Chapter 2

The carriage rattled over the country road, jostling Henrietta along with her mother, sister, and father. She couldn't believe that her father had suggested she marry a rich man just to save them all from ruin. She hadn't been the one who had lost the fortunes, but it seemed as if he expected her to restore them single-handedly.

"This was a ridiculous idea; we shouldn't be on our way to a ball in Bath when we haven't even the money for any new dresses. Half the guests will realize that the girls have been seen in these dresses before." Emmeline sighed heavily and shook her head, eliciting a grumble of displeasure from her husband.

Looking down at her lap, Henrietta examined the fine silk of her light blue dress. In her opinion, there was nothing wrong about wearing a dress more than once. The main problem with the situation was her father's insistence upon her finding a wealthy husband at the ball.

"Nobody will care about your dresses; most of the people in Bath hardly come to London in any case." Derek clenched his jaw and gripped his seat when the carriage hit what seemed like a large stone, throwing them all to the side.

"If none of the people in Bath come to London, then why are we looking for Henrietta's husband here? Surely there would be wealthier men in London?" Marianna spoke up for the first time since they entered the carriage, naively adding her thoughts.

Their father averted his gaze, looking out the carriage window without venturing an answer.

"I think a better question is why we are looking for a husband for me at all when all of us should be looking for suitable paying positions," Henrietta said, knowing very well that she'd rouse her father's anger. Derek Fitzroy was a proud man who didn't take lightly to any suggestions of gainful employment among the upper class.

Derek snapped, tightening his fists over his knees. "You know very well that I will not allow anything of the sort. The decision has been made, and I won't hear anything further on the matter. You will marry a wealthy man, and that is final."

"And if I refuse to be the bait with which you set your trap? And what of my dowry that is no longer there? Must the poor man accept me with nothing?" She looked her father in the eyes, defiantly refusing to be a pawn in his scheme.

Her father's eyes darkened threateningly as he lifted his chin and glared at her. "You seem to be living under a false assumption of naivety. As your father, I have the right to say whom you should marry. It is none of your concern what will happen with your dowry; that is something that the gentleman and I shall discuss."

Emmeline looked as if she were about to say something but shut her mouth and looked out the window with sadness.

Her pulse began to race as the carriage stopped in front of a sprawling country mansion.

Is this really how things will play out?

She wondered if she would spend the rest of her life in a loveless marriage, doomed to silence as she watched her life pass her by in some forgotten section of an old country home.

"I expect all of you to be on your best behaviour this evening." Derek sniffed proudly and stepped out of the carriage.

Marianna and their mother followed suit, shooting apologetic glances in her direction. Was nobody going to take her side and stand up for what was right? Her mother had always insisted that marrying for love was better than fortune, not that her parents' marriage was any kind of example on that score. Her father was a tyrant, while her mother did as he said, acting as the dutiful countess.

Giving herself over to the situation at hand, Henrietta exited the carriage, reassuring herself that she could always oppose whatever man was presented to her. Her father could lead her to a man, but she still had to agree.

The cool evening air kissed the skin of her neck and chest. The pale blue dress of silk she had chosen allowed just enough room for her skin to breathe. She detested stuffy dresses as much as she hated her father's insistence.

The mansion loomed high above her with stone buttresses and hundreds of windows with flickering candles. The sun had just begun to set, and several torches had been lit, illuminating a path up the stone steps. Her parents and her sister had gone ahead, leaving her to follow them whether she wanted to or not.

She had barely taken a step away from the carriage when she felt her foot hooking on a loose stone. The world around her blurred as she felt herself tumbling with no hope of anything to grab onto.

Strong hands gripped her arms, spinning her around just before she hit the ground.

Her breath caught in her chest as Henrietta looked into the intense gaze of the drawing that had stared up at her from the scandal sheet. Whoever had drawn the sketch had done his handsome features justice; there was no mistaking Baron St John. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the mask.

What lurked beneath the pure white porcelain?

The baron pulled her up and placed her on her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather. The muscular arms and sculpted thighs instantly drew her attention. The same dangerous inkling of attraction tightened her chest and caused her lips to part slightly as she stepped back.

She feared the baron would think her a fool if she continued to gawk at him like some kind of spectacle. Yet Henrietta couldn't bring herself to utter a single word in his presence. The man oozed danger from every pore of his being.

Glowering at her, he allowed his gaze to sweep over her thin frame, causing a rush of heat to flow through her body. Without saying a word, he walked past her and proceeded up the stairs, entering the ball as if nothing at all had happened.

