Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

D ark emotions flickered in William’s eyes, the muscles of his neck cording with tension as he downed the contents of his glass and snagged another glass from a passing waiter; crushes were not his forte.

With a cynical eye, he looked over the teeming masses, the women clad in all shades of the rainbow and the men, most of them—barring a few dandies in embroidered velvet suits and colored cravats—clad in dark ball ensembles.

“Look at these beauties,” Andrew marveled. “I think I just spotted Lady Amelie, this season’s Diamond of the First Water.”

William grunted.

He had no intention of seeing anyone, dancing or god forbid being forced to woo a lady—as was his uncle’s intention when he had shown up at William’s doorstep, invitation in hand and a frank order on his lips.

“Good god man,” Colin bookended William’s other side. “Could you be any less of a troglodyte for one night?”

“I find no pleasure in the violent delights,” he murmured. “Besides, I have a fight tomorrow evening.”

“All the more reasons to enjoy yourself now before you become a sight the devil wouldn’t like to look at the following day,” Colin laughed. “You’re not handsome otherwise anyway.”

“The women who graced my bed would disagree with you,” William slid an eye to the man he was reconsidering calling his friend. “Besides, I am here under duress, not of my own volition. My uncle forced me to come, saying he needed me to meet some lady. The daughter of this Lady Ruthless , I believe.”

Colin whistled. “I do not envy you there, old boy. The lady’s moniker should tell you what you need to know already.”

“Speak of the devil,” Andrew nodded to a lady, slender and clad in a turquoise silk tea gown, her hair curling in waves down her shoulders. “ There is Lady Cassandra, the sole daughter of Lady Ruthless. Rumor says the lady wants nothing less than a duke to wed her daughter. She has turned away earls, viscounts, and she breaks out in rashes if a merchant even comes within six yards of her.”

Rolling his eyes, William turned away; he had no interest in another ton lady, one he was sure was trained in coy mind-games and manipulation. As he pivoted on his feet—Bridget was descending the stairs.

A few tendrils had flown loose from her pinned curls, her white satin puffy sleeves had slipped further down each shoulder, and her empire waist gown with a low v-cut neckline exposed two creamy white swells. Her cream gown billowed behind her with a cloud-like grace.

Just looking at her made his arousal stir.

She was not on the arm of that fop Hansen— yet . Good.

Turning, he kept an eye out for his uncle, hoping he would have time to speak with Bridget before the old hawk arrived. She was looking around and he stared at her, willing her eyes to meet his. He even shifted around a group of men to make the task simpler, and when her gaze did land on him, her jaw hardened and her narrowed eyes said, stay away.

He smiled as he stepped back suavely. “Let the games begin. I will find you soon,” he whispered.

With that in mind, he began to view the ball in a different light and while meandering around, talking to lords and flirting with ladies, he kept Bridget in his periphery. To his acrimony, Hansen did appear, and soon enough swept Bridget off to the ballroom.

The endearing look she gave him made William’s fists clench and unclench at the sides of his thighs. It took everything in him not to walk over to the two, grab Hansen by his collar, and toss him out of the hall.

Bridget tilted her head back and laughed at something Hansen said. With her head back, eyes closed, and her mouth slightly parted, William could not help but stare and start to imagine another setting with her and what he would like to be doing with those lush lips.

In that moment, he was struck with the realization that he couldn't simply let her walk away. Instead, he bode his time, brushing off the subtle invitations to ask a lady to dance while keeping an eye on Bridget.

The two had danced twice and William was not going to allow them to have a third; besides, he and Bridget needed to have a talk. It was the third day, where was her answer?

Hansen had meandered off somewhere, just as the orchestra stirred to life with a lively tune for the second waltz. He sat his glass down, strode over to Bridget, circled an arm around her waist, and spun her onto the floor.

“Where is my answer?” he took her hand.

Her lips were pinched, “Did you care to ask me to dance like an ordinary gentleman?”

“I am the furthest thing from an ordinary gentleman before you,” William glowered.

“Clearly,” she murmured. “You do realize that this dance will not be helping amend our reputations?”

“Who cares?” He spun her around. “Depending on what your answer is, it will be a moot point.”

The music swelled around them, and he felt her stiffen in his embrace—as they glided through the steps, William found himself entranced, captivated by her radiant but reserved beauty.

A faint blush colored her cheeks as she kept her gaze downcast. The cream gown accentuated her figure and the candlelight danced on her skin, casting a warm glow on her delicate features. A loose curl had escaped her pinned hair and framed her face, and William fought the urge to tuck it behind her ear.

