Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

T he sounds of laughter and music echoed faintly through the sturdy, oak door of the library, a sharp contrast to the chaos swirling inside Miss Honoria Shelton's mind. Her pulse hammered as she backed away, breath catching in her throat. That she was in this position was inconceivable. At two and twenty, no gentleman had ever flattered her with attention—not even the disreputable sort. Despite many calling her a wallflower, she had always been careful, ensuring she was never caught alone with a libertine who might lead her to ruin.

Yet, this entire encounter had caught her off guard.

"Come now, there is no need to seem so appalled. Do you not understand—"

"My lord, I have told you, no ," she repeated, her voice firm even though her hands trembled. "I do not wish to dance with you here. I cannot imagine why you are insisting upon it. Please excuse me."

She made to skirt around him, but he spread his arms wide, sauntering even closer.

Never allow someone you are afraid of to come within arm's length of your person.

Monsieur Lambert's words echoed in Honor's mind. He was the fencing and self-defense master's at 48 Berkeley Square, the secret ladies' club she had been thrilled to join these last few months. Keeping all his lessons in mind, she took a few more paces backward, not at all confident she could execute the moves she had so diligently practiced.

Never show your fear. That is when those bully ruffians are likely to pounce .

Honor jutted her chin and tried to appear unflappable, despite the alarm piercing her heart.

A smug smile curved the earl's mouth. "I have been watching you, Miss Shelton. I—"

"I cannot imagine why," she said tartly, uncaring that she interrupted him again. "I have not invited your regard, my lord, nor do I wish for it. Kindly allow me to pass you and leave this room."

A flicker of irritation appeared in his gaze before he reasserted his charming mask. He was clearly used to ladies dropping their handkerchiefs at their feet, hoping he would ask them to dance. But there was nothing honorable in the way he approached Honor. She had stepped outside the ballroom for a breath of fresh air, and now here she was, cornered in their hostess's library by the predatory Earl of Whitby.

"Come now, Miss Shelton, don't be so coy," Lord Whitby drawled, taking another step forward. His lips curled in a smirk. "It's all in good fun. You were tapping your feet to the music. Surely you would enjoy a dance or two."

"Should you ask me in the ballroom, I might be persuaded to accept, my lord. I will not dance with you in private."

He sighed as if her refusal were an inconvenience. "I thought you would have been grateful I asked. Have you danced at all this season?"

"You are outrageous," she hissed, clenching her hands at her sides. "You will allow me to leave, Lord Whitby, or I shall scream."

It was a threat she could not fulfill, and he knew it. His laughter was derisive and cold.

"One kiss," he murmured.

Honor stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"

"Since you will not allow a dance. If you grant me a kiss, I shall let you leave."

"I would rather lick a toad," she said quietly. How did anyone find him pleasant?

Lord Whitby's expression darkened; all pretense of charm was gone instantly. "I made a little wager," he sneered, "that I could steal a kiss or even more delights from the quiet Miss Shelton, the wallflower who never catches a gentleman's eye."

Disgust churned in Honor's stomach. As if she would ever allow her first kiss to be with this lout. "You will do no such thing."

He reached for her, his fingers brushing against her gloved elbow. "I mean to taste your lips. I admit they are wide and lusher than I expected and—"

Honor's fist shot up with a force that shocked even her before she had the presence of mind to contain her fury. The satisfying thud of her punch landing squarely on his jaw echoed in the library. The earl stumbled backward, and he momentarily struggled to right himself.

He pressed his palm to his cheek, his eyes widening with shock. "You hit me!"

Outrage replaced the shock, and he lurched forward. She danced to the side with agility, sweeping her foot out and hooking his. His feet tangled beneath him, and in an instant, he crashed to the floor, sprawling inelegantly on his back.

A surge of satisfaction rushed through her. But it was short-lived. The creak of the door opening reached her ear, slow and dreadful as if it were happening in a ghastly dream.

"Good God," came a shocked voice, followed by horrified gasps.

Honor spun around, her heart plummeting. A small group of onlookers had gathered in the doorway—an elderly dowager with her fan half-raised in shock; two young ladies, wide-eyed with alarm; and worst of all, Lady Channing, one of the most notorious gossips in the ton . The gleam in Lady Channing's eyes sent a chill down Honor's spine.

"I never thought you had it in you, Miss Shelton," Lady Channing said with a wicked smirk. "I saw Lord Whitby sneak away, but I never imagined it was you he planned a tryst with."

