions. His mother’s face lit up with pleasure, Felicity’s tightened with pain and caution.
“Good afternoon,” Stenfax said as his mother hurried over. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Oh, it looks like I’ve come just at the end of tea.”
Lady Stenfax shook her head. “I’ll call for more. We’d love to have you, wouldn’t we Felicity?”
Felicity got to her feet and faced Stenfax fully, her hands folded in front of her. “If that is what the earl desires. It seems he does whatever he’d like anyway.”
Their mother jerked her face toward Felicity. “What are you talking about?”
Stenfax glared at Felicity and then patted his mother’s arm reassuringly. “We had a little disagreement last night, Mama, nothing more. I came to talk to Felicity, actually. Perhaps we could go to the music room and chat?”
Felicity shrugged. “As you like.”
“Before you go, may I speak to you a moment, Lucien?” their mother asked.
Felicity exchanged a look with him, then said, “I’ll meet you down the hall.”
She left, and their mother turned into him, searching his face with worry. “Are you well, darling?”
He wrinkled his brow. He loved his mother dearly, but no one could say she was the most observant woman in the world. She had once been described as flighty, and that was certainly true.
“I’m fine, Mama. I assure you,” he said. Lied, actually, for he didn’t feel fine.
“I-I saw the Duchess of Kirkford at the ball last night,” she continued. “I suppose everyone saw her.”
Stenfax stiffened. “Yes, there was quite the stir regarding her.”
She squeezed his arm. “I hope that doesn’t pain you.”
He considered the question. Pain him? To see Elise? Hell yes, it pained him. But surprisingly it wasn’t because of the betrayal or the lies or the abandonment.
It hurt to see her because he couldn’t touch her freely. He couldn’t stop her from talking to men like Winstead and planning a future that would include him no more than her past had.
One Summer of Surrender Page 7