Bridget’s gaze finally lifted to meet his, and her eyes shimmered with a mixture of curiosity and vulnerability. With another elegant twirl, he felt the many eyes of society upon them, but he had grown impervious to stares a long time ago.

“Do you have an answer for me?” he asked.

“I need to speak with Lord Hansen first,” she replied.

Irked, William added, “Why do you need to pull him into this?”

“I want to keep my image clear of any wrongdoing,” she tilted her head up. “You found a way around your promise, and I intend to do the same.”

“Ah, you want to have your cake and eat it too,” William felt impressed. “It will not work, but I encourage you to try.”

The light in her eyes dimmed, and for several moments, she remained silent. He led her in her graceful spins and twirls, and those long lashes swept down, cloaking her expression from him. “It is best if I do explain it to Hansen, but… I am considering accepting your third—"

“Even if it threatens a scandal?”

Regret clouded her gaze. “He does not…” she bit her lip, “…affect me the way you do.”

“Finally, the truth enters the light.” William felt his chest expand. “We will marry as soon as possible, play up this charade for a while or so, and then the marriage shall be annulled.”

Her eyes widened. “What did you just say, Your Grace?”

“I promised you I would not touch you unless you gave me permission. I’m afraid I may not be able to resist that impulse if we were to remain together. You seem to have your future organized, so I will also not stand in the way of that,” he repeated. “And again, please do not call me Your Grace , I prefer my Christian name, William .”

She swallowed and nodded, indicating to him that she understood, but he needed verbal consent. “I want to hear you say it,” he said.

“...I shall call you William,” she repeated.

“ Good . Now, the rest of the rules are just as simple, you may not inquire about my business, activities, or any of my past relationships, and I will return the courtesy, although I believe such a list is either not long or nonexistent.”

“Well, thank you for the courtesy,” Bridget muttered wryly. “And it is the latter, if you must know.”

“We will dine together and for your comfort, we will sleep in separate chambers throughout our stay together. You will have your own maid, spending money, carriage what-have-you to purchase whatever frippery you ladies fawn over and so on.”

“Please stop forging on.,” she murmured. “I said I was considering it.”

“Either way, this is where I stand,” William spun them in a series of dizzying turns and at the end, she was almost resting on his chest. He took advantage of her close proximity. “I am going to leave the ballroom in a few minutes. Follow me to the second floor. The third door on the right. We shall talk further on it.”

Her eyes flitted between his. “I do not think that is wise.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “But I hope you will consider it anyhow.”

The dance came to a close, but he pulled her closer than socially acceptable and searched her eyes. When he found what he was looking for, he extended his arm and took her to the sidelines, ignoring the clusters of ladies and gentlemen who cast speculative glances in his direction.

The nosy bodies of the ton were already wondering at their connection, and just as he offered to get drinks for them— his uncle came around the corner with two women behind him; one, a tall slender shrew who looked like everyone near her smelled of fish, and the younger one, lovely and polished.

Lady Cassandra.

He already knew she was the one he was to court.

No. Not now.

The Earl of Cranshaw’s brows inched up at seeing him with Bridget, while Bridget went as still as stone on his arm. With a quick glance, he found her face was white as ash as she looked on at the women.

“You?” Lady Ruth gaped. “What are you doing here, girl ?”

Anger swelled inside William, but he held his composure. “I would appreciate it if you would address my fiancée with proper manners, my lady.”

A round of horrified gasps rang through the room, and absently, he heard a glass shatter at someone’s feet.

“You cannot be serious, Your Grace!” Lady Ruthless gasped. “She is a penniless wretch masquerading as a lady. For heaven’s sake, she works as a seamstress and carries the stench of shop with her. You are marrying the help!”

William’s gaze was icy, as was his tone. “Throwing stones in your glass castle, madam? Need I remind you; your first love was a stableboy, and your second affair was with a merchant’s son? Lady Bridget is the daughter of a Viscount and her blood runs as blue as yours. I, however, cannot say the same for your genteel daughter.”

“ Excuse me , Your Grace!” The lady’s face was purpling. “What are you implying?”

“I’ll repeat if you need clarification,” William said calmly.

“William!” His uncle’s cutting tone stopped him, and the older man canted his head. “Will you introduce me?”

“Come on, my dear,” the lady muttered, tightly grabbing her daughter’s hand and heaving her away. “We are needed elsewhere.”

“Uncle, this is Lady Bridget Wycliff. My lady, this is the Earl of Cranshaw, my late father’s only brother.”

“Pleased to meet you, your lordship,” Bridget said quietly.

Unaffected by the sudden burst of whispers around the room, William found Hansen staring at him, his face a rigor of fury and mortification. He then spun on his heel and stalked out.

