Chapter 5
The morning light spilled into the Richmond drawing room, illuminating the shadows beneath Victoria’s eyes that no amount of powder could disguise.
She sat motionless on the settee, her hands folded in her lap with such stillness they might have been carved from marble.
Meanwhile, her mother fluttered about the room, rearranging cushions that needed no adjustment and straightening paintings that hung perfectly level.
The night had stretched endlessly, each hour marked by the church bells that seemed to toll her shame.
Through it all, she had seen Rees Harcourt’s face—the moment when confusion gave way to understanding, when understanding hardened into something worse than hatred: disgust. The word sat heavy in her chest, a stone she could not dislodge.
“Such wonderful news!” Her mother’s voice pierced through Victoria’s thoughts.
“Mr. Rees Harcourt! Oh, my dear, when I think of what might have been…some merchant or worse, someone without connections, but the Harcourts! Their estate borders the Duke of Exitor’s lands.
Your father is already speaking of the advantages this will open for Margaret and Anne.
” She paused to clasp her hands together, her eyes shining with relief.
“His income must be substantial, and his brother married a Wyndham—such excellent connections. You will want for nothing, my darling.”
The words washed over Victoria, each enthusiastic declaration eating away at her composure.
Her mother saw salvation where Victoria saw only devastation—a man forced into marriage, trapped by her desperation, bound to her through deceit rather than desire.
She pressed her fingernails into her palms until the pain became sharp enough to anchor her to the present.
“He hates me, Mama.” The words emerged broken, barely above a whisper, but they halted her mother’s movements.
“You should have seen his face when he realized, when he understood what had happened. The way he looked at me...” She trailed off, unable to articulate the revulsion that had transformed his features, the way his voice had turned to ice when he spoke of her poor judgment.
Her mother’s excited chatter died instantly.
She crossed to the settee, sinking down beside Victoria and taking her cold hands between her warm, trembling ones.
“My dear child,” she said softly, the brightness draining from her expression.
“Of course he was angry. Any man would be discovering himself bound by trickery. But in time...”
“In time, he will hate me more, not less.” Victoria pulled her hands free, wrapping her arms around herself. “Every day he will wake beside me and remember that I trapped him. That I stole his freedom, his choice, his future.”
“Then you must show him the truth.” Her mother’s voice gained strength. “Show him that you are not some scheming creature but an innocent girl forced into terrible circumstances. Show him who you really are.”
“And who is that?” Victoria’s laugh held no humor. “The fool who believed a forged note? The girl who walked straight into Damian’s trap? Or perhaps the desperate woman who sold a stranger’s freedom to save herself?”
Before her mother could answer, the butler appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Rees Harcourt has arrived, my lady.”
Victoria’s heart stuttered, then began racing so fast she felt lightheaded. She stood on unsteady legs, smoothing her skirts with trembling hands. Her mother squeezed her shoulder once—a gesture meant to give strength—then moved to stand by the mantelpiece as the butler showed their visitor in.
Rees Harcourt entered the drawing room, all rigid control.
He wore dark blue superfine that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, his cravat tied with precision.
His face might have been carved from marble, though Victoria caught the way his jaw tightened when his gaze found her, the minute he flinched before he schooled his features back to indifference.
“Mr. Harcourt.” Her father rose from his chair by the window, extending his hand. “We are grateful for your promptness in this matter.”
“Lord Richmond.” Rees’s bow was correct, his handshake brief. “I believe expedition serves all our interests.” His voice held the same detachment one might use to discuss a business transaction—which, Victoria supposed, this was.
“Indeed. Please, sit. Tea?”
“No, thank you.” Rees remained standing, his posture military-straight. “I have obtained the special license. The ceremony will take place in five days at St. George’s. I have arranged for only immediate family to attend—I assume that meets with your approval?”
“Perfectly suitable,” her father agreed, though Victoria saw her mother’s face fall slightly at the thought of such a small wedding. “The settlements—”
“My man of business will call this afternoon with the documents. Lady Victoria will want for nothing.” The words were correct but delivered with such coldness that they felt like an accusation rather than reassurance.
