Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

“You wish to dance with me?” Genevieve asked hesitantly.

She blinked in surprise, glancing nervously around at the clusters of onlookers who still seemed to follow her every move.

Kenneth’s grin widened, his tone turning mock-serious. “Oh no, you have mistaken me, Your Grace. I am asking you to save me. You see, if I stand here any longer, I am liable to fall prey to one of those ladies.”

He tilted his head meaningfully toward the gaggle of women who had just tormented Genevieve, and she couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped her lips.

“Very well,” she replied, placing her hand delicately in his. “But I warn you, my dancing skills are not nearly as scandalous as my reputation.”

“Ah, a pity,” Kenneth said with exaggerated disappointment, leading her toward the dance floor. “I was hoping for something truly shocking—perhaps a spin that defies all propriety.”

Genevieve smiled, a genuine one this time, as the orchestra struck up the opening notes of a waltz. Kenneth’s confidence and wit seemed to sweep away her earlier humiliation, and she let herself be guided into position.

The moment Kenneth’s hand settled at her waist, his other clasping hers, she felt the steady strength in his movements.

“Calm, Your Grace,” he murmured, guiding her effortlessly into the first turn. “I have yet to drop a partner, and I have no intention of starting with you.”

Genevieve’s laughter bubbled up again, quiet but real, as Kenneth steered her expertly across the floor.

He was an excellent dancer, confident and fluid in his movements, which allowed her to focus on nothing but the music and the steps.

“You are far too charming for your own good, Lord Gaverton,” she teased lightly. “I imagine you leave a trail of broken hearts wherever you go.”

Kenneth’s grin turned self-deprecating. “I do try, though hearts are far easier to manage than vengeful dukes.”

Genevieve tilted her head, curiosity piqued. “Vengeful dukes?”

He twirled her effortlessly, his smile softening just slightly as his voice dropped to a murmur.

“You know, of course, to whom I am referring?” he arched an eyebrow.

Genevieve merely nodded.

“Well, I know His Grace has not been himself lately, no?”

Genevieve faltered slightly in her step, though Kenneth’s firm hand steadied her. “You have noticed, then?”

“His Grace has always been brooding, mind you, but… Well. I am merely asking you to show patience with him,” the marquess said.

“Patience?”

“Yes,” Kenneth said, and suddenly, a dark somber cloud took over his eyes.

“You know, Your Grace, ruin has a way of stripping a man bare—leaving nothing but the raw bones of who he is,” he added.

Genevieve blinked, taken aback by the shift in his cheerful demeanor.

“Your husband… That is where he found me,” he continued, “After my father’s death, I was broken. Our family name had been dragged through the dirt, and our so-called friends? They turned their backs the moment the first scandal broke.”

Genevieve gulped, the familiarity of his situation turning her throat dry.

“I thought the Duke came to gloat—he had every right to, after how much my family had ignored him before,” Kenneth went on, “But instead, he told me Kenneth, they broke you because they feared you. Now rise, and let us remind them why. I have been standing at his side ever since.”

Genevieve stared at Kenneth, her brow furrowing as his words settled like stones in her chest.

She felt as though he had cracked open a door she had never noticed before, revealing a truth she wasn’t prepared to see.

“And he saved you,” she said softly, more to herself than to Kenneth. Her gaze dropped to her hands, twisting idly in her lap. “He didn’t have to—but he did.”

Kenneth tilted his head, a glimmer of something unreadable in his sharp eyes.

“No, he didn’t have to. The Duke doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to, I assure you.”

Her lips pressed together as she absorbed this image of Wilhelm—as someone capable of lifting another from despair. Someone who gave his loyalty quietly, perhaps even reluctantly, but without condition once it was earned.

“And yet,” she murmured, looking back up, “he pretends he is nothing more than a shadow at the edge of everyone’s lives.”

Kenneth chuckled, though there was a knowing sadness to it. “Oh, he will always insist he is the villain of this story, but trust me, Your Grace—he is the man who stands in the fire when everyone else runs.”

Her chest tightened, an unfamiliar ache spreading through her.

“I wish…” She paused, as if the words might betray her, but she couldn’t stop them. “I wish he did not carry it all alone.”

Kenneth’s gaze softened. “Then perhaps you are exactly the person he needs, after all.”

The music began to slow, the waltz drawing to a close. Kenneth brought her into a graceful final turn before leading her off the floor, his hand lingering respectfully at her back.

“Thank you,” she said softly, meeting his gaze. “I had almost forgotten what it was like to enjoy a dance.”

“Then I consider my mission a success,” he replied with a grin. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must escape before Lady Granville decides to claim me for herself.”

Genevieve laughed, and Kenneth winked as he disappeared into the crowd, leaving her standing alone for the first time that evening.

Her smile faltered as reality crept back in, the whispers of the ton once again audible on the fringes of her awareness. Yet Kenneth’s words lingered in her mind, offering a small, flickering hope.

Perhaps Wilhelm’s distance was not a rejection of her, but of his own demons.

She glanced toward the ballroom entrance, half-expecting to see Wilhelm striding through it, his familiar dark gaze finding hers.

But he did not come.

“Allow me to say, Your Grace,” a woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile said half an hour later, “I was… apprehensive about approaching you.”

Genevieve tilted her head to the side, a curious glint in her eyes. “Apprehensive in what way, Madam?”