In a single, shocking moment, several facts crashed into Bridget’s awareness. She had been unofficially declared wed to the devil duke, even though she had not fully agreed. The truth of her situation was now out in the ton and Lord Hansen looked struck over the head.

The blows felt like bullets and each one had hit a different part of her, her heart, her mind, and her gut. Embarrassment turned Bridget’s stomach as speculation rang through the throng of guests.

Through the cotton in her ears, she heard William apologize to his uncle. “We need to speak to a certain lord, uncle,” he finished smoothly. “Please excuse us.”

“I will be waiting in the billiards room,” the Earl muttered beneath his breath. “We must have a frank discussion, nephew, not the least of which of how you humiliated Lady Ruth just now.”

“I detest hypocrites,” William declared flatly. “An eye for an eye, and all that.”

The warmth of his hand permeated the thin silk of her glove as William led her out of the ballroom to the balcony where Hansen had left for. Holding onto his hand as an anchor, Bridget braced herself for the cold air outside, but wanted to curl in on herself with how hostile Hansen’s gaze was.

They stood in ripping, abrasive tension before Hansen began, “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Our marriage?” William replied. “It is the furthest thing from it. But there are some extenuating circumstances you are not aware of.”

“Like what?” Hansen asked mildly, his gaze flickering between the two.

“A while ago, the Duke and I had met under less-than-auspicious circumstances, and he made me a promise. A week ago, when I learned my brother was missing, I asked him to fulfill his promise to me,” Bridget said nervously. “I never lied to you Graham, I firmly believed you and I were a good fit, but—"

“He seduced you.”

“No,” William cut in. “There was no seduction, but I am uniquely fit to find her missing brother, a poor soul who came from war as another man. The reason for our ‘marriage’ is a red herring to dissuade others from looking closer as we search for him. Surely you can understand how we would draw suspicion if we are seen out and about with no acceptable explanation.”

“And you?” Hansen asked. “What do you get out of it? Amusement ?”

“No,” William replied staidly. “My reasons are entirely selfish, but they are not any business of yours.”

Bridget felt trapped between the two, regretting that this was the way the situation had ultimately spiraled out. She could count on one hand the many points where she could have slipped away to speak with Hansen in private and cushion the blow, except now, this had become a scandal.

“The fact is, it is a done deal,” William replied coolly.

Hansen’s eyes flickered to Bridget and back to William. “If that is sincerely the case, then I will graciously bow out of the courtship we had begun. I wish you both the best.”

Her heart sank. As much as she wanted to stop him—it would not look right, and it would not result in anything good. It was best to not complicate anything more, and she stood silent and watched Hansen walk away.

Miserable, she wrapped her arms around her middle and trained her gaze away from William; all she wanted now was to vanish or sink into the floor. To be anywhere but here.

His fingers were cool beneath her chin, tilting her face up, and all traces of the cocky grin he had before were gone. Instead, he looked somber. “You do not have to be sad about him, Bridget. He was not a good match for you anyhow.”

“And you are?” she asked emptily. Her laugh was hollow. “If I had not been a pariah of our society before, I am now.”

“Our society is a twist and tangle of lies, hypocrisy, and deception, all wrapped up in pretty gowns and staid suits, pretend smiles and insincere greetings over glasses of champagne.

“The ugly truth is that the ladies will be your bosom friends until a man is called into the situation and they become sworn enemies, ready to stab you in the back as they go on to drink tea with pinkies lifted at your gravestone,” he muttered. “The lords are no better either.”

“The ton feeds on the misfortune of others and gobbles down scandals like they drink wine because they live hollow lives and do not want to see anyone in a better position than they are.

“Even worse, they abhor seeing those they consider as lesser stepping over their heads. You do not need to prove anything to any one of them, Bridget, their validation is not even valid,” he finished.

She swallowed, then nodded to the room beyond the French windows. “I am afraid to walk back in there.”

“Keep your head up,” he smiled warmly while pulling the handle. “You have nothing to be ashamed about. Do not look ashamed, do not look guilty, do not give these serpents any reason to strike. When we re-enter inside, we will speak to my uncle, dance one final waltz, and we will leave for your friend’s home.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and notched her chin up, took his arm, and walked back into the room.

She forced herself not to look at anyone directly even while the skin on the side and back of her neck burned with the scalpel-like gazes fileting under her skin. Still, she kept her head up and even took a glass of arrack punch from William while a Minuet dance was underway.

“Everyone is staring at us with varying degrees of shock and amusement,” William laughed over his glass. “Such ignorant fools. Are you ready to meet my uncle?”

After another fortifying sip of punch, she set the glass down. “As ready as I will ever be.”

“This way then.”