Chapter 17 #2
“You there!” I called out, stopping a servant mid-stride. “See that tall man there with the injured arm and the furrowed brow? Make sure he gets a drink—and don’t take no for an answer. Lord Cranford’s orders.”
The servant gave a confused nod, but I was already rushing away, glancing over my shoulder just in time to see Mr. Hawke arguing with the poor servant, trying to get past him.
I slipped into one of the drawing rooms, relieved to find I wasn’t followed. It was a fortunate choice of escape, for sitting on one of the settees, surrounded by a whispering group of ladies, was the captain of the gossip mill.
I stopped in front of Sybella’s friend, Gabby Withers, looking down at her with arms on my hips. Gabby’s eyes widened, and the other ladies immediately scurried off. I placed a hand on Gabby’s shoulder to prevent her escape.
“Gabby,” I said sweetly, “how good to see you.”
“Helena—um, hello.” She gave a feeble smile and tried to stand. “I was actually about to get some air. If you’ll excuse me.”
I pushed down on her shoulder, keeping her in her seat. “There’s something terribly interesting going around tonight, and it seems I’m the last to know. Care to remedy that?”
Gabby swallowed and looked around helplessly. But her allies had fled.
“Me? Oh, well—you know me, Helena. I’m not one for idle gossip.”
“You’re right. You’re quite active when it comes to gossip. So tell me what people are saying about me. Now.”
Gabby froze like a cornered deer. I could see her weighing her options, but my glare was relentless, and ultimately she conceded.
“I heard twenty minutes ago that you were… um…” She opened her fan and cooled her reddening neck. “You were c-caught in the woods with a man. Alone. Apparently, there were leaves in your hair, as if you had been lying on the ground. That you had been… c-compromised.”
I inhaled sharply. “Compromised? Of all the foolish, stupid notions. I wasn’t compromised.
I was merely rescu—” I stopped. I didn’t want to reveal that I’d saved Mr. Hawke from his own horse.
That would make him the fool of the ton.
I may have been cross with him, but I wasn’t out looking for revenge. At least, not yet.
“Let me make this perfectly clear,” I said, my voice low. “I was not compromised. I was merely riding in the woods, enjoying nature.” I chewed on the inside of my lip, wondering why she hadn’t mentioned Mr. Hawke by name. “Which man did I supposedly ruin myself for?”
“I-I don’t know. She didn’t say who exactly.”
I raised my eyebrow, and Gabby clamped a hand over her mouth, realizing what she had unwittingly confessed.
“She? As in Sybella?” I huffed a bitter laugh. “How uninspiring.”
Gabby blubbered an excuse, but I wasn’t listening. I couldn’t sense anything beyond the red clouding my vision. Gabby must have realized I wasn’t holding her hostage any longer, for she quickly darted off, likely to warn the culprit she’d been found out.
My hands fisted in my skirts, and I marched out of the drawing room. My war with Sybella had been infuriating, but until now, it hadn’t been public. But this was a full-on assault on my reputation that could risk everything I’d worked for.
I stopped at the edge of the ballroom, unusually breathless. Every nearby gaze seared into me, burning with judgment. The whispers pierced through the music, like sharp needles.
“—alone with a man—”
“—quite a fall from grace—”
“—always knew she was putting on an act—”
My nails bit into my palms. Pull yourself together, I ordered myself. I needed my wits about me, but right now, all of my wits were trapped beneath Sybella’s thumb.
“—no one will want her now—”
“—think what her mother would say if she were still—”
I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that could block out the insidious whispers. My pulse thundered in my ears, and my breath grew ragged. You are better than this, I chastised myself. Get a hold of yourself and—
“Ma chère!” a smooth, honeyed voice called out. “Now, why is the most beautiful woman at the ball standing all by herself?”
The familiar drawl pulled me out of the thick haze of whispers. Mr. Marceaux knew the truth about what happened in the woods. He could help me set things straight.
“Mr. Marceaux,” I said, relief lifting my voice. “Clearly, I was waiting for you.”
“C’est impossible! Surely the stunning Miss Weston waits for no one.” He held out his hand. “Dance with me?”
I accepted it gratefully. “You know, people may start to think you’re playing favorites.”
He pressed a kiss on the outside of my glove and led me to the dance floor. “What people think doesn’t concern me.”
“You’ve heard the rumor then? It’s positively ludicrous, isn’t it?”
His smirk widened as we took up our position on the dance floor and the music began. “Ah, but the most entertaining tales always have a seed of truth in them, no?”
“You know as well as I do what happened that day.”
“Do I?” Mr. Marceaux pulled me into the first turn. “You never told us what exactly transpired in the woods—or what brought you and Hawke out there in the first place.”
It was then I saw both Lord Cranford and Mr. Hawke watching me from the edge of the dance floor.
Neither looked pleased. My stomach flipped, and I nearly fumbled the turn.
What if the baron had already heard the rumor?
Would he rescind his offer before he even officially gave it?
And Mr. Hawke—I was hardly in the right state of mind to demand answers.
