Chapter 3

Hushed whispers drifted around the room like an unstoppable wave of gossip. Augusta held her head high, walking by her mother's side. She had chosen an emerald dress that accentuated her hourglass figure and complimented her pale skin. Her hair had been pinned to the back of her head in an elaborate style with beads finishing the look.

So much for keeping things quiet.

She caught a glimpse of a few young ladies who were sniggering behind their fans. Half of the ton had been invited to the wedding. It was inevitable that they would have found out sooner than later. Yet, she had hoped to have a few days of respite before the gossip began.

Her mother leaned in closer with a strained smile and whispered in her ear, "Never mind what anyone is saying, dear. Hold your head high. Marie Webster has let me know that she has found the perfect match for you. You will be meeting him soon enough."

A nearby group of ladies watched their every move, turning their heads in the opposite direction as soon as Augusta looked their way. She couldn't be certain, but she thought she heard some of the ladies whisper, "The jilted bride."

Her heart clenched with anger.

Why did Lord Rueford have to do this now?

She heaved a sigh and followed her mother over to the refreshments table then grabbed a glass of punch, sipping on the sweet nectar.

"I just need to greet Lady Darcy before we move. I think it best if you stay here in the corner and keep away from the gossip for now," the Baroness instructed with a glance in the direction of several more sniggering ladies.

Augusta was about to protest and tell her mother that not only was it not her fault that everyone was talking about her but also that she would rather chew on dry hay than talk to Lady Darcy. Speaking to the meddling old lady with the chubby face always felt like swimming in a sea full of jellyfish. She would say something, thinking that she was helping, but she would only make it worse.

Augusta took a breath. "Very well, I will wait here until you return," she answered her mother with a respectful smile.

It was better to keep out of the line of fire until the evening passed, in any case.

Taking the opportunity to scan the room, Augusta noticed the large chandelier with its hundreds of candles and the elegant roses that had been placed in vases around the room. The guests were all dressed in their finest gowns and jewels. It was the last ball of the Season, and all of the forlorn hopefuls were pinning their hopes on finding a husband here.

Her heart suddenly sank when a new wave of whispers broke out amongst the crowd.

Surely, they can't still be talking about me.

She took a step back and tried to conceal herself in the shadows before realizing that everyone's heads were turned to the left. Allowing her curiosity to get the better of her, she craned her neck in the direction of the gossip but couldn't quite see the cause of the commotion.

The guests in front of her suddenly parted, revealing an extremely handsome man in a navy jacket and white breeches. The medals on his chest shone in the flickering candlelight. His blonde hair was thick and neat, swept to the side, yet his eyes caught her attention the most. The man had the most hauntingly beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen.

Her heart fluttered slightly in her chest as he locked eyes with her. The line of his jaw was strong and set as if it had been carved out of stone. He appeared to command everyone's attention, as he walked through the throng of the crowd with ease. As Augusta swept her eyes over him, she realized that there were scars scattered all around his neck, visible through his collar. Combined with the medals on his chest, Augusta realized with a start that the man had been at war. And judging by the sheer number of medals adorning his torso, he had been a successful soldier.

Most probably Captain, Augusta corrected herself.

It took a moment for her to realize that the man with the gorgeous eyes was heading directly toward her. She came to her senses too late and stood rooted to the spot, unable to escape the gossip that followed in his wake. He stood in front of her, her vision filled with nothing but his wide chest and strong jaw. She gulped as her gaze swept higher, and she was suddenly looking in the depth of his mesmerising eyes.

"Dance with me, Miss Augusta," he demanded in a low voice as if he were trying to keep their conversation private despite those around them.

How does he know my name?

She was taken aback by his abrupt demand, but quickly snapped out of her shock and remembered her manners. She would have told him off if they hadn't been surrounded by so many people who were watching the exchange with great interest. No matter how gorgeous he is, he couldn't be just demanding for her to dance.

"Are you asking me for a dance, My Lord, or telling me? It is quite rude to just demand what you want," she spoke sweetly with a smile that hid her true feelings from those around them—a skill that her mother had impressed on her and her sisters.

A dark veil fell over his eyes, exuding a kind of danger that intrigued and enthralled her, despite her better judgment.