***

Benedict grumbled to himself as he made his way up the stairs and through the open doors. It was bad enough that his friend had persuaded him to attend the ball. The last thing he needed was an interaction with a beautiful young woman who looked at him as if he were a monster.

How she had stepped away from him without saying a word had caused his anger to rise. People tended to judge him on rumours and looks alone instead of getting to know him better. Not that getting to know him was ever a possibility. He far preferred the solitude of his home to the company of stuck-up social butterflies.

She was beautiful, though.

Lust-filled thoughts took over for a moment as he recalled the softness of her skin and the gentle curve of her neck. It had been a long time since he'd been close enough to smell a woman's perfume. The scent alone was enough to awaken his arousal.

Shaking off the unwanted thoughts, Benedict entered the crowded room, ignoring the whispers and lude glances that followed his every move. Guests stepped aside or even fled as he picked a secluded corner and made his way over.

"You certainly know how to make an entrance, I'll give you that," a familiar voice spoke up from behind him just as Benedict reached the secluded corner of the room.

Turning to see his oldest and only friend grinning at him, Benedict breathed a sigh of relief despite the irritation he felt towards the situation. "I should have known you would have been skulking in a corner, Larson."

Gibbs Larson smoothed his thick black hair to the side and came to his friend's side, holding a glass of whisky. His greyish, blue eyes shone mischievously. He was slightly shorter than Benedict, with a stocky build. "I wasn't skulking; I merely anticipated your moves. I knew you would find the most remote corner of the room and head straight there."

Benedict felt a muscle in his jaw begin to twitch when two ladies walked by, eyeing him suspiciously before hurrying along. "This was a mistake. I don't know why I allowed you to talk me into coming here," he growled through his clenched teeth and glared at the woman.

Shaking his head with an amused smirk, Gibbs patted his friend on the shoulder. "The women keep staring at you because you insist on wearing the godawful mask. Honestly, Benedict, I have seen your scars; they aren't as bad as all that. You should take it off some time and live a little. It's not healthy for you to be cooped up in that house all the time, alone with your books and telescopes. You need a wife."

"I need a drink and a reminder never to listen to you ever again," Benedict said grumpily, touching his mask to ensure it was in place. "A woman would do nothing but add to my troubles." His mind instantly wandered to the incident on the steps and the gorgeous blonde that had gawked at him like an insect.

"How many years has it been now, ten? You have to move on with your life. I fear that if you don't, you will wake up one day and realize that you're a sad old man with nobody by his side."

Gibbs sipped his whisky, allowing his gaze to wander over the many young women gathered at the ball.

A hush fell over the guests as everyone turned to see the blonde woman entering the room. Eyes followed her every move as she elegantly made her way into the throng, her head held high with a warm smile. A sudden rush of attraction flowed through his body, culminating in an unwanted arousal. She carried herself so gracefully that it almost seemed as if she were floating rather than walking.

"Now that is a fine young woman. At least I can see you have good taste." Gibbs raised his gaze slightly and motioned in her direction. "Her name is Henrietta Fitzroy; she's the belle of every ball she attends. Whomever she decides to marry will be a lucky man indeed."

"Why hasn't she married yet?" Benedict found it nearly impossible to tear his gaze from her as she stopped beside an older woman who seemed to be her mother.

Gibbs sighed heavily. "Saving herself for true love, I am afraid. She's one of ‘those' ladies who will accept nothing less than the best, or so I am told, at least. I've never worked up the courage to ask her to dance myself."

Benedict watched as every man in the room seemed to orient themselves towards her. Women glared and whispered while men stared for what seemed like an inappropriate amount of time. It struck him as odd that everyone gawked at her in the same manner as they glared at him. He wondered if she enjoyed the attention or if it irked her to be the centre of what seemed like so much fuss.

"I wouldn't bother if I were you, my friend. Henrietta Fitzroy is a prize far beyond any other. If I were you, I would set my sights on someone a little less challenging." Gibbs swirled the last few drops of the whisky in his glass before chugging it back.

"I wasn't thinking of trying my luck; women like that are nothing but trouble." His eyes remained fixed on her elegant profile as she turned to speak to another guest.

Nothing but trouble.

His inner voice warned him against getting involved with anyone as dangerously beautiful as Henrietta Fitzroy. The name rolled through his mind like a gem in a mine full of coal, tucking itself away in a long-forgotten crevice. Even if he were looking for a wife, he certainly wouldn't give any thought to her.