Chapter 2
Two
“Arabella!” Margot called as she gingerly walked through the twisted expanse of the library. “Arabella! Are you here!”
The library was one of the biggest private collections that she had ever seen, and the moment that Margot came upon its doorways and peered inside, she knew that finding her cousin here was as likely as it would be difficult to do.
Almost the size of the ballroom, it was a maze of shelves that stood three stories tall, and as only the hearth by the entrance was lit, darkness consumed those shelves and aisles so she could not see further than a few feet deep.
“Arabella!” she cried again. “Where are you!”
She was hesitant to walk too far into the darkness, hoping her cry was heard. What was more, although she predicted her cousin would indeed be here, she also predicted that she would not come unless found. She is hiding, and for good reason. Not that I agree with it.
Arabella’s sordid history was almost as rotten as Margot’s own.
When Arabella had been just seventeen, she’d fallen in love with a scholar who was most certainly not a man of the peerage and thus not one worthy of her name or her love.
But Arabella had been idealistic, thinking that her feelings might outweigh the expectations on her shoulders, even going so far as to confront her mother and demand that they be allowed to be together.
Typically, Arabella’s mother had denied this request, banishing the scholar while announcing her daughter as a harlot who had betrayed her.
Worse still, word of what had happened was quick to spread around the ton, forcing Arabella’s mother to send her into hiding – to live on the same estate where Margot soon escaped to.
But Arabella was not made of the same strong stuff as Margot, and the effect of this scandal had seen her withdraw into herself so that she became nervous at even the hint of crowds and attention. Thus, her hiding.
“Arabella!”
“You best be careful,” a deep voice spoke from behind her. “You’ll wake the dead if you cry out any louder.”
“Oh!” Margot’s heart seized inside her chest, and she spun about, very nearly screaming in fright from the surprise of the intruder. When she saw who it was, her alarm only increased. “You!”
The Duke of Eastmoor was leaning casually against the doorframe of the library, arms folded over his chest, a wicked smile painted across his lips. And in his eyes, Margot saw unabashed amusement as if he was laughing at a joke that only he knew.
“Me,” he said with a chuckle. “I confess, I do not know what this Arabella looks like. But I suppose that mistaking the two of us is unlikely.”
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
He pushed himself off the doorframe and sauntered into the library.
She was at least twenty feet back from the door, but she took a few quick steps away as he came closer.
“Looking for the washroom,” he said with a casual shrug, coming to a stop less than fifteen feet away.
“Then I heard you screaming and thought I’d best investigate. ”
“There is nothing to investigate,” she snapped. “I am merely looking for my cousin.” Margot glanced about them, nerves spiking as this was a man of such reprehensible character that being alone with him was not a good idea. “You need to leave,” she said. “Now.”
“Is that right?”
“I…” She looked over his shoulder, wondering if it might be worth storming past him before it was too late. It would not do to be found alone with a man like this. That is a scandal waiting to happen. “It is best for the two of us if you do. And quickly, thank you.”
“What’s the matter?” he frowned as if hurt. “Worried that your pristine reputation might take a battering if you are found alone with me? You wound me.”
Margot could not help but laugh. “I did not know such a thing was possible. One needs a conscience to be wounded.”
His eyes flashed with mischief. “Oh dear. That was rather harsh.”
“Earned,” Margot shot back, not liking at all how the duke was behaving.
It was as if this was some joke to him, as if he was taking pleasure in how uncomfortable he was making her.
“I know all about you, Your Grace. Such that you might have claimed to have stumbled here in a bid to lend aid…” She snorted.
“But you and I both know the true reason.”
“Pray do tell. What is the true reason?”
She curled her lip at him, wanting him to see how much she despised him. “Likely, you heard the call of a woman and figured it would be one more notch to add to your bedpost. Another life to ruin, which, as I hear it, is a particular talent of yours.”
Margot could not say exactly why she was being so hostile toward the duke.
She had never met the man before. And he had never done anything deserving of her antipathy.
There is just something about him that irks me.
Who he is… what he represents… and that he does not seem to care or suffer the consequences as I would had I done half of what he had.
More than that, Margot hated how she agreed with her cousin concerning his looks.
The duke was indeed attractive, not in a typical way, but his confidence and charm dripped from him like honey.
And he knew it. His eyes were blue like sapphires, and they flicked over her hungrily, paired with a smirk that made it only too easy to guess what was on his mind.
It made her heart race and her body flush…
No! There is no force in the world that could ever make me want that.
“Well?” she widened her eyes at him. “Are you going to leave? Or do I need to?”
“I find it strange that you are so quick to judge,” the duke said with a smirk that was knowing.
“That you, of all people, would believe such sordid rumors without wondering about the truth of them.” He took a step toward her, his smile growing.
“After all, I would have thought you to be the first person to question the maliciousness of lies, Miss Harcourt.”
She gasped. “You… you know my name?”
He laughed. “As I do what people say of you. Tell me, how is Lord Ashcombe doing? Are the two of you still in touch?”
Margot’s face paled to hear that name, and a stone fell into the pit of her stomach that made her want to retch.
Never mind that the duke had heard of her, for that shouldn’t have been surprising.
