Chapter 1
Chapter One
“Ihave to get out of here.”
Lady Victoria Preston’s gaze slid toward where her father, the Earl of Corvin, was chatting with a small group of well-dressed gentlemen.
Every so often, more frequently than she cared to witness, those men’s eyes fixed on her in turn.
Their individual gazes were looking her up and down, assessing her, inspecting her as if she were an expensive horse they were seeking to purchase.
Her stomach turned.
Around her, the Earl of Farthington’s ball was in full swing. So many bodies surrounded her, and yet she’d never felt more alone than in that moment. Another man’s dark eyes sought her out, glanced her over, then returned to her father’s conversation. Victoria turned away, palms sweating.
I have a bad feeling about this.
“What’s the matter?”
Ivy, her half-sister, freshly eighteen and newly coming out to society, rested a gentle hand on Victoria’s elbow. Her expression, severe even on the best of days, was now creased with concern.
Victoria gave a subtle gesture toward their father. If he noticed them watching him, he did not show it. “Father has been talking to that group of men for quite a while.”
Ivy’s brows furrowed. “And?”
“I just… He’s planning something. I can feel it.”
Ivy pursed her lips in a frown and looked toward their father again. Her expression was neutral, but she gave a small, reassuring squeeze to her half-sister’s elbow. “Hm,” was all she said in response.
Not exactly the response Victoria was hoping for, to say the least.
From across the room, she caught sight of Lady Corvin, her stepmother, speaking to a small group of other mothers whose daughters were debuting. The countess must have noticed her stepdaughter’s fraught expression, for she politely excused herself from the conversation and made her way over.
“What’s going on?” she asked, settling in on Victoria’s other side. She looked to Ivy for an answer, but was provided with none, so she returned her attention to her stepdaughter. “Victoria?”
“Do you know who those men are that Father is talking to?” She couldn’t help the anxiety that crept into her voice.
Lady Corvin looked in the direction indicated, expression twisted into one of concentration. “Some of them, yes. There's Lord Newman and his eldest son, Mr. Remington. And I believe that’s Lord Umbrage, as well.” She paused. “Strange, I do not recall them being regular companions of your father’s.”
“Then what do you suppose they’re talking about?” Victoria’s heartbeat thundered in her ears. “Marriage?”
Ivy let out a short scoff, softened with another gentle squeeze on Victoria’s elbow. “Oh, Victoria, I’m sure it’s nothing like that. You know Father has accepted that you do not wish to marry.”
No, I do not know that at all, Victoria thought, but gave her sister a wan smile.
“Your sister is right,” Lady Corvin said. “You’ve nothing to worry about from your father, dear. There are any number of things they could be discussing.” But the confidence in her voice did not match the worried look on her face.
Victoria glanced toward her father again, toward the men he was still holding court with, and noticed that one of the men had turned fully in her direction. Their eyes locked. This was the Mr. Remington her stepmother had pointed out. He took a confident step toward her.
In an instant, Victoria’s heart flew into her throat, and she whirled away from Ivy and Lady Corvin and made a hasty exit toward the veranda she’d seen when entering the manor grounds.
If Ivy or her stepmother called after her, she could not hear them over the blood rushing in her ears. Her stomach twisted and nausea rose.
The cool air of the evening soothed the sweat on her face and neck, and she let out a heavy sigh. I just need some air, she thought. Just some air, and then I can return to the party.
Her fingers clutched the railing, knuckles turning white, and she inhaled deep, shuddering breaths, and let them go.
Surely her father wasn’t truly planning to marry her off.
She had had her mind set against it for years now.
It was a conversation they’d had many times before, but not for quite a while.
She took that to mean that he’d accepted her desire for spinsterhood, and yet—
I cannot go back inside, she thought. Not tonight. I’ll just go home.
But she was not sure how she would manage to convince her father to allow her to leave early. They were supposed to be there to support Ivy’s debut.
