Chapter 17
The crush of bodies in Lady Pemberton’s drawing room pressed against Victoria from all sides.
Where once such proximity would have felt suffocating, tonight it felt almost like an embrace, society welcoming her back into its fold.
Her deep emerald silk gown brushed against the floor as she moved, chosen not for fashion but for the way Rees had looked at her when she had emerged from her dressing room, his eyes warming with appreciation that still made her pulse quicken after all these weeks of marriage.
His hand rested at the small of her back, a light touch that guided her through the crowd, steering her past conversational hazards with the same precision he applied to his investments.
The warmth of his palm anchored her to the present, away from memories of another soirée when whispers had followed her like hounds.
“Lady Harcourt!” Lady Ashford’s voice rang out, warm and genuine.
The matron approached, her famous Sèvres tea service on a silver tray, her smile sincere rather than the brittle mask Victoria had grown accustomed to facing.
“You must try this new blend from Ceylon. Lord Ashford had it imported, though between us, I find it too bold for afternoon service.”
Victoria accepted the delicate cup with steady hands, how strange that they no longer trembled at such exchanges. “How thoughtful of you to share it, Lady Ashford. Bold flavors often prove the most memorable, yes?”
The older woman’s laugh held real amusement rather than the sharp edge Victoria had once dreaded. “Indeed they do, my dear.”
As Lady Ashford moved on to other guests, Mrs. Winthrop appeared at Victoria’s elbow with her youngest daughter in tow—a pretty girl with nervous eyes who clutched her fan as if it were armor against the world.
“Lady Harcourt, may I present my Margaret? She has been eager to meet you since hearing your performance at Lady Thornbridge’s salon.
She plays as well, though she is too modest to admit it. ”
The girl, barely seventeen, dropped a careful curtsey that spoke of hours of practice. “It would be an honor to hear any advice you might offer, Lady Harcourt. Mother says your Bach was transcendent.”
“You are very kind,” Victoria replied, recalling her own musical education, the mix of terror and joy from those first public performances. “Perhaps you could call on Tuesday afternoon? We could play duets if you would like. There is a Clementi piece for four hands I have been longing to attempt.”
Margaret’s face lit up with delight, easing something in Victoria’s chest—another small victory, another relationship rebuilt from the ashes Sterling had left. Behind her, she felt Rees shift slightly, his thumb tracing a small circle against her spine in silent approval.
They moved through the room like this, greeting others, conversations flowing with surprising ease.
Invitations were extended and accepted, plans made for dinners and card parties, the social fabric that had been torn beginning to mend itself with strong stitches.
Lord Fairweather even asked her opinion on a mining investment, having heard from Rees about her insights into commodity markets.
While Rees engaged with Fairweather about copper yields, Victoria felt it—that prickling awareness that meant hostile eyes had found her. She turned slowly, her smile steady, and met Lord Sterling’s gaze across the room.
He looked diminished. His evening clothes were expensive, but something in their fit seemed off, as if he had lost weight too quickly for his tailor to adjust. His confidence had curdled into something desperate, visible in his white-knuckled grip on his brandy glass and the wild cast to his eyes as they tracked her movement.
She should have looked away, should have turned back to safer conversations, but something held her—perhaps the need to face this demon in full light rather than shadows.
Damian leaned toward his companion, smirking, and though the room’s noise should have swallowed his words, they carried with clarity to where she stood.
“Amazing what a convenient marriage can do for a ruined reputation.”
The words hit like cold water, sharp enough to steal her breath. Conversations stuttered as those within earshot processed what they had heard, the social temperature dropping. Victoria felt Rees stiffen beside her, his attention snapping from copper mines to the threat across the room.
“Ignore him,” Rees murmured, his voice low enough for her ears alone, though his eyes remained fixed on Sterling with an intensity that suggested ignoring was the last thing on his mind. “He is trying to provoke a scene.”
But Victoria found, to her surprise, that the words had not devastated her as they once would have.
They stung, certainly, but like a pinprick rather than a mortal wound.