The truth was, most in the ton knew about Margot and Lord Ashcombe, and all were quick to judge and lay at her feet their scorn.
It was three years ago when Margot had first met the handsome, so very desirable lord.
She had been a different woman back then, coveted and pursued by many, wanted by all, sure to wed any man of her choosing should she wish it.
And me, the fool that I was, chose Lord Ashcombe.
It was believed at the time that Margot’s dowry was of extreme value, for her family had once been rich before her father had squandered it.
For this reason, Lord Ashcombe had pursued and won her over, not for love as he’d claimed, but for wealth.
Alas, when he learned of her pitiful fortune, he had ended their courtship – as it turned out, he was as broke as she and had only wanted her for her money.
To make matters worse, he was quick to lay the blame at her feet, and soon the rumors about her began to fly thick and fast. That she was a harlot.
That she had cheated on him. That she had somehow tricked him into falling for her, wishing to use him for his wealth – a wealth that did not even exist!
Such was the veracity of these rumors that Margot had fled. Too proud to fight them. Too stubborn to stay and deny them. She had chosen to hide, thinking that if she was to be out of sight, then soon she would be out of mind. Apparently not.
“How dare you!” she hissed at the duke, her anger flaring. “How dare you, of all people, to judge me!”
“I am not judging you,” he said simply. “Merely having a conversation. You were the one who broached the topic of past indecencies, not I.”
She thought to snap. She thought to snarl. She thought to fling insults of her own. But through it all, one thought took her and held strong, perhaps the smartest she’d ever had. To leave.
“As I started the conversation, I shall end it. Good evening, Your Grace. May our paths never cross again.” And with that, she stormed away.
Or she meant to. Only the duke blocked her path, forcing her to step around him lest she get too close.
This forced her to step near a wooden table, the edge catching her gown, which caught the skirt in the frayed wood, which in turn yanked her back as the silk of her dress shrieked from being torn apart.
“Oh!” she yelped as she felt her dress tear. “No!” she spun back, which had the effect of worsening the tear, stretching the silk of the skirt so it ripped right up the back.
“Careful!” The duke came at her quickly, one hand slipping around her waist, the other snatching at the snagged dress.
She gasped to feel his hand on her body. “What are you –”
“Be still!” he hissed.
She froze stiff. Not because the duke told her to, but because his hand gripped the bodice of her dress so tight she could feel his fingers pushing into her waist. And his body, that was held against her own, trapping her between him and his hand so she could not squirm as he attempted to untangle her.
Margot held her breath, and her eyes were wide.
Her heart was racing… her body ran warm to feel the duke’s chest pressed into her…
and his hand continued to grip. And none of that was to mention how close his face was to her own.
He was not looking at her, focused on the skirt of the dress, but she could feel his heart beating just as she could smell him…
“One moment…” He said, his fingers delicately peeling the silk of the dress from the frayed wood. “Almost there…. And done.” The skirt of the dress fell free, but the duke did not let her go.
His hand was still about her waist, only now he was facing her.
Their chests were pressed together. Their faces were inches apart.
She could feel the warmth of his breath trace her lips, and their hearts beat as if one.
He smiled as he met her eyes, cocky and arrogant as always, and as his other hand moved to her waist, Violet’s eyes widened.
“Wh… what are you…”
“Helping you,” he said. “I am nothing if not a gentleman.”
“You…” She swallowed. “Unhand me.”
“You are free to go,” he purred, his grip tightening. “Best not be found alone with a rake such as me.”
“You are a rake…” She could not move. She could not breathe. And she could not pull her eyes away from the duke’s; they trapped her, pulled her in, made her want to stare at them as if the world was ending, and they might save her. “A… a scoundrel.”
“And what does that make you?” his voice was a whisper, the curve on his lips suggestive.
Margot never got the chance to answer.
“Margot!” Arabella’s voice cut through the moment. “What are you doing!”
It all happened so fast. The duke was quick to release her and step away.
Margot, taking her first breath in what felt like hours, gasped and stumbled, nearly tripping over her dress again.
Her skin was flushed. Her heart beat so that it hurt her.
And the room seemed to turn as not just Arabella, but two other women rushed them.
“What is the meaning of this!” Lady Weatherstone was the mother to a friend of Arabella’s and Margot’s, a most stern woman, a respected lady, and a renowned gossip, as there ever was. “Your Grace! Margot! What is going on!”
“Margot!” Lady Weatherstone’s daughter, Violet, was there too, her expression aghast as she looked between Margot and the duke. “What… what happened?”
“Your dress!” Arabella cried. “It’s torn.”
“Your Grace!” Lady Weatherstone rounded on the duke, who looked more amused than upset. “Was this you? You… what have you done!”
“I suppose you won’t be willing to believe that this isn’t what it looks like?” the duke said with a shamed grimace, even if his eyes continued to smile. “Because it is not that.”
As for Margot? She stayed glued to the spot, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open, the slow weight of realization dawning on her like the rising sun so that it was blinding.
She had come to this ball tonight to be seen again, her one goal being to get in, get out, and not do anything that might incite gossip. To avoid another scandal.
She saw now that she had failed in this singular task. And just like that, her name was sure to be on the lips of every man and woman in the ton. Such was the luck she had… or didn’t have.