Chapter 42
Livy
“The Most Honorable, The Marquess of Dunmore, The Right Honorable, The Viscountess Elliot, and The Honorable Miss Forester,” the major duomo boomed into the Almack’s assembly room.
Livy surveyed the room, a smile splitting her face. Her gaze caught on the orchestra playing in the balcony. She had made it. She had proved that she was someone within the ton, someone worthy, someone accepted. Take that, Mother.
“I see the dowager over there,” Derek murmured, indicating with a slight tilt of his head to the right. “She requested to see you once we arrived.”
Livy let herself be led to be presented to the Dowager Duchess of Ironcrest, then dropped into a curtsy alongside her aunt.
“Your Grace,” she and her aunt greeted together.
A small smile tilted the dowager’s lips, a conspiratorial glint in her dark eyes. She swept her gaze over Livy and nodded in approval. “You are the epitome of grace and beauty, my dear.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
The dowager’s gaze caught on her necklace. “What a stunning necklace.” She raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways at Derek, who was staring stonily out at the crowd of people dancing and conversing.
The warmth of a blush tingled on Livy’s cheeks, and she raised a hand to coast over the delicate pearls, trying to calm her racing heart.
The dowager most definitely knows about the gift.
How, Livy wasn’t sure. Livy also wasn’t certain how much Her Grace knew of Livy’s affections for Derek.
She’d arrived at Franny’s just after Livy had mentioned that fact, but Livy hadn’t any idea if the woman had heard the admission.
After that, they’d strictly spoken about the foundling home plans.
A wave of hope rippled through Livy’s chest.
“Walk with me, my dear. Let us have you be seen.”
Her aunt reached out and squeezed her hand, sending her a smile before stepping back. Flustered, Livy moved forward with the dowager. “I am honored to have your support, Your Grace. I cannot begin to express my gratitude.”
“Yes, you said as much at Lady Rutledge’s. I knew early on there was something special about you, and as I have mentioned before, I am rarely wrong.” The dowager surveyed the crowd as they made their way around the room.
Stares turned their way, fans coming up as people made hushed whispers to each other behind them. Livy’s stomach tightened in a knot.
“Keep smiling, dear. It is more important now than ever,” the dowager said without looking at her, looking down her nose at the guests.
“And be prepared for a flurry of suitors vying for your hand. You have just been elevated in the eyes of society. As I have taken a liking to you, I will assist you in determining who is acceptable.”
The dowager turned them. “Ah, I see your Mr. Thorton. Shall we say our greetings? I think so.”
Livy tried to keep up, both with the conversation and stride as the dowager tugged her along. A gleam entered the dowager’s eyes. One Livy didn’t quite understand.
All that disappeared when she spotted Warren.
He stood near a corner of the room, about twenty paces from them.
He had the same beautiful brunette from the theater on his arm, but he was looking at Livy, jaw slack.
Elation struck, swift and sharp. Her body hummed with it, flooding her veins and morphing into something even more heady. Triumph. Vindication.
They walked up to Warren, and he hastily disengaged from the young woman on his arm. He bowed low to the dowager. “Your Grace.” He turned to Livy and bowed. “Miss Forester. What a surprise to see you here.”
Surprise, my bottom. But given his parting words back at the theater, it was a surprise to him. Livy lowered into an exaggerated curtsy, making sure her champagne skirts fluttered dramatically, the brilliants sparkling in the candlelight.
She met Warren’s gaze head-on. She was done with people underestimating her. Undervaluing her. She furrowed her brow and blinked in faux confusion. “What, like it poses difficulty?”
The dowager snorted softly beside her. She took Livy’s hand and firmly placed it on her arm, all the while staring at Warren. “Come dear, we must get you back to your aunt. I am sure she is being waylaid by gentlemen requesting an introduction.”
Warren’s gaze searched the ballroom until it settled on who Livy presumed must be her aunt. His eyes widened briefly, but then Livy was being whisked away by the dowager.
“Well done, Miss Forester. I hope that means what I think it means.” Livy’s gaze shot to the dowager’s.
“Now, let us see if we can find someone who is truly suitable for you.” The glint was back.
The dowager knew exactly who she had in mind for Livy.
And Livy had a very good feeling, that someone was the man the dowager considered a grandson.
As they made their way back to her aunt, a knot tangled itself in Livy’s stomach, the familiar panic that had filled her the night of the theater resurfacing.
It was as though she hadn’t realized she was surrounded by people, too distracted by the moment.
But now reality was coming crashing down.
She took in the group of gentlemen forming around her aunt.
Her muscles tensed. She would be dancing with gentlemen she didn’t know soon. They would be touching her.
“You are in a ballroom full of people. As long as you do not leave the hall, none of them can harm you.” The dowager’s voice was firm, backed with steely resolve.
Nodding mutely, Livy took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. But then her steps faltered. How did the dowager know…? Her thoughts were cut short as they reached her aunt.
She’d have more time to dwell on that later.
