Chapter 10 #2
The playful smirk she expected was absent; instead, the duke’s eyes darkened with something new, something unspoken. She caught the subtle twitch of his throat as he swallowed, and her own breath hitched.
The space between them thickened, charged with a quiet, irresistible tension that left her senses trembling.
“Ah, that’s much better, lass,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, husky timbre. “Ye’re a quick study, Lady Elizabeth. At this rate, ye might be leaving yer teacher far sooner than he expected.”
She gave him a small, almost smug smile, the sensation of accomplishment sparking like fire through her chest. For once, she had the upper hand, and she saw it in the way his gaze lingered, the way his breath hitched.
Triumph was rare in her world, fleeting and fragile, but tonight, she would savor it. Just as she would savor the look that had crossed his face a moment ago.
But before either could speak—before they could push further into this strange and dangerous game—a ripple of laughter echoed nearby. Light, girlish giggles danced through the corridor, growing louder with each step.
Voices. Familiar, chattering, careless.
They were not alone anymore.
“Go, lass,” Alasdair murmured, echoing the words from their very first meeting.
Elizabeth didn’t need to be told twice.
Heart pounding, she turned swiftly on her heel and slipped through the door, the shadows swallowing her before the giggling girls came any closer.
She emerged into the main hall unnoticed—miraculously. The voices had drifted further down the corridor, sparing her from discovery by sheer luck or divine grace.
Her pulse was still racing, every beat a reminder of what had just occurred.
Back in the ballroom, Lady Grisham was mercifully preoccupied, seemingly cornered by two dowagers who had launched into a lengthy dissection of someone’s daughter’s second engagement.
Beside them, Wilhelmina was radiant and animated, effortlessly charming a trio of young gentlemen with one gloved hand perched on her hip and the other gesturing mid-story.
It was the perfect setup.
Elizabeth drifted toward the refreshment table, positioning herself beside the lemon cake. She picked up a plate with studied nonchalance, feigning interest in the dessert as her breathing steadied and the flush in her cheeks faded to something almost manageable.
Inside, however, she still trembled. The sensation under her skin was unfamiliar and exhilarating.
An aftershock of proximity, of possibility. Of being looked at. Really looked at.
No laughter. No pity. For a few minutes, she’d been seen… and not diminished.
She didn’t mistake what the duke had offered her. It wasn’t kindness. It was an opportunity. And she had every intention of seizing it.
Her back straightened as if pulled by a silken thread. Shoulders squared, chin lifted.
When Lady Grisham’s gaze finally flicked her way, Elizabeth stepped forward with practiced ease, as though she’d been standing near the cake all along.
And this time, something shifted.
Eyes turned her way. Not with ridicule, but curiosity. A few appreciative glances. A double take.
It was working.
Let the games begin.
She glided to her stepmother’s side just as Lady Grisham turned to deliver a reprimand, but the marchioness’s tongue stalled.
Wilhelmina was embroiled in a spirited discussion with a young gentleman whose cravat was half-undone and entirely forgotten.
“I’m merely saying,” Wilhelmina insisted, one brow elegantly arched like a duchess bestowing favor, “that Byron is a bit of an indulgent windbag. All tempest, no tide. If he ever discovered the art of restraint, the ton might collapse in shock. Then again, he never practiced restraint in his personal life.”
The young lord’s smile died at her words, looking utterly confused. “B-but surely, ‘She walks in beauty’ is—”
“Let me guess. You believe it is poetic, a masterpiece. Come to think of it, even I can walk in beauty as well as many other young ladies here, after our hair has been brushed, cheeks rouged, and stays tightened.”
“Well, um, of course, Lady Wil—” The poor lad looked flustered, reminding Elizabeth of herself, but only to a certain point.
“You meant to patronize me,” Wilhelmina declared, half-accusingly and half-charmingly. “Still, I forgive you. I can see the regret in your eyes.”
“Er, um, I… Refreshments!” the young man mumbled, stumbling over his feet as he scurried away.
Lady Grisham watched the young man go with a regretful sigh. Then, she looked at her daughter, and said, “Wilhelmina, you were not supposed to best him intellectually. They do not like that.”
“Oh. I hadn’t noticed,” was her blatant lie as she fanned herself. “Well, then, men should improve themselves. Women should not have to bow down, make themselves subordinate.”
