Chapter Nineteen

The moment Emma stepped into Lady Wilmore's drawing room behind Tabitha and Alvaro, three different ladies greeted her with enthusiasm, as if they were long-lost friends. One of them Emma hadn't even met yet, and she struggled to keep up with their different conversations, barely managing to get a word in. Before she could try to gain some sense of control, she was introduced to several men, who each expressed an interest in getting to know her better after hearing so much about her.

Heard about her when? How? She had no idea, and she hadn't a clue what was happening. This attention was far worse than anything she'd gotten at Almack's the other night. Something had changed.

It was nearly half an hour before Emma's eyes flitted to the corner of the room, where she found Mr. Forester sitting on his own and looking especially gloomy. Had he been there the entire time? Usually he was at the center of everything, commanding attention, and seeing him with his gaze locked on the floor knocked Emma off-balance.

She had seen him angry and frustrated, but she had never seen him look this dejected. The sympathetic ache from earlier returned to her heart as she watched him, and she lasted only a minute or two before his frown pulled her in his direction, though she had no idea what to say to the man. It would probably be best to stay within their usual back-and-forth banter.

"Not flirting with all of London tonight, Mr. Forester?" she said as she neared.

His eyes snapped up at the same time his body went tense, like he hadn't expected anyone to notice him in his corner. "Miss Mackenzie," he said with a sharp nod. There was no trace of his smile, and Emma realized she had never seen him like this when in company. Even during their verbal battles, there had always been a part of him playing the role of carefree dandy. That mask was entirely absent tonight.

As much as Emma appreciated honesty, she wasn't certain she liked this cold and broken version of Nick Forester.

"What has you so out of sorts?" she asked, keeping her voice soft. She glanced behind her, confused by the sheer number of people watching their exchange with little attempts at subtlety. Was this conversation truly so riveting? Emma felt like laughing at the absurdity.

Mr. Forester, on the other hand, refused to make eye contact with anyone, even as he searched the crowd, flinching every few seconds, as if he could hear everyone's thoughts through the low buzz of whispered conversation.

"Some unwelcome news," he muttered, clenching his hands at his sides. "Nothing to concern yourself over."

But Emma was concerned. Anything that could dim the man's endless cheerfulness had to be bigger than a minor disappointment, and with how close Mr. Forester supposedly was to Alvaro and his family, she had to wonder if this so-called unwelcome news affected him solely or if she needed to worry.

"Mr. Forester, what—"

"I am in no mood to engage in battle tonight, Miss Mackenzie," Mr. Forester growled, turning his gaze back to her. "Don't you have some stories to tell? Gentlemen to enchant? Anything that would take you away from this corner so I may endure their judgment in silence?"

Stunned by the pain in his words, Emma looked behind her once again, heat spotting her cheeks as she realized the other guests were watching her as much as they watched Mr. Forester. Whispering about her . "Whatever rumor has you so on edge, Mr. Forester," she said, "I should think you, of all people, would know better than to listen to all the lies thrown about Society."

Something shifted in his demeanor, like he had been moldable clay a moment ago but had just come out of the fire, hard as a rock. "Lies," he repeated hoarsely.

Emma scoffed. "Surely you don't think anyone actually believes all those rumors. I certainly do not, and you can hardly expect—"

He was on his feet in a flash, towering over her with the fire in his eyes now. "What have you done?" he hissed.

She might have taken a step back if the intensity in those blue eyes of his hadn't rooted her to the spot. At least her tongue still worked, even if her feet did not. "Excuse me?"

"My reputation was perfectly intact until you came here on your little crusade to ruin me. What. Did. You. Do?"

"Your reputation was built on the gullibility of simple minds. Anything could have toppled it, so I do not know why you are so convinced I had anything to do with whatever this is." Emma waved her arm toward him, certain he had lost his mind—until she recalled what she had said to the women at Almack's last night. She glanced behind her once more. The whispers stopped immediately. "I did Society a favor," she said to defend herself, though she wasn't very confident. Not when Nick looked weary to the bone, like he'd lost everything overnight. "Now no one has any reason to believe the utter rot that is Nicholas Forester's sham of a life." Could one irritated comment really be enough to tear his standing to rubble?

He seemed to think so, if the way he glared at her was any indication.

"If you were honest for once in your life," she continued, "you might have found someone to love you years ago, but you are nothing but smoke, Mr. Forester. Insubstantial and insignificant. It is no wonder you have been left entirely alone in your life."

As soon as those words left her mouth, she regretted them. Why did he bring out the worst in her? Though Mr. Forester hardly reacted, his eyes turned deep and dark as he stared at her, and she felt as if she could see through them into his soul. What she found was nothing but pain. Pain and hopelessness.

And she had been the cause of it.

"I... I'm sorry," she whispered, shaking her head. She felt ill, knowing those cutting words were not ones she could take back. "I didn't mean—"

Someone cleared their throat, and Emma turned just as the butler announced that dinner was ready. As grateful as she was for the reprieve from this disastrous conversation, she only felt worse when she turned back to better apologize to Mr. Forester and found his corner of the room empty, a door to her left falling shut.