Chapter 14 #2
Pomfrey dropped his spoon. It clattered against his plate with a loud clang before he scrambled to recover it, ears turning red. He kept stealing glances at Elizabeth as if unsure what had just happened, but desperate to see it again.
Alasdair’s jaw flexed. His grip tightened around his spoon until his knuckles turned white.
“It’s just dessert,” Seth murmured dryly, leaning toward him. “Don’t declare war.”
“You know it isn’t the custard I want to crush,” Alasdair bit out, teeth clenched.
Elizabeth’s gaze flicked to him across the table. She held it deliberately and something wicked sparkled in her eyes.
A knowing look. A dare. Then, she smiled.
He was done for.
She would be his undoing. And she knew it.
The drawing room buzzed with music, the clink of glasses, and the hum of conversation, but Elizabeth felt the echo of her own performance reverberating beneath her skin.
She had followed Alasdair’s teachings to perfection.
And it worked.
People noticed. She noticed.
She had power.
And yet, that power came with an aftertaste: bittersweet and a little dirty, as though she’d traded something of herself for applause she wasn’t sure she wanted.
Did she regret it? Not exactly.
“You’re different,” Wilhelmina murmured beside her, absently twirling the contents of her glass. “Like at the musicale.”
Elizabeth glanced over. “Me? Different?”
Wilhelmina didn’t even blink. “More confident. A little saucier. And may I say it, terrifying. It’s like our mother and Victoria had a child raised by a courtesan.”
Elizabeth choked. “You did not just say that!”
Her laughter was soft, but not entirely comfortable.
“You know exactly what I mean.” Wilhelmina shrugged. “You’re… purposeful now. And it’s working. Pomfrey was ready to propose before the custard was served.”
“I want a match, Mina,” Elizabeth said, more quietly now. “This season. It cannot drag on. I’ve suffered this parading about long enough. First our father, now your mother. I deserve a say in how this ends.”
Her sister grew uncharacteristically serious. “Just promise me you’ll choose someone who makes you happy. Not someone who merely fits the role.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened. In her mind’s eye, she saw Pomfrey’s polite smile… and then another image crashed into it.
The Duke of Redmoor. His wicked grin. His eyes, which were a forest at dusk. Which held the wild promise of something ancient and untamed, the kind of place where nymphs whispered from behind moss-draped trees and shadows shimmered with secrets.
There was mischief in them, yes, a glint that teased and beckoned, but also something deeper—sensual, alive, beguiling. Looking into them felt like stepping off the path and letting the woods swallow you whole.
The man was maddening. And far too present in her thoughts.
She exhaled sharply.
Speak of the devil.
He was across the room. He slipped toward the balcony, the double doors glinting behind him in the low light. Before he disappeared through them, he looked over his shoulder.
And caught her gaze.
He tilted his head, just a fraction.
An invitation.
“Mina,” she said carefully, “I need some air. After that… whole thing.”
Wilhelmina’s brow rose, but she didn’t pry. “Of course. I’ll distract Mother. Again. You owe me, though.”
Elizabeth gave her a grateful smile, already knowing what price her sister would name: a necklace, or the fan she adored. Fair enough.
She moved like smoke through the room unnoticed.
The chill of the night air hit her as she stepped onto the balcony. He was there, leaning against the railing, hands casually tucked into his pockets, the moonlight turning his russet hair almost silver at the edges.
“Your Grace.”
His head turned. “So. How’s Pomfrey?”
She arched a brow. “I imagine he’s with his friends. He seems the type.”
“The man is dull.”
Her lips twitched. “Were you… jealous?”
His eyes darkened. “He was staring at ye. While ye ate dessert.”
“As intended,” she said sweetly. “If my tutor recalls.”
He chuckled, but the sound lacked warmth. It was brittle. Worn at the edges. Still, his gaze was not distant. It drifted downward, pausing unapologetically at the neckline of her gown.
“The dress was a fine choice,” he muttered. “Pomfrey never had a chance.”
“Lady Grisham approved it. That alone should make it a treasure.”
“Approval’s easy when ye shine like that.” He looked away, jaw flexing. “And tonight, ye did.”
“Thank you,” she said, tone neutral.
She would not let him bait her with half-compliments and wounded pride.
But he pushed on, “Ye’re pretending to like him. He’s not worth yer time.”
“Then who is?” Her voice was sharper now, her patience fraying.
Their eyes met. His forest-green gaze was unreadable. Troubled. Hungry.
“Ye need someone who sees ye,” he said softly. “Beyond all this performance.”
She swallowed. “I wasn’t pretending. I was just… waking up. You gave me the confidence, Your Grace. I should thank you for that, but I should not be scolded for it.”
She meant it to sting, but part of her meant it as gratitude, too. The confusion coiled tight in her chest.
He didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked past her, out to the moonlight.
A stillness fell between them, broken only when she asked, “Did your meeting go well?”
He nodded. “Aye. Thanks to ye.”
That, at least, brought a quiet smile to her lips. They were even, then. Their strange arrangement had done its job.
She turned to go.
But his voice stopped her.
“Lady Elizabeth.”
She paused.
“There’s a ball next week. An important one.”
“All of them are apparently important,” she replied without turning. “And yes, I can dance, if that’s what you meant to ask.”
“But can ye dance to allure?” he asked behind her.
She turned back sharply. Her arms folded across her chest and his eyes followed, dipping just slightly too low.
“That sounds improper.”
“It is improper.” His voice dropped, rough with something dangerous. “Do ye have a trusted maid?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Because tomorrow night, ye’ll come to me house. That’s where the next lesson will be.”
Not a request. A statement.
“Are you mad?”
“Maybe,” he murmured. “But it’ll be discreet. Staff paid. Doors closed. No one will know.”
“That’s what every scandal begins with,” she snapped.
And yet… her pulse quickened.
Because she was tempted. Her body remembered the way his eyes tracked her. The heat that flared between them in plain sight…
What would happen behind closed doors?
“I won’t do anything… untoward, me lady. It’ll only be a lesson,” he assured, his voice steady.
No. She should say no. Pomfrey had noticed her. She had options. She was this close to securing a respectable future.
And yet…
“Very well.” The words escaped before she could stop them.
She hated herself a little for it. But she also felt… thrilled.
“Good. I’ll send a carriage. Midnight.” His voice was low and reverent now, as if sealing a pact. “Be ready, lass.”
She didn’t know if it was a promise, an invitation… or a threat to everything she’d worked for.
But the sound of his voice haunted her long after she’d gone back home.