"I planned no tryst with the earl," Honor retorted, though her voice trembled. She lifted her chin, trying to summon some semblance of dignity as she faced their condemning gazes. "I stepped away from the ballroom for a breath of fresh air. I decided to read a book instead of going into the gardens. Upon entering the library, I was most alarmed to find the earl followed me. Lord Whitby is now on the carpet because I planted him a facer."

"Goodness, a young lady planting a facer on a gentleman?" the dowager said in crisp accents of reprove. "How absurd!"

"Quite unbelievable," Lady Channing murmured, further sauntering into the room.

A frightful sensation pressed upon Honor's heart. All the witnesses to this sordid scene wore expressions of amused pity. It did not matter that she had defended herself. The scene they had stumbled upon would tell a far different story. To them, it looked as though she and Lord Whitby had been caught in a passionate tryst. Her words, her defense of her character, would fall on deaf ears.

"My lord," Lady Channing continued with exaggerated surprise, her voice dripping with false concern, "I had no idea Miss Shelton had such ... adventurous tendencies."

Lord Whitby groaned, struggling to sit up. His eyes blazed with fury as he glanced at Honor, but a cruel twist of his lips followed. "I ... must confess," he began slowly, savoring every word. "Miss Shelton's charms and strength are far greater than society would believe."

Honor's throat tightened, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. She had done nothing wrong! There was the possibility many tongues would start to wag about a scandalous embrace between Miss Honor Shelton and the infamous rake, the Earl of Whitby.

Oh, God, what am I to do?

After a sleepless night, Honor had woken with hope and a prayer lodged in her heart. She had fled from the library the previous evening, hurriedly gathering her sister and mother, and informed them what happened. Her mother, with tight lips and a paleness that Honor had never seen, had bundled them into the carriage and left immediately. Honor doubted her mother had slept any more than she had. Her eyes were gritty, her heart heavy with dread, and the weight of it all threatened to pull her under.

She had attempted to eat breakfast, but every bite of toast felt like it lodged in her throat. Eventually, she pushed the plate away, unable to swallow another crumb. The townhouse felt quieter than usual, the tension in the air almost suffocating. She knew what had to be done: an audience with her parents. They had to speak of the consequences, of the next steps. She couldn't hide in her room and hope the witnesses to last night's debacle would miraculously hold their tongues. It was wishful thinking, and Honor had never been one for fantasy.

As she walked down the hallway, the door to the music room opened, and Moriah appeared, framed in the doorway. Her light blue eyes were rimmed red, but she still looked beautiful, even distressed. At eighteen, this was her first season, carefully planned and anticipated. Their mother had refused to present her last year, holding Moriah back because Honor had remained unwed. Now, after yet another failed season, Moriah had made her debut only weeks ago.

Their reception by society had been vastly different. Moriah had been a darling, her blonde beauty drawing admiration from every corner. Bouquets had been sent each morning after a ball, filling their home with the scent of roses, lilies, and lavender. Honor had celebrated her sister's success, though the ache in her chest had been impossible to ignore. Three seasons had passed for her without a suitor, and the only flowers ever delivered to her had been from their father, an attempt to alleviate the sting of watching her younger sister shine where she had failed.

"Moriah, I—"

"You ruined everything ," Moriah cut in, her voice sharp.

Honor's breath caught. "I told you what happened. I had no notion the earl—"

"Viscount Creswick was to call on me today," her sister snapped, her voice trembling with the force of her emotions. "We were to ride in the park, and he was going to show me his new phaeton. He sent a note this morning, canceling without the courtesy of an excuse. Do we need to guess why?"

Moriah's eyes filled with tears, and she slammed the door without waiting for a reply. Honor stood staring at the closed door, her heart aching. She hadn't intended to ruin her sister's prospects, but now it was painfully clear—the scandal didn't only tarnish her reputation, but it also jeopardized Moriah's future.

Her prayers last night had not wrought the miracle she hoped. Honor took a deep breath and continued walking, her feet heavy as she neared the drawing room. As she passed, the sound of voices from within made her pause.

"I cannot believe this filth was printed about our daughter." There was the soft rustle of paper, and then the sound of it being tossed aside. I will not let this stand!"

"We cannot be certain this nonsense refers to our daughter, my dear. There are a few Miss S's out in society."