She was no longer that terrified girl in a garden, no longer the desperate creature who had gambled everything on a rigged game.
She was Lady Harcourt, loved and chosen, standing beside a husband who had declared before witnesses that she was innocent of Sterling’s insinuations.
“Let him try,” she replied, loud enough for those nearby to hear, her chin lifting with quiet defiance. “Desperate men often mistake volume for substance.”
Someone—she thought it might be Mrs. Winthrop—actually laughed.
The sound seemed to break whatever spell Sterling’s words had cast, conversations resuming with determined brightness.
Victoria turned back to Lord Fairweather, asking about transportation costs with genuine interest, though she remained acutely aware of the malevolent gaze burning into her back.
They stayed another hour, long enough to prove Sterling’s barb had not driven them away, before making their farewells. The carriage ride home passed in comfortable silence, Rees’s hand covering hers on the seat between them, his thumb stroking across her knuckles in soothing repetition.
Only when they reached the privacy of their bedchamber, doors firmly closed against servants and the outside world, did Victoria allow herself to relax fully.
She sank onto the upholstered bench before her vanity, fingers working at the pins holding her elaborate coiffure while Rees shrugged out of his evening coat with a sigh of relief.
“He looked terrible,” she observed, watching in the mirror as Rees approached to help with a stubborn pin. “Damian, I mean. Like something is eating at him from within.”
Rees’s fingers stilled in her hair for a moment before resuming their gentle work. “There is something I should tell you.” His eyes met hers in the mirror, serious and watchful. “About Sterling’s circumstances.”
Victoria turned on the bench to face him properly, catching his hands in hers. “What have you done?”
“Nothing he did not bring upon himself.” Rees moved to his armoire, loosening his cravat with distracted movements.
“But I have been investigating discreetly. Sterling has been living far beyond his means for years, financing his lifestyle through increasingly desperate gambling. His debts have mounted to astronomical proportions.”
“How astronomical?” Victoria asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer from the grim satisfaction in her husband’s voice.
“Forty thousand pounds, at minimum.” Rees turned back to her, his expression carrying that particular intensity she had learned meant he had been executing some complex financial strategy.
“I have bought up most of it through intermediaries. He does not know I hold the notes, but I do. And I have made certain his creditors know exactly how precarious his situation has become.”
Victoria’s breath caught. “Rees...”
“There is more.” He crossed to her, kneeling beside the bench in a gesture that reminded her of that night when he had declared his love on the drawing room floor.
“He has been courting Miss Hartwick—she has thirty thousand a year and a father desperate to see her married well. It would have solved all his problems.”
“Would have?”
“I paid a call on Mr. Hartwick yesterday. Laid out some facts about Sterling’s treatment of young ladies, his debts, his character.” Rees’s smile held an edge sharp enough to cut glass. “The engagement will never be announced.”
Victoria’s fingers found the hairbrush on her vanity, needing something to occupy them while her mind raced through the implications. “You have cornered him.”
“Thoroughly.”
She met his eyes, seeing the fierce protectiveness there, the calculated ruthlessness he usually reserved for rivals who had proven themselves unworthy of gentlemanly consideration.
It should have frightened her, perhaps, this side of her husband.
Instead, she found herself leaning toward him, drawn by the knowledge that this formidable will was bent toward her protection.
“A desperate man is dangerous, Rees.” Her voice emerged barely above a whisper, the words carrying all her fear not for herself but for him. “What if he lashes out? What if he tries to hurt you?”
“Let him try.” The words echoed her own defiance from earlier, but with steel beneath them that spoke of careful preparation rather than mere bravado.
“I am ready for whatever he attempts. But Victoria...” He rose, pulling her up with him, his hands framing her face with infinite gentleness.
“He will not win. Not this time. Not ever again. I promise you that.”
She believed him. Standing there in their bedchamber, the candlelight painting shadows and gold across his determined features, she believed absolutely that Sterling’s days of destroying lives for sport were numbered.
The hunter had become the hunted, and Rees would not rest until the threat was neutralized completely.