Chapter Nine #2
The conversation might have continued, but a shadow fell across the terrace as the door opened once more.
Baron Lockwood stepped into the lantern light, his attire impeccable but his eyes moved over the ladies with calculated interest. Courtney felt an instinctive chill when his gaze found her and lingered.
“What a delightful gathering,” he remarked, strolling toward them with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. “The loveliest flowers of the ton, all conveniently assembled. I must be in fortune’s favor tonight.”
While undeniably handsome, with his golden hair and aristocratic features, there was something in Lockwood’s smile that put Courtney on edge—a coldness that never quite left his ice-blue colored eyes.
“Baron,” Lauren acknowledged coolly. “What brings you to the terrace? Surely the card rooms would hold more appeal for a gentleman of your…interests.”
If he registered the slight, Lockwood gave no indication. “The pleasure of ladies’ company far exceeds that of cards, Lady Lauren. Though I hear your father may disagree.”
Courtney saw Lauren stiffen and moved closer to her friend, distaste rising. Lucien had mentioned his confrontation with Lockwood at Crockford’s; the baron’s reference to the earl’s gambling problem was a deliberate barb.
“How fortunate we are to be graced with your preference,” Courtney interjected, her tone deliberately light but her eyes frosty. “Though I’m afraid we were just discussing matters unlikely to interest you.”
“On the contrary, Lady Courtney,” Lockwood replied, stepping closer to her, “I find everything about you fascinating.”
The directness of his gaze made her skin crawl. There was nothing of genuine admiration in it; rather, it held the calculating assessment of a predator.
“How flattering,” she replied, not bothering to hide her disinterest. “Though I imagine your fascination is rather newly acquired.”
His smile thinned. “Not so newly as you might think. I’ve long admired your…resilience.”
“My resilience?” she echoed, baffled by his choice of words.
“Indeed. To endure the loss of a fiancé, to stay true to him, then witness his miraculous return with a new child and no memory of your engagement, then observe his immediate proposal to your friend… Most women would crumble under such circumstances.” His voice dripped with false sympathy.
The other ladies moved subtly closer around Courtney, a protective wall of silk skirts and steely glares.
“Lady Courtney’s strength is well known,” Ivy said firmly. “As is her good judgment.”
“Of course,” Lockwood agreed smoothly. “I merely offer my admiration. And perhaps…a sympathetic ear, should you ever tire of Lord Furoe’s inconstancy.”
Claire scoffed audibly. “I believe Lady Courtney has no shortage of confidants, Baron.”
“No doubt. Though perhaps fewer who understand the true character of the returned viscount.” Something glinted in Lockwood’s eyes—knowledge, or the pretense of it. “I’ve been making some inquiries about his time in Ireland, you see. Most enlightening.”
Despite herself, Courtney felt a flicker of curiosity. “Inquiries?”
“Court,” Lauren murmured in warning, but Lockwood had already seized upon her interest.
“I find it curious,” he continued, lowering his voice theatrically, “that a man of Lord Furoe’s background would adapt so seamlessly to life as a simple farmer. One might almost think he’d had…assistance.”
“Lucien suffered a traumatic head injury,” Lauren said sharply. “He had no memory of his former life.”
“So, we’ve been told,” Lockwood replied, his tone suggesting skepticism. “And yet, he managed to find a wife almost immediately. Most convenient.”
Courtney’s dislike deepened into outright aversion. “I fail to see what you’re implying, Baron, but I find your interest in my former fiancé rather excessive.”
“Not in him, my lady,” Lockwood corrected, his gaze still fixed on her face. “In you. I merely thought you deserved to know the truth about the man who abandoned you.”
“Abandoned?” Valora repeated incredulously. “He nearly died in the Irish Rebellion.”
“Is that the story?” Lockwood’s smile was chilling in its insincerity.
“How very dramatic. Almost as dramatic as returning with a child in tow.” He turned back to Courtney.
“Tell me, Lady Courtney, have you met the little girl? Ava-Marie, isn’t it?
Such an unusual name. I understand she looks just like her father. ”
“She does,” Courtney replied stiffly, increasingly uncomfortable with his line of questioning.
“And the mother? What was she like, this Irish farmer’s daughter who captured the heart of a viscount?”
“She was his wife,” Courtney said, wondering why he would ask such a question. “And she is deceased. It’s hardly appropriate to discuss her.”
“His wife,” Lockwood repeated, as if testing the word. “Yes, of course. How unfortunate that she passed before she could join London society.”
“I believe we’ve entertained your conversation long enough, Baron,” Ashley said firmly. “If you’ll excuse us.”
Lockwood bowed, but his eyes never left Courtney’s face. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of imposing further. But Lady Courtney, should you ever wish to learn more about your returned fiancé’s…adventures in Ireland, I would be most happy to share what I’ve discovered.”
