Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

G eorge blinked, hoping the throng of matrons and ladies encircling them would dissolve into the ether. The scene was disturbingly familiar, dredging up memories he had long since buried. He pinched the bridge of his nose, praying with desperation that this was but a nightmare that would dissipate upon waking.

Yet, when he glanced down at Emma, seated on the bench, her face pale and stricken, he knew this was no mere figment of his imagination. The woman before him was not a ghost from his past but an unforgiving reality.

Murmurs buzzed through the crowd, growing louder and more insistent. At the forefront stood Baron Dewsbury, his lips curved into a smug, almost feline grin. The sight of the man made George's stomach churn. By God! This is no coincidence! The Baron had orchestrated this debacle, inviting witnesses to revel in George's disgrace with no care for his daughter's reputation.

George's hands clenched at his sides. Never had he encountered a more contemptible man.

"Where is she? What's happened?" A voice cut through the whispers. The crowd parted as the Marquess of Neads pushed his way forward. He halted before George and Emma, his eyes darting between them. The air grew heavy, the spectators seemingly holding their breath.

The Marquess' gaze finally settled on George. "Damnation!" he muttered under his breath.

George's heart hammered in his chest. He had to find a way out of this wretched trap, not just for his own sake, but for Emma's as well. The crowd's judgment bore down on him, but he refused to crumble. Not now, not ever.

"How dare you, Seymore!" Neads yelled, his face reddening and contorting with fury. "Do you realize what I spent to obtain her?" His words were sharp, and the guests gasped.

George winced. The words were dehumanizing, reducing a person to a mere commodity. "Choose your words carefully, Neads," he warned, his voice surprising even himself with its steadiness, but he scarcely recognized the cold edge it contained.

"This is a hoax!" Neads continued, now directing his ire at the Baron. "I have been cheated. The entire English aristocracy is a hoax! Explain yourself, Dewsbury," he demanded, his voice trembling with righteous indignation.

Dewsbury's eyes flickered nervously, his earlier confidence waning under the Marquess' scrutiny. He let out a small, self-conscious whimper, his gaze darting around the crowd as if seeking an escape.

"Why did you not tell me Miss Lovell's affections are otherwise engaged?"

The Baron opened his mouth as if to speak, but then he closed it and sent George a poisonous glare, blaming him for everything. Perhaps Dewsbury should have thought about the disgrace he would face before he sent half the ton to witness this.

"H–how dare you disgrace my family, Seymore?" The Baron finally found his voice. George opened his mouth to respond, but before he could utter a word, Dewsbury's tirade swept over them like a storm. "Have you not done enough damage to society in the past?" His voice rose. "Such despicable and insatiable appetite, you have. How many more souls have to pay the price of your depravity?"

"I refuse to be cheated!" The Marquess' cut h the Baron's diatribe, his eyes bulging as though he had been poisoned.

Murmurs came from the guests as they made way for the Duchess of Preston and the Baroness of Dewsbury. The Duchess quietly wrapped her arms around a shivering Emma, lifting her gently to her feet. Together, they guided her away from the burning curiosity of the crowd, the whispers trailing in their wake.

"You will amend this, Seymore!" Dewsbury said, seething. "Or I shall meet you. I shall demand satisfaction, for my family will not be a disgrace in society!"

"I thought the Baron could not shoot even if the target were right before him," someone whispered nearby, and Dewsbury's eye twitched.

"A brave proposition indeed," another voice added with a derisive chuckle.

Dewsbury sputtered, his face reddening as he turned to the crowd, his eyes frantically searching for the culprits. His indignation only seemed to fuel the quiet laughter of the onlookers.

The Marquess, with a huff of frustration, spun on his heels and walked away. "My Lord!" Dewsbury called after him, his voice pathetic and desperate as he hurried to follow.

The crowd gradually dispersed, leaving George standing alone like a statue. The consequences of one kiss—no several kisses—pressed down on him, and he could neither remember how to breathe nor could he feel his legs. The world around him blurred as time stretched into eternity.

Then, a cold hand touched his arm, jolting him back to reality. "Are you all right?" Alexander asked.

George did not respond. He turned on his heels, ignoring Alexander's concerned hollers echoing behind him. He had to leave this place if he was to survive this night. Instead of departing through the manor, he circled around the garden.

In front of the manor, the sight of a congested line of carriages aggravated him further. This would only hinder his desperate need to escape, and thus, he resolved to walk instead. Minutes away from the manor, the sound of galloping hooves reached his ears. George glanced over his shoulder to see Alexander reining in beside him on horseback, a second mount in tow.

"At least, take a mount," Alexander urged. "Our host was generous enough to lend me two."

George made no move to accept the horse, his mind too clouded with anger and confusion. He stared ahead.

"George," Alexander persisted, his voice firm.

Reluctantly, he slowed and took the proffered reins. Without a word, he mounted and spurred it into motion. He did not wait for Alexander, nor did he care where he was headed. He only knew the urge within him to be as far away from here as possible.

He galloped through the streets of Town, the lamp-lit avenues giving way to the wild outskirts. The rhythmic pounding of the horse's hooves provided a semblance of solace, though his mind remained in turmoil.

George did not expect Alexander to follow. His friend had no inkling of his destination, nor how long the journey might take. Yet he kept pace with him, matching his speed and determination. Something within him softened at this.

They rode out to a heather field on the edge of Town, the moon casting a silvery glow over the wild expanse. George dismounted and walked several feet ahead, still unsure where he was going.

"What is on your mind?" Alex asked, falling into step beside him.

George sighed and ran both of his hands through his hair. It would have been easier if tonight's events had not involved Emma. "I do not know," he admitted. "Perhaps there is too much for me to think about and sort through."

"Understandably so," Alex nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Within is your answer, George." He pointed at his chest. "Do not think excessively. Do not look too hard. I believe the answer is waiting for you right on the surface."

"What if that is not my answer?" George finally met his friend's gaze. "What if it is wrong?"

"There is no right or wrong here, George," Alex said with a wan smile. "And you know it."

"Do I truly?" George countered, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.

"You underestimate yourself," Alexander said quietly. "Or perhaps it is something else you underestimate."

The only thing he could concentrate on at this moment was fear. Fear wrought by this nightmare, one he had inexplicably found himself in and one he was forced to live every bitter moment of. Memories of that night, years ago gnawed at his senses. Tonight had been different, because he had pulled Emma into his arms. He did not regret that—he never could. Yes the consequences felt dooming.

"I don't know what to do," George confessed.

"Yes, you do," Alex insisted.

George shook his head. He was unable to see a path forward.