I can fake a sickness, she thought. As anxious as she was feeling about the situation, she was sure it would not be a hard sell.
There was movement from the corner of her eye, and she turned her head to see a young woman walking hurriedly toward the gardens.
Her gaze traveled further on, and she noticed a man standing by himself, hands in his pockets, staring off into the depths of the night.
He didn’t appear to realize the young woman was heading straight for him.
The young woman was wringing her hands and glancing nervously about herself. Victoria got an uneasy feeling in her stomach and began to follow at a clipped pace.
Whatever the young woman was planning, it couldn’t be good.
All Nicolas Davenport wanted was a moment of peace.
Since inheriting his father’s title as Duke of Arden, there had been no end to the socialization he was having to endure, to the young women and their desperate mothers trying to take advantage of said title.
Lord Farthington’s ball was the last place that he wanted to be, but social conventions were what they were.
He had barely managed to shake off the most recent of the young women trying to entice him. It wasn’t his fault that the ton found him so charming; he was just a good conversationalist and quick to get others to laugh.
Just some peace and quiet, that’s all I need.
There was a squeak of surprise behind him, and he turned, startled, to see two women standing a few yards behind him. The older of the two had her hand wrapped around the younger woman’s elbow and was chastising her.
“Careful, dear: many young ladies have accidentally found themselves in a scandal by being alone in the gardens with a man. You wouldn’t want to get trapped in a marriage with a man you do not know, would you?”
Nicolas recognized the younger woman as a new debutante he had danced with earlier in the evening, and his blood began to boil. Again? This is the third time this social season!
He strode over, interrupting the older woman just as she was opening her mouth. “I believe I am the only one to decide whether this young woman’s behavior is appropriate,” he said, eyeing the older woman. “It’s not as though you’re the one affected.”
The young woman immediately burst into tears as soon as she saw him. “I’m so sorry,” she gasped, hiding her face with her hands. “I didn’t want to, my mother made me do it.”
“Your mother decided that scandal was an ideal path to marriage?” He scoffed. “The desperation in this ton never ceases to amaze me.”
The glare the older woman fixed on him was striking; his eyebrows rose. “I don’t expect you to understand,” she snapped. Then her green eyes redirected to the young woman, and she squeezed her hands. “You’re better than your mother’s scheme. A fake scandal is no way to start a marriage.”
“Nor to get a man to want to start a marriage with you,” he added with a smirk. “Perhaps try a conversation next time.”
The younger woman sniffled, casting her watery eyes toward Nicolas. Her cheeks flared pink, and she looked away from him in shame. “I know,” she said, her voice sullen. “But my mother—”
The other woman shook her head, and a loose strand of dark blonde hair fell out of its ornate braid.
Nicolas watched it, entranced. “Do not let anyone force you into a marriage you do not want,” she said sternly.
“It is not your mother who will have to live with the man, nor be the one to bear his children. You will!”
Well, that stung. Was she referring to him in particular, or was there another man she had on her mind? Assuming he wanted marriage and children in the first place, he would have been offended.
The offense only grew as the young woman took one more quick look at him and then ran off, back toward the manor, leaving Nicolas alone with the woman who had just saved him from a scandal—and a wedding he wasn’t seeking.
“Thank heavens,” he said, and heaved a heavy sigh. “If I never again see another debutante sneaking up on me, it will be far too soon.”
The remaining woman turned her green eyes on him, burning with that fire he’d witnessed in her glare. “You have no idea the pressure she is under,” she said with a scowl. “All you men have to do is wait till a woman catches your fancy.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Nicolas said with a roll of his eyes. “Yet you just saw a woman try to trap me into a marriage—you don’t think it’s difficult, always having to watch over your shoulder for scandal?”
“It isn’t nearly the same!” she hissed.
He laughed at her, watched the way her face lit up with an angry flush. It was a pretty color on her. “Is that why you’re out here, then?” he asked, sliding his signature cheeky grin onto his face. “Trying to trap a husband of your own?”