The woman swallowed, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I heard… Well, you know,” she stammered, her gaze darting away momentarily. “The rumors.”

Genevieve’s lips curled into a wry smile. “Ah, yes,” she drawled. “The rumors.”

“But it is noteworthy,” the woman continued, her sincere gaze meeting Genevieve’s, “I find myself quite charmed by your presence. You are not at all what I expected.”

Genevieve’s heart swelled at her words. “Thank you, Madam,” she murmured.

“And I must apologize for my husband’s behavior,” the woman added, furrowing her brow in disapproval. “He can be quite disagreeable at times.”

Genevieve’s lips twitched. “I assure you, Madam, I have encountered my fair share of disagreeable gentlemen,” she replied, amusement lacing her voice.

The woman’s smile widened, her eyes twinkling with understanding.

“I am glad to hear it, Your Grace,” she said, her voice warm and genuine. “And I do hope that you will not let the whispers of the Ton deter you from enjoying your time in London.”

For the first time since her arrival in London that evening, Genevieve felt a glimmer of acceptance—a sense of belonging that had eluded her, despite her efforts.

The isolation that had hung over her like a heavy veil seemed to lift, and for a fleeting moment, she did not feel like an outsider.

Her heart swelled with gratitude, her gaze meeting the woman’s with newfound confidence.

“I shall not,” she declared, her voice firm and resolute.

The woman’s smile widened, her eyes filled with admiration. “Well said, Your Grace,” she remarked with approval.

Just as Genevieve was about to respond, a figure emerged from the crowd, approaching her hesitantly.

“Genevieve,” Alfred greeted. “Might I have a word?”

Her gaze hardened as she met his. “Lord Shelton,” she acknowledged, her voice cool and distant as he gripped Genevieve’s arm softly.

“Might I have a word?” Alfred repeated, his grip tightening on her arm as his gaze burned into hers.

Genevieve yanked her arm back. “I do not believe that would be appropriate, Lord Shelton,” she said, pursing her lips.

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I have matters of importance to discuss with you—matters you will find quite interesting, Your Grace.”

Genevieve shrugged nonchalantly, then turned to the lady, nodding her head. “If you will pardon me, My Lady.”

She followed Lord Shelton to a quieter corner of the room.

“What is it that you want, Alfred?” she snapped.

Alfred furrowed his brow, his expression both concern and apprehension. “I understand if you are displeased with me,” he began, his voice laced with regret. “But I had no intention of causing you any distress.”

Genevieve looked at him with unfettered disdain. “No intention of causing me distress?”

Alfred’s cheeks flushed, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I… I was a coward,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “In the past, I mean. I was afraid of being associated with the rumors.”

Genevieve’s gaze softened slightly, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “I understand,” she murmured. “But it does not excuse your actions.”

Alfred nodded, his expression filled with remorse. “I know,” he agreed, his voice heavy with regret. “And I am truly sorry, Genevieve.” He paused, his gaze searching hers. “I wanted to ask how you are faring,” he continued, his voice laced with concern. “How are you managing with… with Ravenshire?”

Genevieve furrowed her brow, her gaze hardening once more. “I do not believe that is any of your concern, Lord Shelton,” she retorted.

Alfred’s lips tightened, his gaze darting away momentarily. “I understand,” he murmured. “But I… I still care for you, Genevieve. And I want to ensure that you are safe.”

Genevieve scoffed, her eyes blazing with contempt. “Safe?” she repeated scornfully. “Why would I not be safe?”

“I am only saying that you should be careful,” he replied, his eyes filled with fake concern. “Ravenshire is not the man you think he is.”

Genevieve’s curiosity was piqued. “What do you mean?” she inquired apprehensively. “What kind of man is he?”

Alfred leaned closer, his gaze sweeping across the ballroom before returning to hers. “Where is he, by the way?” he asked, his voice carrying a subtle accusation. “Should he not be here by your side?”

Genevieve’s cheeks flushed, her gaze dropping to her gloved hands. “He is… occupied,” she replied, her voice barely audible.

Alfred’s lips curled into a sly grin. “Occupied?” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery. “Or perhaps he is too busy celebrating his latest triumph?”

Genevieve furrowed her brow, still not comprehending what he meant. “What triumph are you referring to, if I may ask?”

Alfred pursed his lips, the gleam in his eyes intensifying with every word.

“Oh, did you not know?” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Genevieve shook her head, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Know what?” she inquired.

Alfred leaned closer. “It seems that your dear husband has been boasting,” he said, his eyes filled with concern. “Boasting about your… How can I put this? Your curse.”

Genevieve’s eyes widened in surprise, her breath catching in her throat. “My curse?” she said in disbelief.

Alfred nodded, his expression grave. “He was boasting about how he could use your curse to his advantage.”

Genevieve’s heart sank, her mind reeling from his words. “Use my curse?” she queried, her voice thick with confusion and hurt.

Alfred nodded sympathetically. “He was telling everyone how he could use it to destroy his enemies.”

Genevieve’s eyes filled with tears as her heart overflowed with betrayal and disappointment.

“He… he would never say such a thing,” she stammered.

Alfred’s expression softened, his hand reaching out to gently touch her arm. “I am sorry, Genevieve,” he murmured. “I know this must be difficult to hear, but I wanted you to know the truth.”

He paused, his gaze searching hers.

“You should be careful, Your Grace,” he added. “Your husband is not the man you think he is.”