"You are deceiving yourself, my dear, because you are unwilling to face the truth. Honor needs to marry immediately. It's the only thing that will render her respectable again," came her father's voice, low and tight.

"What do you mean marry immediately? How do you expect that to happen, William? Do you realize how impossible that will be after such a scandal?" Her mother's voice was somber. "Who will have Honoria now? And what of Moriah? Who will consider her with such a shadow hanging over our family? We are all ruined ."

Honor stood frozen just outside the door, her heart hammering in her chest. She knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but her feet remained rooted to the spot. Every word pierced through her, each one like a dagger in her already wounded heart.

"What are we to do, William?" her mother pleaded, her voice cracking.

"I do not know, my dear," her father replied, his voice weary in a way Honor had never heard before.

Hearing him sound so dejected pained her. Her father had always been a stalwart figure in her life, a gentleman who seemed larger than life. She had always taken pride in being told she was a reflection of him, sharing his dark brown hair and light gray eyes—though others found her appearance plain and unremarkable.

Honor peeked into the room, and saw him standing by the window, looking at the gardens. His hand kneaded his neck as if he were trying to ease an ache. Her papa looked worn, defeated, and it broke her heart to see him like that.

All because of a scandal .

A scandal she hadn't caused, and yet, here they were.

"My dear," her mother's voice broke through her thoughts. "Do you think you could convince the earl to make an offer? If not for his actions we would not be in this mess. It would most certainly solve—"

"No." Honor's protest was barely above a whisper, but it was enough to catch both her parents' attention.

Her father turned, his usual warm smile faltering. Instead, there was disappointment in his eyes, a pained expression that nearly undid her. She swallowed back her tears, steeling herself as she stepped fully into the room and closed the door softly behind her.

"Papa ... Mama," she began, her voice trembling. "I know what the rumors and scandal sheets are saying. They claim I was caught in a compromising position with Lord Whitby. But it is not true. I was alone when the earl came upon me. He ... he tried to be intimate—"

Her father's enraged growl cut her off. "He what ?"

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "He insisted on kissing me, though I refused. I cannot conceive why he would act in the abominable manner. I was left with no choice but to defend myself. I struck him and managed to ... well, throw him off balance. But by the time anyone saw, it was too late. They did not witness what happened but saw that he was on the floor, and I was standing over him. I explained, but no one seemed to care."

"That blackguard," her father said with great asperity. "I ought to call him out."

"My lord," her mother cried, surging to her feet. "I will not hear talks of a duel! That will be an even worse scandal than what we currently face. The solution is for Lord Whitby to marry our daughter."

"I will not marry that man," Honor burst out.

Her mother's lips were pressed into a thin line, her face pale. "You would dare refuse to marry the earl, even after he has ... besmirched your reputation?"

"Mama, this is the reason for my refusal. I would never marry a man of such low character," Honor said. "Please do not even speak of this in jest! How could I ever be happy with such a man? I doubt he would even marry me. He meant to take advantage of me, and when he was presented the opportunity to act with honor, he suggested we were meeting for a tryst."

Her father took a step closer. "Your mother is right."

"Papa, please!" she burst out. "You and Mama married because you loved each other; do not try to force me to have a union that would be so wretched!"

"Perhaps we are overthinking the matter, my dear," her mother said softly, stepping toward her father and lacing her fingers with his. "It may not be as terrible as we are imagining."

Honor earnestly nodded her support of her mother's words.

"The mention in the scandal sheet was vague enough that no one may associate it with our family. I've already spoken with Lady Channing and Lady Trenton, urging them to be discreet. Moriah is upset about the viscount canceling their outing, but we must allow for the possibility that he had another reason to postpone it."

Her mother's voice grew more resolute. "Tonight is Lady Peabody's ball. The most strategic thing we can do is attend and show society that we are not hiding. Those who face ruin either flee to the country or withdraw from the season entirely. We will do neither. If we hold our heads high, we may find that we have more allies than we realize. This scandal could fade faster than we think."

A flicker of hope ignited in Honor's chest.

"I had intended to meet Lord Branson at White's this evening to discuss a few investments," her father said, frowning slightly.

Her mother gave him a pointed look, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We need you at the ball, William. As a family, we must make a united front. Nothing less will do."

He sighed but nodded. "Very well, we will all attend."

The weight pressing down on Honor lightened ever so slightly. Perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn't as terrible as they had feared.