"I am used to people obeying me." His dark tone matched the intensity of the navy flecks in his eyes as he held his hand out to her expectantly, though Augusta saw a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

A strange tingling sensation swept through her body as he held her gaze. The room disappeared for a second as her breath caught in her throat.

What is it about this man?

She felt his heated gaze boring into her soul as his eyes flicked down to her chest, devouring the milky swell of her breasts. Noticing the curious gazes from the guests, Augusta quickly placed her hand in his, feeling the warmth of his skin through her white glove.

The handsome stranger led her to the middle of the dance floor where several couples were waiting for the music to start.

Feeling her anxiety grow, Augusta spotted the displeased scowl on her mother's face. Lady Hobbs stood beside Lady Darcy on the periphery of the dance floor, her eyes shooting daggers at her daughter for daring to make another scene. Augusta knew instinctively that explaining the situation to her mother wouldn't do her any good.

The music started as the pianist's fingers danced across the keys. The stranger guided her with expert precision, taking her breath away as he spun her beneath his arm and back into his embrace. His hand held her waist firmly, sending a wave of goosebumps over her skin.

"Am I allowed to know your name, My Lord?" she managed to ask as she regained her composure. The sudden turn of events had left her feeling a little dazed.

"Jason Meyer, the Marquess of Oakhampton," he said matter-of-factly.

His cold demeanor was quickly becoming exasperating for her.

Just who does he think he is?

She allowed herself to be spun around once again. "Very well, Lord Oakhampton. May I ask a second question?"

"You may ask as many questions as you deem fit," he replied briskly while keeping his focus on the dance.

"How is it that you know my name?" She felt herself being drawn in by his gaze once again as her stomach fluttered.

"You are Miss Augusta, the youngest daughter of Baron Hobbs. I think there are a few people in the ton who do not know you." He glanced over his shoulder at the guests, who were watching them dance with great interest.

"Oh, I guess that is true. My reputation has been in tatters for the last few days." She felt flustered at his direct and almost rudely abrupt answers. Yet, it was hard to fault him for the fact that everyone knew who she was, given the recent events.

"I meant about you being the diamond of the Season. I don't care for any other gossip of the ton." The Marquess' reply was nonchalant. Augusta knew he was telling the truth; a man as serious as him would not pertain with rumors and mundane everyday gossip. She felt a surge of warmth for the fact that he did not seem to care about her recent scandal.

That warmth built even more as the Marquess swirled her around the room with ease and confidence, never once faltering in his steps. Augusta, for some unknown reason, felt safe ins his arms. Like she knew he would never let her fail

You barely know the man. Get your mind in order.

Lord Oakhampton did little to try to make or even carry the conversation as they danced, causing Augusta to become increasingly exasperated with him.

"Tell me, My Lord, do you always demand things from ladies rather than asking?" she referred back to the first sentence he ever spoke to her, as she lifted her gaze to his, locking eyes with him challengingly.

His smile lifted the skin over his cheekbones just enough for Augusta to notice again the map of scars on his skin. Raised, dark scars that were only one shade darker than the rest of his skin ran from his ear to his neck, snaking beneath his collar like the roots of a tree. A few of the scars extended to his left cheek as well as his wrist and hand.

Just how many battles has he been in?

She couldn't help but find attractive even his scars. His manners needed some improving, but his looks were captivating.

"Not from all ladies, but my wife is another matter entirely." A wolfish grin spread across his lips, making her heart flutter uncontrollably.

His hand slid up her back and gently stroked her skin through the fabric of her dress as he held her closer. The unexpected gesture caught her off guard, and she took a moment to compose herself.

Why do I feel so speechless in his presence?

Her heart beat erratically as his hand slid up a little higher, the tips of his fingers nearly touching the exposed skin between her shoulders.

"Yet, I am not your wife, My Lord," she answered hesitantly, confused by the direction their conversation was taking.

That dark veil fell over his eyes once again. "Not yet, but you will be very soon. I am your match, Butterfly," he answered in a husky voice, allowing his eyes to briefly flick to her chest once more.

Feeling as if her heart had dropped to the pit of her stomach, Augusta allowed his words to sink in. Was this really the man whom Marie Webster had deemed to be her perfect match?