He watched as her hands balled into fists, and she turned away from him, walking briskly back toward the ball without a word.
Chuckling, he kept pace with her. “Ah, so you’ve foiled that young woman’s plan, and now I’ve foiled your own. Seems no one will be getting betrothed tonight, eh?”
“Find some other woman to pester, won’t you?” she said, walking faster. His legs were longer; she could not evade him.
“Pester? Is that what I’m doing?” They had reached the veranda. “Tell me, who is the lucky gentleman you were hoping to trap?”
“I wasn’t hoping to trap anyone!”
“No? A secret rendezvous, then?”
She whirled toward him, that loose strand of blonde hair fluttering in the breeze. “No!” she snapped, then shrank back on herself. Her gaze went to her shoes. “No, never.”
He looked her over, noticed the way the moonlight caught in her hair and the traces of the blush still on her face. His pulse was racing; he hadn’t enjoyed such a lively conversation in quite some time.
“Do not hold it against her, please,” the woman said after a moment. “The debutante, I mean. She clearly wanted no part in the matter.”
“Do not hold the matter of my reputation against her?” He chuckled. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It was a mistake. You should be empathizing with her, not scorning her.” Her tone was insistent, her expression firm.
Nicolas’s eyebrows rose in suspicion. Clearly, she was projecting her own plight onto some other young woman. “Is that what happened to you, then?”
Her green eyes widened in shock. “What? No!” She made a noise of frustration and turned away from him. “How foolish of me to expect a man to understand a woman’s perspective. Forget I said anything.”
“Well, now I absolutely cannot forget it,” he said.
The glare she shot him was heated. “The ton is cruel,” she said. “There are so many expectations for women, and if those expectations are not met, you are looked down upon. Treated as lesser than.” She shook her head bitterly.
Despite her insistence otherwise, he could understand a bit of what she was talking about. The ton expected him to remain the jovial, good-for-a-laugh young man that he had been for seemingly his entire life. Failing to meet that, though… what would they think? What consequence was there?
He could perhaps begin to understand where she was coming from, but the blush that spread at her frustration with him was too enjoyable to give up now.
“I cannot think the ton to be that vicious,” he said.
“You are not a woman,” she countered.
“Even still.”
An expression came over her face then, one that reflected a bit of the pain she slowly began to unravel.
“I have refused to marry since I first came of age,” she said.
“Despite the suitors, despite the many attempted courtships. I’m sure you understand that that is not exactly conventional. And I have suffered for it.”
She sighed and shook her head. He watched her gaze linger on the open doorway into the ballroom. The music and conversation filtered out into the night air. There was a heavy feeling in Nicolas’s stomach at her saddened look.
“I was only teasing you,” he said, trying to charm a smile back onto her face. It was unsuccessful.
“I should go,” she said. There was a look of dread in those green eyes that had him taking a step closer to her.
“Surely my company is better than that stuffy old ballroom,” he said. He surprised himself with how quiet and gentle his tone had gotten. But he sensed this woman would not react well to his usual flirtatious charm.
Nicolas watched as she turned her face toward him, met his gaze with her own, and then quickly looked away again. “I believe my father is searching for a man to marry me,” she said, voice sullen. “I have told him countless times I wish to remain unwed, to be free, but…”
She cleared her throat and twisted her fingers together in front of herself.
Her brows were furrowed, a look of confusion and discomfort on her face, and he hesitated before deciding it would be untoward to reach out and touch her.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” she said finally, glancing his way once more.
But Nicolas knew; she wanted, whether she consciously understood it or not, a witness to her struggle. It was something that resonated with him as well.
It was refreshing, in a way, to hear a woman speak so plainly to him.
Here was a woman who didn’t seek a marriage proposal from him, who wasn’t speaking to him only to cajole him into a courtship.
She did not expect him to be charming, to perform for her entertainment.
He almost wasn’t sure how to react to it, and he realized—
It was the first time he’d felt human in quite some time.