Chapter 6

6

Chastity’s fingers trembled as she smoothed down her gray dress for the hundredth time, her eyes darting nervously around the glittering ballroom. The crystals in the chandeliers seemed to mock her, their brilliant sparkle a stark contrast to her dull attire. She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to flee as the memory of her earlier embarrassment with Lord Wardbury burned fresh in her mind.

Pryde’s opulent ballroom, awash in blue hues from cerulean to navy, and strategically decorated with cascading white flowers along the columns, should have been a joy to be in. Instead, to Chastity, it felt like she was stepping barefoot on broken glass. The gilded mirrors reflected not just the light of hundreds of candles, but her own inadequacy. The scent of perfume, wine, and flowers scratched against her senses.

An orchestra played an English country song, and a dozen or so pairs of dancers jiggled and bounced with the rhythm. There was Lord Wardbury, dancing with a young lady who didn’t step on his shoes and didn’t embarrass him by grabbing his arm as though she were drowning, didn’t call him a ridiculous name, and didn’t bark with laughter like a hound.

Even though she wouldn’t accept Lord Wardbury’s proposal even if he did make one, it still hurt that she couldn’t get even an ounce of his attention and approval. The wager was about getting a proposal, not actually going through with it, but Lucien didn’t need to know that. All she wanted was to secure Lord Wardbury’s support in her research.

Chastity’s cheeks hadn’t stopped burning. How in the world was she going to win this silly bet when everything she did and everything that came out of her mouth made her look like a fool? Thank God for Patience and her friendship. It was the first time in Chastity’s life she actually had a female friend, and Patience’s soothing words and understanding made her feel so much better. Earlier, even Dorian had come to her asking if she’d been all right while she’d talked to Lord Wardbury, if she perhaps was not feeling well and needed to lie down.

Meanwhile Lucien pranced around, and women threw themselves at him without him saying a word to them!

How humiliating.

And yet, what Chastity wouldn’t give to have a drop of his charm and his social ease at the moment. Just look at him now, that woman with red hair could have rubbed her chest against his biceps. He leaned closer to the redheaded lady, a lazy, confident smile on his beautiful lips.

He must have caved in by now. She’d seen him leave with a blonde lady and go somewhere behind the bushes. Not a few hours into the house party, and he must have already surrendered to his lust! Which meant, her torture would be over, and she’d be the victor.

Merciful heavens, please let him have sinned already!

The music stopped, the couples bowed and curtsied to each other, and Constantine, the Duke of Pryde, walked into the middle of the ballroom. The guests stepped to the side, giving their host space. He was tall, as tall as Dorian, and dressed in something navy, as always. His brown hair was in the fashionable windswept hairstyle and his chestnut eyes looked cooly upon his guests.

Chastity remembered the first time she’d seen him, when Dorian had come back home from Oxford for Papa’s funeral with his arm bandaged, hiding a mysterious wound. He had brought Lucien and Pryde with him. The way the three were connected was intense…and odd. They had been quiet, almost silent, never leaving each other’s side for longer than a few minutes.

She remembered being envious and aching to have a friend like that one day. Perhaps she did now, with Patience. She looked at Patience, who said something into Dorian’s ear. He leaned slightly towards her, listening attentively. They were such a beautiful and striking couple, opposites in every way. She was short, blonde, curvy, radiant, and bubbly, while he was tall, dark-haired, athletic, and serious. She was generous with her smiles, and he guarded his like treasure, giving them away rarely, but with intention. And yet, together they were perfect.

Chastity was so happy for her brother, who had transformed. Before Patience, he had worn a glove over his wounded hand, never removing it in anyone’s presence but the doctor’s. Now, he showed his hand without shame and did not try to hide the burns and lacerations he’d suffered.

Chastity had no lacerations, no burns. Her “glove” was her gray dresses. She was envious of Dorian’s new ability to show the world who he was.

She could never.

Longingly, she looked at Lord Wardbury, who stood next to the young lady with whom he had danced, listening to Pryde.

“Enjoying yourself?” came a voice by her side, and she jerked a little, looking up at Lucien.

His soft, playful smile and ever-calm demeanor spurred her anxiety. How could he be so calm and collected—always—while she was a bundle of nerves, her hands shaking, her cheeks burning, her chest aching for breath?

“No,” she said. “What’s the opposite of enjoying? Oh, torture. That’s what I am. Being tortured.”

Pryde raised his glass. “Welcome, highly esteemed guests,” he proclaimed.

The footmen began to carry around trays with drinks.

“Shh,” said Lucien playfully. “No complaining now. Listen to Constantine.”

“It’s an honor to welcome you all at Pryde Manor. I hope you enjoy the month as my guests. Friendships and memories will be made, fun will be had.”

“Do you hear?” Lucien said. “Fun will be had. No torture has been foreseen in Constantine’s program.”

“Hold your tongue,” she shot back as she picked up a glass of red wine.

“I have arranged entertainment fit for every taste,” declared Pryde. “We will have picnics, games, a Romeo and Juliet theater piece, a hunt, and, finally, a grand ball at the end.”

Chastity emptied the glass of wine in one gulp. “That all sounds like torture to me. The Holy Inquisition at play no less.”

Lucien laughed quietly. “Lord Wardrobe certainly disagrees.”

To her surprise, Chastity burst forth with laughter, as well. Perhaps it was the wine. How could she feel any humor at all while her stomach was in knots?

“I did make a fool out of myself, didn’t I?” she said as she looked at him, a smile on her face.

To her surprise, he didn’t jeer, didn’t even tease her. His eyes were full of compassion. “A little.”