Mr. Marceaux slid his hand to my waist, pulling my attention back to him. “You’re not like other ladies, are you?”
I moved his hand up a few inches higher. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t feign innocence, ma chère. You understand what truly holds a man’s interest.”
A bitter taste rose in my throat.
“And what’s that?”
His breath brushed against my ear. “The chase.”
My chest clenched in warning, as if the stays of my dress had been laced too tightly.
Mr. Marceaux was just teasing me, as he always did.
But something felt off. Perhaps it was the whispering crowd watching my every move.
Or maybe it was Lord Cranford and Mr. Hawke waiting for their chance to pounce. Or perhaps it was—
My father.
He glared at me from the hallway, red-faced and seething. Clearly the rumors had made their way to the billiard table.
“Air,” I rasped. “I need air.”
Mr. Marceaux offered his arm. “I know the perfect place.”
He led me away from my father, the baron, and Mr. Hawke. If any of them tried to follow, I didn’t notice. My thoughts were consumed only with remaining upright.
Dear heavens, was I swooning? How ridiculous.
“Mrs. Sweete—” I managed to say as Mr. Marceaux wove me through the leering crowd.
“Don’t worry about her.” He patted my arm. “We’re nearly there.”
I nodded weakly. I wasn’t entirely sure where there was, but as long as it was as far away from the three men I was trying to avoid, there was exactly where I wanted to be. I paid little attention to anything but my feet as we slipped out of the ballroom and into the hall.
“I thought we were going outside,” I said, looking back over my shoulder toward the terrace.
“Better air this way, trust me.” Mr. Marceaux pushed open a door and ushered us through. “Voilà, privacy.”
I took in the low ceiling and lime-washed walls, scrunching my nose at the scent of old soap and polish.
“This is a servant’s corridor,” I said.
“No one will bother you here.”
“But—this isn’t appropriate.”
“Oh, come now, ma chère. We are good friends, are we not?”
“I suppose, but—”
“I have a gift for you.”
“A gift?” I eyed him warily as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.
“Just a small token of my admiration.” He opened the box to reveal a gold ring set with a small, square, red gem. “The inscription reads vous et nul autre, with my initials inside.”
I stared at the posy ring. Even though this should have felt like a victory, it felt…
wrong. Part of me wanted to turn and run without another word.
But doing so would be unforgivably rude.
Besides, if anyone caught me running away from the servants’ hall with Mr. Marceaux following behind, that would be all the more reason to believe Sybella’s rumor.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, “but I cannot accept it. At least, not here. Let’s return to the ball. I’m feeling much better and—”
His eyes flickered to my lips. “I’m ready to call in my favor.”
“Mr. Marceaux, we must return—”
“Call me Henri.” He lifted my hand, and in one smooth flick of his wrist, managed to remove my glove. I froze, stunned at his brazenness, as he slipped the gold ring over my finger. He then pressed the band to his lips. “For my owed favor, how about a kiss?”
I yanked my hand away. “I demand you stop this at once.”
He chuckled and stepped forward, forcing me to stumble back against the wall. “You don’t need to play the game anymore, ma chère. The chase is over. I’ve already caught you.”
Before I could think, I thrust my hands against his chest and pushed. Mr. Marceaux was more solid than I thought, and the impact jolted me back instead of him. The back of my head slammed against the wall, and my pulse rang in my ears.
Mr. Marceaux used my brief dizziness as an opportunity to pin me against the wall with his body, his arms on either side of my head. A deathly chill settled beneath my skin as I realized my arms were trapped between his chest and mine.
“Let me go!” I cried, struggling to break free. I no longer cared if we were caught. I wouldn’t even mind if Father burst in and locked me up for the rest of my life. I just wanted to be free of Mr. Marceaux.
“It’s a shame Hawke caught you first.” His mouth was so close to mine that I could smell the sour stench of champagne on his breath. “But now that he’s had a taste of you, how could I not want one too?”
“You’re vile. Mr. Hawke is a perfect gentleman—”
“Don’t pretend you don’t love the attention,” he drawled, one hand slowly slipping the sleeve off my shoulder.
I shuddered at his touch. There was nothing nearby I could wield against Mr. Marceaux. Not even my own body held the strength to overtake him. The only weapon I had was my pride. That he could never take from me.
I looked him dead in the eye—then spat on him. My saliva landed below his eye and trailed slowly down his cheek.
Mr. Marceaux’s features hardened. His smirk evaporated, replaced by something darker. Something dangerous.
“Come now, Hel,” he sneered, his lip curling up over his too-white teeth. “Don’t go and spoil the game.”
Bile rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I would not yield to Mr. Marceaux. I would fight him with everything I had, even if—
“Let her go,” someone said from the door, the voice low like a snarl.
Mr. Marceaux startled and looked over at the tall figure who had thrown open the door with such force that I was sure the wood had cracked.
At first I thought I was hallucinating—that I had entered some sort of dream-like state due to terror. But as I blinked and saw another, smaller figure rush up beside the first, tears of relief rushed down my cheeks.
Edmond and Mrs. Sweete were here.