Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
Upon their arrival at the Carrisford ball, several guests congratulated them on their forthcoming marriage.
That most people seemed pleased by their engagement and excited for the day to arrive was a relief to Clementine.
A pity then that Lord William had excused himself from her side almost immediately upon entering the room and went to speak to several guests nearby.
She took in the ballroom that glittered with candlelight. Crystal chandeliers cast warm golden hues over silk gowns and polished boots, while the hum of conversation and soft strains of music filled the air.
Clementine accepted a glass of wine from a passing footman and enjoyed a fortifying sip. Her attention settled on William, and she could not deny that of all the men she’d met so far this Season, he was by far the handsomest of them all. And possibly the most charitable.
Maybe Angelica was right, and they would suit. His continued financial support for The Haven was something she could not overlook, and he had promised to be kind, fulfill his duties as a husband, and allow her to continue her charitable work.
She drank in the sight of him, his broad shoulders, tall, athletic physique, his strong jaw when he turned and she could see his profile. The man, no matter what anyone said, was devastatingly handsome.
And he’s going to be your husband…
The thought of sleeping with him, of having to be before him naked, sent a bout of giddiness and nerves through her body. However would she survive being alone and intimate with such a worldly man? Her gaze returned to him again, drawn by something she could not name and didn’t quite understand.
Before dinner this evening, she had spoken to Ravensmere, and he had confirmed there were no rumors of illegitimate children, debt, or nefarious actions he knew of.
Not even her own father, the late duke, could boast so.
Not only had he been unfaithful,, but also showed very little commitment to keeping their dowries safe.
This evening, she was bound to run into Lord Hartwell, and she hoped he wasn’t too angry at her for becoming engaged to his brother.
The marquess hadn’t arrived yet, and she wondered if he would seek her out, wish them well, or be curt, cold, and disappointed in her choice.
The thought left her uneasy. Perhaps it was best he did not come at all.
“Lady Clementine, let me offer you a celebratory glass of champagne and welcome you to our family,” Lord Hartwell said, coming to stand at her side.
His presence seemed to materialize from the crowd, his tone smooth and practiced.
The breath in her lungs seized, her having not known he had arrived.
She glanced over to William and noted his attention was fixed on them. Unwavering in its intensity.
“Thank you, Lord Hartwell. That is very kind.” She took the glass of champagne, setting her empty glass down on a nearby table. “I did not know if Lord William had seen you about the news or not.”
The marquess nodded, smiling. “He did indeed. He came around yesterday morning and told me the news before I was to read it in the papers today. We have discussed where you shall live as a newly married woman, and it’s been decided you shall reside under my roof, if William’s home on Brook Street is not ready in time. ”
“Oh, really.” She had not known this, and something about being under the same roof as the marquess gave her pause.
Her sister Evangeline had warned her of his lordship, and now she could not help but wonder if his nice, pleasant facade was just that—a pretty wall to what really stood behind.
“And you will not mind that we impose on your generosity for some weeks should that happen?” Faint unease settled in her chest.
“Not at all. We shall all make a merry party of three, and although I’m going to be forward in professing my disappointment in you no longer being on the marriage mart, I’m certain my brother will make you very happy.”
She studied him a moment. Was what he said true? Could he be sincere? Maybe her sister was wrong about him after all. Maybe William was too harsh. “That is very kind of you, my lord. Thank you for being so gracious.”
His smile remained fixed, charming, though something in his gaze flickered too quickly for her to name.
“Not at all,” he said, waving her words aside.
“Now, do drink up. I did not procure the glass of champagne for nothing. I wish to celebrate having a Ravensmere join the Hartwell family. An honor, of course.”
She raised her glass and took a sip, relishing the bubbles as they tickled her tongue. “A most delicious beverage, my lord. Much better than the wine I was drinking earlier.” The champagne was light and crisp, though it seemed to warm her faster than expected.
He laughed, and she could not think of him being false or unkind.
Surely he was not. Just because he may not support charities as much as his brother seemed to do, that did not make him a bad person.
Not everyone could afford to be so generous, and if the rumors circling town were true, maybe he was after a rich wife.
He wouldn’t be the first man to be so, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last.
Her thoughts began to blur, though she dismissed the fuzziness as the effect of too much wine. Maybe he was merely trying to save himself from humiliation by coming up with excuses as to why he could not help others in need, because he himself had pockets to let.
“Would you care to dance?” he asked, after they had finished their champagne.
Clementine nodded, her enjoyment of the evening increasing with each sip of her drink. “I would lovvvveeee that, thank you.” Her words slurred more than she intended, though she paid it little mind.
He laughed and, taking her glass, handed it off to a nearby footman before clasping her hand and leading her out onto the floor. He pulled her into his arms, and she stumbled into his chest.
The music swelled around them, the waltz beginning with a graceful rise of strings.
His hand slipped over her back, tickling the uncovered skin where her gown did not reach, and she chuckled, wiggling to try to move out of his hold.
His touch lingered a fraction longer than propriety allowed, and yet she could not seem to voice her displeasure with it.
As the waltz commenced, her attention moved to those watching.
She saw her sister Rosalind frowning as she watched them dance.
Angelica, too, looked less than pleased, and she could not make it out.
What was wrong with her dancing with Lord Hartwell?
Was she unconsciously making some faux pas of etiquette she wasn’t aware of?
Their expressions dimmed, as if she were looking through a veil.