“Excellent. I will just fetch the family papers from my study.” Her father rose, eager to escape the tension. “A moment, if you please.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click that seemed to echo like thunder. Victoria stood frozen by the settee, acutely aware of her mother’s presence and Rees standing near the door as if poised to flee. The silence stretched, taut.
“Mr. Harcourt,” Victoria began, her voice thin but determined. “I wanted to say, that is, I am grateful for your—”
“Do not.” The word cracked like a whip, making her flinch. His eyes burned with barely contained fury. “Do not thank me for being trapped. It is insulting to us both.”
“I did not mean—” She stopped, started again. “I thought you entered the challenge willingly. The wine, your friends encouraging you—I never imagined you did not understand—”
“How convenient.” He took a step closer, and she saw her mother shift nervously.
“Tell me, Lady Victoria, was it your idea or Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s?
The impossible riddle, the technicality about traditional stakes?
Or perhaps Lord Sterling helped you plan it?
An amusing joke between you—ruin the woman, then trap his rival into cleaning up the mess? ”
The accusation hit her like a physical blow. For a moment, she could not speak, could not think past the horror that he believed—that he thought she and Damian—
“How dare you!” The words erupted from deep inside.
“How dare you suggest I would conspire with that monster? Damian Herford assaulted me! He lured me to the garden with a forged note, trapped me against a wall, tore my dress when I tried to escape. He arranged for witnesses to find us at precisely the right moment to ensure my ruin. He destroyed my life for sport, for the pleasure of watching me fall!”
“Then why did he not marry you?” Rees’s voice was cold, skeptical. He glanced away for a heartbeat. “If he went to such trouble to compromise you, why not claim the prize?”
Victoria’s composure shattered. Tears spilled over, hot and shameful.
“Because I was not the prize—my destruction was. He laughed when my father demanded he marry me. Laughed! Said his family would never accept someone so desperate. He told everyone I had thrown myself at him. And the worst part? People believed him. They chose to believe I was that pathetic, that desperate for his attention, rather than believe a lord capable of such cruelty.”
She saw something flicker across Rees’s face—doubt, perhaps—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by coldness.
“Regardless of what happened with Sterling,” he said, his voice flat, “you still chose to trap me. You made that decision, signed that contract, waited in the shadows while I walked into your snare. That, Lady Victoria, is what I cannot forgive. I will do my duty, but I will not be made a fool.”
They stood separated by the width of the room. Victoria felt hollowed out, exhausted. She had told him the truth, and he had chosen not to believe it. What more was there to say?
Her father returned then, papers in hand, breaking the tension.
The rest of the visit passed in a blur of signatures and arrangements, discussions of where they would live, what staff would be required, and when the announcement would appear.
Through it all, Rees maintained his frigid courtesy, addressing her only when necessary, his gaze sliding past her as if she were furniture.
When he finally rose to leave, he paused at the door.
“We will marry in five days, Lady Victoria. I will provide for you as duty demands and protect you from further scandal. But do not expect more than that. Do not expect affection or warmth or any pretense that this is anything other than what it is—a trap that caught us both.”
The door closed behind him. Victoria stood for a moment, then her knees gave out, and she collapsed onto the settee, sobs tearing from her throat as her mother rushed to hold her, murmuring comfort against hair that smelled of lavender.
***
The leather chair creaked as Rees slumped lower, the amber liquid in his glass glinting in the gaslight, his fourth, or was it fifth?
The private corner of White’s he had claimed with Rafe and Alistair was thick with cigar smoke, obscuring the oil paintings of racehorses and past members that lined the walls.
Around them, the usual evening crowd engaged in cards and conversation, but Rees heard none of it, his focus on the brandy that burned a path down his throat without quite reaching the cold knot in his chest.
“Sterling,” he muttered, then caught himself, jaw clenching. “Sterling. Of course, it is connected to Sterling.” His hand wavered as he reached for the decanter again, the crystal stopper chiming against the neck like a mocking bell.