Chapter 4 #2
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s gloved hand touched his wrist, stopping him with gentle but firm pressure. “The stakes were not monetary, Mr. Harcourt.”
“Not monetary...” Lord Forge murmured as he stepped closer, his gaze locked on the scene.
Ice crystallized in Rees’s veins. “I beg your pardon?”
“The contract you signed.” She produced the document with a flourish, holding it up for all to see. “Here, in your own hand. You agreed to traditional stakes as decreed by ancient custom, not monetary forfeit.”
“Traditional stakes meaning...” But even as he asked, a terrible understanding began to dawn. The archaic language of the contract, the references to antiquity, the way she had deflected his question about monetary equivalents. The whispers of her matchmaking.
“Marriage,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, the word dropping into the room like an executioner’s axe.
“The Ancient Riddle Challenge has, for centuries, been a means of settling matrimonial negotiations. The historical precedents are clear.” She unfurled another document, this one bearing official seals and ribbons.
“There is much precedent. Observe. All recognize the binding nature of riddle challenges in matters of matrimony. Most importantly, Mr. Harcourt, you made a wager. As a gentleman, you now must honor it.”
“This is madness.” The words came out strangled, his composure cracking. “You cannot seriously suggest that I am bound to marry someone because I failed to answer an impossible riddle.”
“Not impossible,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon corrected. “Unanswerable. There is a significant philosophical difference. And yes, Mr. Harcourt, that is precisely what I am suggesting. You signed the contract before fifty witnesses. Your honor as a gentleman demands fulfillment of the terms.”
The implications crashed over him. Refuse, and he would be known throughout London as a man who welched on his wagers.
His membership at White’s, at Brooks’s, at every respectable establishment would be revoked.
No gentleman would do business with him.
His family’s reputation would be tainted.
His brother Sebastian would be furious, his parents mortified.
His unmarried sister Chloe stained by his actions.
The scandal would follow him everywhere—Rees Harcourt, the man without honor.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white with the effort of not putting one through the nearest wall. The wine that had made him feel invincible an hour ago now soured in his stomach.
“Who?” The word came out rough, forced through clenched teeth. “Who am I obligated to marry?”
Movement in the crowd drew his attention. A figure stepped forward from the shadows near a marble column, draped in mourning black that made her seem like a smaller echo of Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Slender hands rose to pull back the heavy veil, revealing a face that Rees recognized with a jolt of shock.
Lady Victoria Richmond.
He knew her, of course—everyone in their circle was known, at least by sight and reputation.
Dark hair arranged in elegant curls, refined features that would have been beautiful if not for the pallor of distress that painted them now.
Deep eyes that would not quite meet his, focused somewhere past his shoulder as if she could not bear to see his reaction.
For a moment, neither moved. Then the whispers started, rippling through the crowd.
“Richmond’s daughter...”
“The garden scandal...”
“Lord Sterling...”
“Quite ruined, you know...”
“No wonder she...”
Understanding crashed over him with sickening clarity.
The scandal at Lady Pemberton’s ball, Sterling boasting about the girl who had thrown herself at him, the rumors that had destroyed her reputation.
She had been desperate enough to come here, to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s establishment, to trap someone into marriage to save herself from complete social ruin.
And he was that someone.
Worse, infinitely worse, she had been ruined by Sterling.
His rival, his enemy, the man he despised above all others.
The humiliation of it staggered him. He was being forced to clean up Sterling’s mess, to save Sterling’s victim, to give his name and protection to a woman who had been foolish enough to fall into that scoundrel’s trap.
Rees swallowed against the rising lump in his throat.
“How convenient for you, Lady Victoria,” he said, his voice cold.
Each word was precisely articulated, carrying across the silent room.
“Your reputation lies in ruins thanks to your poor judgment with Lord Sterling, and now you have found a way to force respectability upon yourself through deceit. It would seem the pair of you are a perfect match.”
She flinched as if he had struck her, color draining from her face. “My lord, I understand your anger.”
“Do you?” He stepped closer, noting how she stepped back. “You understand that you have trapped me into marriage through fraud? That you have destroyed my future for your convenience? That I am to be bound for life to a woman whose name has been sullied by Sterling...”
“That is enough.” Her voice cracked, unexpected strength flaring in those dark eyes. For a moment, she looked less like a desperate debutante and more like someone who had been pushed past all endurance. “You know nothing of what happened that night.”
“I know enough.” The words tasted bitter.
“I know Sterling’s nature, and I know the type of woman who falls for it.
I know you were discovered in a compromising position that you clearly orchestrated, given your presence here tonight.
And I know that you have now ensnared me in your schemes to escape the consequences of your actions.
And to think I actually felt sorry for you. ”
She opened her mouth to respond, but he had heard enough. The walls of the Lyon’s Den felt too close, the perfumed air too thick. He needed to leave before he said something even more unforgivable, or before he gave in to the urge to strangle Mrs. Dove-Lyon where she stood.
“I will call tomorrow to arrange the necessary details,” he said, giving Victoria a bow so proper it became mockery.
“We will need to marry quickly if we are to salvage what is left of your reputation. How fortunate you will achieve your goal of respectability, even if it comes at the cost of my freedom.”
He turned on his heel, ignoring Rafe calling his name, ignoring Alistair reaching for his arm. The crowd parted before him, their faces a blur of shock and anticipation—witnesses to the newest scandal that would feed gossip for months.
The night air hit him when he burst through the Lyon’s Den’s blue door.
He stood on Cleveland Row, chest heaving, hands shaking with rage and a sense of loss he could not quite name.
Behind him, through the still-open door, he could hear the explosion of conversation as the crowd recovered from their shock.
Somewhere in that den of manipulation and deceit, Lady Victoria Richmond stood alone, having won her game at the cost of both their happiness. And tomorrow, honor would demand he make good on a wager he never would have made without being manipulated.
There was no escape for either of them.