Lord Hartwell spun her in the dance far quicker than she had thought possible, and the room turned at an alarming rate. The people about her distorted, their faces elongated, their laughter loud, their mouths wide. The chandeliers above blurred into streaks of light, spinning with dizzying force.
Her stomach lurched at the sensation of spinning, even though she was doing nothing but dancing in a fluid movement that she’d done many times before.
She swallowed hard, fighting the urge that she might cast up her accounts, here in the midst of a ball, in the middle of a ballroom floor.
A wave of heat swept through her, leaving her unsteady and disoriented.
“My lord, I’m feeling a little unwell. I think I shall return to my sister.”
“Nonsense,” he said, pulling her closer still and whirling her yet again. “You are merely overcome with excitement for your future marriage and that your future brother-in-law is a marquess, a highly respected and admired gentleman. How happy you must be.”
His grip tightened, leaving little room for her to withdraw.
She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and fought to remove herself.
Why was everyone becoming distorted? Why did he not let her go?
Heat washed over her skin and prickled under her gown.
“My lord, I truly must return to my sister. I’m feeling most unwell.
” Her voice sounded distant to her own ears, as though it belonged to someone else.
He smiled, and even his lordship’s visage elongated to something hideous and frightening. “Come, I shall take you onto the terrace, and you shall gain some air.”
She nodded, wanting air above anything else. “Thank you, yes. That would be most welcome.”
To her dismay, he spun her out of the dance before leading her quickly outside.
The moment she stepped onto the stone terrace, she breathed deep, fighting to stop the nauseous churning of her stomach, the spinning of her vision.
She stumbled to the balustrade and clasped the stone for support, looking out over the darkened gardens.
Cool night air brushed her skin, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the ballroom.
“What a shame it is that you did not allow me more time to win your affections, Lady Clementine. I would have made you a marchioness.”
Clementine heard his words and yet could barely raise her gaze to his. Any little movement left her discombobulated and dizzy. “You should not say such things, my lord. I’m betrothed to your brother. Those words are unkind.” Her grip tightened on the stone as the world tilted precariously.
“And yet they are true.” His hand brushed her cheek before he clasped her chin and turned her to face him.
“You’re so beautiful, and would have made the perfect companion in this society.
But you’re not married yet. There is time if you wish to change your mind.
We could say the papers placed the notification incorrectly. You could still be mine.”
“What?” she managed, fighting another bout of nausea.
“You don’t know what you speak.” She slumped onto the stone wall.
There was something wrong. Something she’d never experienced before and did not like.
“Can you go and fetch the Duchess of Ravensmere, my lord? I’m unwell.
” A creeping dread settled in her mind, sharp despite her dizziness.
“Silly Clementine,” he stated, using her given name without leave.
“You don’t need your sister, not here at least. We are alone, not another soul on the terrace, and I wish to spend time with you.
Get to know you better.” He stepped before her, all but placing himself against her.
“Maybe if we kissed, you would realize your mistake and wish to marry me after all. I’m the marquess. My brother cannot give you what I can.”
His closeness made her stomach churn, unease sharpening into fear. “I do not care about titles.” She took a calming breath, and the night sky seemed to move closer. “Please, go get my sister.”
He clasped her chin harder now, his hold painful and tight. She reached up and tried to remove his hand, but alas, his hold was tenacious and determined. Her limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, as though they no longer obeyed her will.
“I’m going to kiss you, just once, and then you may decide who you really wish to marry.”
She shook her head, not wanting him to do such a thing. “No, my lord. Stop. I do not want this.” She attempted to push him away, and yet her arms refused to work, instead they lay at her sides like useless, strengthless sticks. Panic flared within her, sharp and immediate.
“You’ll like it. I promise.” He did as he threatened, moving to kiss her. She closed her mouth, the only action she could do. His tongue pressed against her lips as he moved to deepen the embrace. He wrapped his arms about her, one hand spiking into her hair to move her to his whim.
There was nothing gentle in his hold, nothing that resembled care or affection.
“Stop,” she mumbled, regretting her choice the moment she spoke as he took the advantage and kissed her deeply.
His tongue delved into her mouth, and she gasped, fought not to vomit. There was no affection, no right to what he did, and she fought, as best as she could, to stop this madness. With nothing left to do, she bit his tongue.
“Ouch,” he said, jumping back and reaching up to touch his mouth. His furious gaze landed on hers, and a cold shiver ran down her spine. Before she knew what he was about, his arms lifted as if to strike her. Fear rooted her in place, sharp and undeniable.
He would not dare.
“Hartwell, Lady Clementine, what are you doing out here?”
The sight of William sent a wave of relief through her. She tried to reach for him, but still her arms would not lift. “I’m unwell, Lord William. I need to return home.” His presence steadied her, even from across the terrace.
“I’m so very sorry, Lady Clementine. I did not know you needed assistance. I shall fetch your sister posthaste and have the Ravensmere carriage called. William, do assist your betrothed around front so she may return home.”
Clementine watched the marquess leave, thankful and yet fearful at the same time. Should she tell William what he had done? The question lingered, heavy with consequence.
“Come, I shall take you to the carriage. You look terribly unwell.”
She slumped into his arms and welcomed his warmth, his care, and support. “Thank you, William. I do believe I must return home.” And think on how she would tell William she’d kissed his brother, and that she could not, under any circumstances, live under the Hartwell roof. Not even for a day.
His steady hold was the only thing that made the world feel remotely stable again.
William…