“Things have turned around for you, my dear,” Aunt Mellie said with a smile. “I could not be happier for you. Finally getting the recognition you deserve.” Her voice lowered. “It appears your old beau is heading our way. To secure a dance, no doubt.”
Livy turned, glancing in the direction her aunt was looking, and sure enough, Warren was striding over to them.
With purpose. Blond waves perfectly swept back, his blue eyes locked on her.
Livy did a double blink. She’d never seen such determination on Warren’s face before, and definitely not directed at her.
“Lady Elliot, Miss Forester.” Warren bowed as he greeted her and her aunt. “I was hoping to secure a dance with Miss Forester.” His lips tilted up in a half smile, one of his dimples flashing.
Well, it looked as though Livy had accomplished what she’d come to London to do. She had Warren’s notice. And it also appeared she would now need to…find a way to discourage him.
Aunt Mellie nodded her approval.
Warren met Livy’s gaze. “I would be honored to have the final dance of the night with you.”
“I-I would be delighted,” Livy stammered. That was meaningful, taking her last dance. A subtle sign of favor. He was staking a claim.
A low growl came from Warren. Livy furrowed her brows. Wait. No. That hadn’t come from Warren.
Her gaze shot over Warren’s shoulder, catching on Derek. He stood just behind Warren; a dark devil fully prepared to eliminate the golden-haired archangel in front of him.
Warren stiffened, and Livy’s gaze bounced between the two men as they turned to face each other. A silent battle waged in their locked glares.
Oh, honey cakes.
Though, was she surprised by Derek’s behavior? He was angry and demanding by nature. Goodness, he was so possessive he might as well mark his territory by peeing on her. She wrinkled her nose. Well, that was quite the picture.
“I believe you were just leaving.” Derek’s low voice cut through the silence.
Warren’s nostrils flared, his hands clenching at his sides. Derek leaned forward, his taller frame towering over Warren.
Warren turned toward Livy, and despite the smile splitting his face, his eyes remained hard. “I look forward to our dance, Miss Forester.”
The tension in her chest released. Thank goodness Warren had sense enough—
“We move together with such harmony. It must be our shared history.”
She groaned inwardly, and her gaze flew to Derek’s face.
A muscle ticked in Derek’s jaw. A flush tinted his cheekbones, and the green of his eyes had nearly been swallowed by black. Warren needed to leave right now. Derek’s entire body fairly vibrated with barely leashed violence. What had happened to Derek not being intimidated by the pup?
Warren bowed quickly to her aunt and, with a last glare at Derek, strode off into the crowd. Livy blew out a relieved breath. Then the reality of what this meant washed over her. He was going to ask her to dance. Derek. She knew what the rumors said about him. He’d never danced at a ball before.
Derek stepped forward, his gaze dark, fixed on hers.
Silence.
She blinked expectantly at him. “Did you have something to ask me, my lord?”
“Waltz,” he bit out.
She gaped at him for a heartbeat. Then her lips twitched. Because truly? So. Adorably. Prickly. His nostrils were flaring. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he pawed the ground like an enraged bull.
She arched a brow. “You won’t even deign to ask?”
His lips flattened. “I have secured your first waltz.”
She hid her chuckle behind her fingers. “Oh, goodness. That was horrible. The worst attempt at requesting a dance I’ve ever heard.”
His features instantly softened, like her laughter unraveled his defenses.
Livy’s knees went weak, went all wiggly-wobbly.
He looked so boyishly handsome with that bashful half-smile, face framed by loose black waves, eyes crinkling at the corner.
She loved when all his hard edges melted away.
Not that I mind his hard edges. But the fact that she’d cracked them, that he allowed her to see a glimpse of what lay inside…
“Miss Forester, would you do me the honor of granting me your first waltz of the night?”
Oh. She blinked rapidly, a buzzing taking up in her chest. Did she even have knees any longer? When he asked it like that…all easy charm, as if he would truly be honored if she granted him a dance… He was dangerous. And it only made her that much more determined to make him hers. Her beast.
She rested a hand on her chest and took a deep breath. One step at a time. Derek tracked the movement, his gaze traveling slowly up to clash with hers. He arched an eyebrow, his lips twisting. She could almost hear him saying I’ve fulfilled my part; now you say yes.
She bit back a grin as she shifted closer to him. “That was much better,” she praised. Then she flipped open her fan and dropped her voice. “Good boy.” She winked.
His jaw went completely slack, mouth gaping.
Unable to hold back any longer, her face split into a gleeful grin.
She had never seen him wide-eyed in shock like this.
Suppressing a giggle, she lifted her hand and mimed lifting his chin with her finger.
His jaw snapped shut, eyes darkening. If retribution had a look, he wore it now.
A shiver coursed through her, a pulsing starting up in her core.
With one last pointed look, he bowed and strode off. She bit her lip, gaze narrowing on his back.
Do your worst, Lord Dunmore.
She couldn’t wait.