Chapter 16 #3
Miss Worthing opened her mouth and closed it. Her triumph thinned to panic. James’s eyes sharpened, and the small, cold smile that tugged at his mouth had no humour in it at all.
“Your witness,” he said softly, “is either deceived or a liar. If she continues to propagate falsehoods, she will be confronted with the consequences of perjury and conspiracy. Consider this a final civility, Miss Worthing: apologise now, publicly, and take your leave. Or refuse, and I will pursue the other course.” He made no flourish; there was no need.
The gravity of the threat lay in the precision of his offer.
Miss Worthing looked around the ballroom, searching for support. But society had already chosen sides, and it wasn't hers. She'd overplayed her hand, and everyone knew it.
Her mother appeared at her elbow, having pushed through the crowd. "Amelia, what's happening?"
"Your daughter," James said coldly, "has been attempting to blackmail my betrothed with stolen property and false witness."
The words struck like a bell in the hush. Catherine saw Mrs. Worthing’s face drain of color—white as paper, trembling lips barely forming the reply.
“Amelia, tell me this isn’t true.”
But Miss Worthing’s silence was answer enough. The older woman’s composure cracked; her fan slipped from her hand and clattered against the floor.
“Apologise,” Mrs. Worthing hissed, voice quivering with fury and mortification.
“Mother...”
“NOW.”
Miss Worthing turned, eyes glassy and cheeks flaming, her gaze fixed somewhere over Catherine’s shoulder rather than upon her face.
“I apologise,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Louder,” James commanded, his tone brooking no defiance. “Let everyone hear.”
“I apologise!” the girl cried, tears beginning to fall. “I was... mistaken about everything. Lady Catherine is innocent of any impropriety!”
“And?”
“And I’m sorry for my baseless accusations!”
“Thank you,” James said with icy finality. “Now leave.”
The crowd parted wordlessly, a living corridor of silks and jewels, as Mrs. Worthing seized her daughter’s arm and hauled her toward the doors.
The mother’s face was tight with humiliation; the daughter’s blotched with rage.
The hush broke as the doors closed behind them; whispers first, then laughter, then the quick chatter of relief as the tension drained away.
“Well,” Lady Jersey declared brightly, snapping open her fan, “that was better than anything at Drury Lane!”
Laughter rippled through the room. The orchestra struck up again. But Catherine could not laugh. She stood rooted, her hand still trembling in James’s, her smile frozen for appearances’ sake while her heart beat a feverish rhythm of guilt and gratitude and something perilously close to shame.
James had lied. Brilliantly, effortlessly, and entirely for her.
He had stood before all of London and sworn to her innocence; when she knew, with aching certainty, that she was anything but innocent. That she had indeed shared his bed at the Black Swan. And someone knew.
The knowledge pressed against her chest like a physical weight. Her relief at being spared ruin warred with an almost painful sense of deceit. James’s protection was absolute, his loyalty terrifying in its scope. But he had committed perjury of the soul for her sake, and she...she had let him.
Around her, conversation swelled again—amused remarks, sighs of admiration, a few lingering gasps of disbelief.
To them, she was the picture of virtue vindicated, the poor wronged bride saved by her gallant duke.
None of them could see the truth pulsing behind her calm expression: that she was trembling inside, not from fear of exposure now, but from the knowledge that her salvation had come at the price of his honesty.
James turned to her then, his voice low and steady. “The terrace,” he murmured. “You need air."
He guided her through the crowd, both of them ignoring the calls and comments. The cool night air was a relief after the stifling ballroom.
"How?" Catherine asked as soon as they were alone. "How did she know?"
"Someone talked. A servant at the inn, probably. Bribed or threatened into revealing what they saw."
"And they did see, James. I did sleep in your room that morning. We did..."
"I know." He pulled her into his arms. "I know exactly what we did. And I don't regret a moment of it."
"We could have been ruined."
"No. I would never let that happen."
"But if she'd pushed harder, if she'd produced her witness?"
"Then I would have admitted everything and married you anyway. Let society clutch their pearls. I don't care."
"I care. Your reputation..."
"Means nothing compared to you." He cupped her face in his hands. "Catherine, I would have married you that morning at the inn if I could have. Everything since has just been waiting."
"Three more days," she whispered.
"Two days, twenty-one hours, and sixteen minutes."
"You really are counting."
"Every second."
They stood there, holding each other, as the sounds of the ball drifted through the windows.
"We should return," Catherine said finally.
"Must we?"
"Unless you want more gossip."
"There's already going to be gossip. Miss Worthing's dramatic exit will be the talk of London for weeks."
"Good. Maybe it will distract from speculation about our wedding night."
James laughed, dark and promising. "Nothing could distract me from thinking about our wedding night."