“You ought to be more malleable,” Lady Grisham advised in a low voice. It was a scolding, but it was not in the sharp voice she seemed to reserve for Elizabeth. “What you need is a pliant tongue. Even if you are cleverer than them, you must let them think otherwise, or they will not offer for you.”
“I understand that fully well, Mother. I’d rather get rid of them now than suffer for the rest of my life. So, if Sir Blue-Breeches wants to come back and propose, I will have to say, ‘No, thank you’.”
“He’s not coming back, Wilhelmina. You’ve humiliated him,” Lady Grisham said, sighing heavily.
Then, her attention turned to Elizabeth, unfortunately. As soon as she looked at her, her lips thinned and her whole face seemed to have tightened.
“And you, Elizabeth,” she began, with a voice humming with disdain and disappointment, “do not try to escape every opportunity. You are supposed to socialize, not skulk around like a servant.”
Relief coursed through Elizabeth. If that was the impression Lady Grisham had, then she had no idea what she had been up to.
“I was not sulking,” she explained, with the newly found confidence that seemed to be singing in her veins. “I asked permission to get some air. Crowds make me breathless.”
“Always an excuse,” Lady Grisham grumbled. “I told you what is going to happen if you don’t get married.”
The threat hung between them. Elizabeth remembered why she had followed the duke to that hidden room. That thought alone gave her a spark of courage.
She would not be pushed to the side anymore. Least of all by herself.
Before she could reply, however, a hush spread across the room. A footman finally announced the beginning of the musicale.
Was it really just about to start?
It felt like Elizabeth had lived several lives already.
Men and women rustled to find a seat.
Elizabeth followed the crowd and finally settled between Wilhelmina and a dowager she only recognized from the scent of lavender and mothballs. Anyone was preferable to her stepmother, though, and she was thankful.
She expected to finally relax for the night by listening to lovely music she could talk about with Daphne and Victoria. The latter, however, would want to hear about other things.
She spotted the Duke taking a seat beside the Earl of Whitton, his posture relaxed, yet commanding. His striking and angular features were carved into unreadable stillness.
How did he manage that quiet intensity? Was she wearing the same mask, now that she knew how?
Apparently, yes. Lady Grisham hadn’t suspected a thing.
The light of the chandelier spilled over his head, catching on the strands of his hair, which shone like aged copper burnished by firelight.
For a moment, she was transfixed. He looked like something out of a story: untamed, out of place among the gilded crowd, and yet magnetic in his stillness.
Just as she told herself he hadn’t noticed her staring, his head shifted ever so slightly. His gaze flicked toward her.
Then, with unbearable audacity, he winked.
She froze. She couldn’t tell whether it was from shock, indignation… or the traitorous flutter beneath her ribs that had no place in polite company.
“Why is the Scot winking at you?” Wilhelmina whispered, leaning close to her.
Of course, her sister would notice it. Nothing could escape the girl.
“Because he’s a scoundrel, obviously. Look at him. He’d wink at any woman who looks his way,” Elizabeth said.
To her ears, she sounded convincing. Perhaps, she was internalizing their first lesson.
“I suppose that’s true,” Wilhelmina whispered back. “Though you blushed.”
“No, I didn’t,” she protested.
“Oh, yes, you did, sister. No need to hide that from me.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap, trying her best to school her features into a prim, proper, and perfectly serene expression.
“The duke is hardly my concern, Mina,” she said.
“Ah. Well, pity. I rather like him,” Wilhelmina rejoined, and Elizabeth suspected that she was merely arguing for the sake of doing so.
“Then you like scoundrels.”
“Only because they are more interesting and less prone to agree with just about everything society says. See Blue-Breeches from earlier? He panders to the idea that Byron is such a genius that his writing needs no improvement. Imagine that!”
Elizabeth sneaked another glance at the Duke, who seemed oblivious to her, leaning back and apparently reading the show’s program. Somehow, she knew that he was not focused on the printed text before him.
For a moment, he glanced back at her. This time, he gave her a small smile.
Not acting the scoundrel this time, she thought.
It was just enough for her to know that he was much aware of her as she was of him.
It felt oddly comforting.
Then, the long-delayed music began. She let herself be swept by the violins, harps, and pianoforte.
She sighed, but this time, it was not because of anxiety or exasperation.