“I should just give up, shouldn’t I?” she said. “You heard our host. Thirty days of games, picnics, hunts, and a ball… You were right. I can’t secure a husband in Lord Wardbury. I’m the laughingstock of the party.”

“You can’t give up. If I can do this, so can you.”

“So you didn’t lose the bet earlier today with that blonde Lady Bustleton behind the rosebushes?”

He chuckled. “Lady Osborn. And no, I did not, Chastity. Look,Lord Wardbury is a doctor. You’re a researcher and the smartest woman I know. Don’t you have much common ground with him?”

She sighed. “I should! Why is it so hard to talk to him?”

“I do not know, love,” he said. “Flasks, books, and microscopes didn’t teach you to flirt. But perhaps it would raise your confidence if you dressed more…er…femininely?”

Chastity didn’t want to let him get to her…but with only one remark, he had already poked a sore spot.“What’s wrong with my clothes?” she bristled.

His gaze walked down her body, and despite her resolve to not let him affect her at all, her skin burned.

“You’re a beautiful woman, but you’re not dressed like one. These grays, the practical cut…” Covertly, he picked up the side of her dress between his thumb and index finger. “If you want to seduce him, you need to feel attractive. And if you want to feel attractive, you need to dress in silk and satin. With your coloring…” His attention lingered on her face, on her eyes, on her hair, and went down to her modest neckline. Down to her small breasts—quite the opposite of Lady Bustleton. Her cheeks flared with a new sort of heat. “You should wear jewel tones.”

She burst out a laugh. “Jewel tones? Me?”

“Yes, you, darling.Emerald green, sapphire blue, and ruby red will complement the gorgeous sky-blue color of your eyes and your rich dark hair.”

His eyes swept over her simple chignon, over the center part that split her hair exactly in the middle. It was tightly brushed with no fashionable locks, just as she had told her maid to do. Even though Lucien hadn’t touched her, it felt like he had just stroked her head with a warm, heavy hand.

“Why are you hiding behind these clothes?” he asked.

She stepped away from him, making him drop the edge of her dress. “Because a woman is not just her clothes and her hair,” she hissed. “A woman is foremost a brain!”

“Can’t a woman be both?”

The thought was seductive. She would have loved it to be true. But she bitterly remembered their beautiful mother being cruelly plucked from Chastity and Dorian…sent away just because she was weak. She was her husband’s property, and their father had complete power over her…

“No. I’m a scientist, and I’ll never be anything more. Silks and jewel tones are fluff. They’re not for me.”

Lucien frowned as he studied her. He simply didn’t understand what it was like for her. Perhaps Lady Bustleton was the goddess of sexual attraction, but not Chastity. She was not a woman who would ever be worthy of being loved and truly desired by a man; for all the misgivings of her papa, he had taught her early on that simple truth. He had forbidden her reading and studying science because he wanted her to be a gentlewoman, a wife, and a mother. A woman could either be feminine or smart, but she couldn’t be both.

“You’re wrong about that, darling,” Lucien said. “You already are both. Listen,ask your maid or Patience to help you change your wardrobe. Of course we’re not in London and can’t just go to a modiste, but maybe someone can give you a dress and your maid could alter it.”

Chastity scoffed. “Even if that was possible, itwouldn’t help at all. Either Lord Wardbury will see my value despite the gray clothes and simple hairstyle, or he will not. In which case, I don’t need him anyway.”

The busty blonde Lucien had talked to earlier passed by and his head turned, following her with a brief glance.

Chastity’s hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. Her throat tightened, and her pulse pounded in her ears. “Do not fool yourself, either, Lucien. It’s as hard for you to keep your breeches on as it is for me to flirt. If you didn’t lose the bet already, you will today. Or tomorrow.”

Lucien turned to her. “No, I will not.”

“I know you. You’re barely holding on.”

He scowled at her and said nothing, confirming she was right.

“What will you be like in twenty years?” she continued. “Have you thought of that?”

Lucien chuckled, but with no real humor. “No, of course not.”

“Of course not. Because you’re spontaneous, fun, and light. You don’t think about the future, have no plans, and live only for today.”

His smile fell. “While you know exactly who you will be in twenty years?”

“Yes. A scientist who helped improve lives of thousands of people through my research. What about you?”

His scowl deepened. “I suppose you want to tell me?”

“You’ll die pox-ridden and alone, but proud every woman in England has known your cock.”

All mirth was wiped from Lucien’s face. The playful light in his eyes dimmed, and they gleamed with a raw, vulnerable pain. His smile vanished, leaving his lips in a hard, thin line. His brows snapped together making the sharp angles of his face even more pronounced. The color drained from his cheeks, and his jaw muscles twitched as he clenched his teeth.

For a moment, he seemed exposed and fragile, his mask of confidence shattered.

She couldn’t remember him ever looking hurt the way he did now and regretted the words the moment she said them. She opened her mouth to apologize.

But he shook his head. “Is that what you really think of me? That I am so shallow, so superficial I have no plan for my life like you do?”

“I…er… I’m sorry, Lucien.”

“Do you know what, Chastity? Perhaps you’re right. Being feminine is not for you. Feminine women are not as callous and hurtful as you are.”

Chastity’s heart clenched at Lucien’s words, the pain in his eyes cutting deeper than she’d expected. But as she stood there, feeling the ache of Lucien’s wounded expression, she realized her cruel words were just another way to keep him at arm’s length. It was safer that way, wasn’t it? To push away the boy she had always loved before he could hurt her? Yet in doing so, she was denying herself not just the pain, but any chance at joy or real connection.

It was so much easier to hide behind her research, her practical clothes, her intellectual pursuits. But at what cost?

She opened her mouth to apologize again, to try to bridge the gap she’d created, but the words stuck in her throat.