There was something disturbing in his tone, a hint of malice thinly veiled as concern. Courtney felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
“I doubt you could tell me anything of value that Lucien could not tell me himself,” she replied icily.
“Perhaps not,” he conceded, though his smile suggested otherwise. “But it’s always wise to know the truth about those closest to us, wouldn’t you agree? Especially when children are involved.”
Before she could respond, Ivy stepped forward, deliberately placing herself between Courtney and the baron. “I believe Lord Blackstone was looking for you in the card room, Baron. Something about a wager from last week’s races.”
It was a blatant fabrication, but an effective one. Lockwood hesitated, clearly weighing the potential advantage of continuing his conversation against the risk of offending a duke.
“I should hate to keep His Grace waiting,” he said finally. “Ladies, it has been a pleasure. Lady Courtney—” he bowed over her hand, his grip lingering uncomfortably “—until our next meeting.”
As he disappeared back through the terrace doors, the tension among the women eased tangibly.
“What an odious man,” Claire declared, shuddering slightly.
“He’s dangerous,” Lauren added, her expression troubled. “Lucien said as much after their confrontation at Crockford’s. My father, who was well in his cups, lost a significant sum to the baron and he was deliberately attempting to win more when Lucien intervened.”
“And now it seems he’s seeking some form of revenge,” Ivy observed. “Though what he hopes to accomplish by making vague insinuations about Lucien’s time in Ireland, I can’t imagine.”
More concerning was his evident interest in Ava-Marie. What possible reason could he have for asking about the child’s mother?
“Are you all right, Court?” Ashley asked gently. “You’ve gone quite pale.”
“I’m fine,” she replied automatically, though her mind was racing. “Just tired. Perhaps I should return to the ballroom.”
“We’ll all go,” Valora declared, linking her arm through Courtney’s. “Safety in numbers. That man is vile.”
As they made their way back inside, Courtney scanned the crowd for Lucien.
She spotted him across the room, deep in conversation with Rockwell.
His expression was serious, intent, so different from the carefree viscount she’d known before.
Yet there was something compelling in that seriousness, a depth that drew her, even as it reminded her how much he had changed.
Whether Lockwood was merely being malicious or truly knew something about Lucien’s time in Ireland, one thing was clear: she needed to proceed with care. Not just to protect her own heart, but perhaps Lucien’s as well. Whatever Lockwood was planning, he clearly meant harm to the Furoe family.
And despite everything that had happened, despite her lingering uncertainties, she found herself unwilling to allow that.
If Lockwood thought he could use her as a pawn in whatever game he was playing, he would soon discover his mistake.
She might be cautious with her heart these days, but her loyalty—once given—was not easily shaken.
As if sensing her gaze, Lucien looked up, his eyes finding hers across the crowded ballroom. Something passed between them, a silent recognition, a connection that transcended memory. He excused himself from Rockwell and began making his way toward her, his expression warming as he drew near.
“You look troubled,” he said without preamble when he reached her side. “Has something happened?”
The concern in his voice was genuine, and Courtney found herself momentarily at a loss for words.
“It’s nothing,” she said finally, deciding that Lockwood’s insinuations could wait for a more private moment. “Just a tiresome conversation on the terrace.”
Lucien studied her face, clearly unconvinced. “I see.” His gaze moved to where Lockwood had entered the ballroom behind them, and his expression hardened. “Did the baron have something to say that upset you?”
His perception surprised her. “How did you know it was Lockwood?”
“The way you’re looking at him,” Lucien replied simply. “Like he’s a particularly unpleasant insect you found in your tea.”
Despite herself, Courtney laughed. “What a charming analogy.”
His smile in response was warm, genuine, and wholly his own—not an echo of the man she’d lost, but something new and equally compelling. “I may have lost my aristocratic polish in Ireland, but I gained a certain clarity about people’s characters.”
“So, it seems,” she agreed, finding herself relaxing in his presence despite the lingering unease from her encounter with Lockwood. “It’s not an entirely unwelcome change.”
“No?” His eyes held a tentative hope that tugged at her heart.
“No,” she confirmed softly. “It isn’t.”
The orchestra struck up the opening notes of the final waltz, and Lucien offered his hand. “I believe you promised me this dance, Lady Courtney.”
As she placed her hand in his, Courtney was acutely aware of Lockwood watching them from across the room, his cold gaze assessing. Whatever game the baron was playing, whatever he thought he knew about Lucien’s past in Ireland, she would not allow him to use it to hurt Lucien or his daughter.
Some things were worth protecting, even when one’s own heart remained uncertain.
“So, I did, Lord Furoe,” she replied, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor. “So, I did.”