Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
“It would do you a world of good to work on your reputation, Everthorne,” Tristan proposed. “I personally sent an invitation to you, yet I’m surprised you answered it. You have acquired the presence of a man whom nobody expects to show up.”
Tristan decided to host a ball at his mansion, a grand affair that Cassian had no wish to attend. He had argued, refused, protested, and even threatened to cease communication with Tristan, but Tristan had waved off every excuse with expert indifference.
And so, Cassian had attended with his grandmother, who was, only the heavens knew, where.
They had arrived early, and he chose to remain tucked away in one of the side rooms, lingering in the shadows like a disgruntled ghost. He had agreed to grace the event with his presence, but he hadn’t promised participation.
From the room, he could hear the hum of the ballroom as guests flooded in, the rustling of gowns, the murmuring of gossip. It was everything he despised, but there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.
While enjoying his whiskey, Tristan had appeared by the doorway with a look that was two parts patience, one part exasperation.
“You cannot hide here all evening,” Tristan complained. “You are the Duke of Everthorne, not some criminal fearing the hangman’s noose.”
“I would rather face the noose,” Cassian muttered.
He had come to the deserted library to be alone, but it seemed as if his friend had been hellbent on making him miserable.
Tristan groaned as he let himself in and rolled his eyes.
“People talk. They always talk. But you cannot let ridiculous rumors live longer than they deserve. Show yourself. Let them see that you, in fact, are not a fraud, have not committed murder, abducted a French heiress, or gambled away your fortune in a drunken haze,” He said irritably.
Cassian shot him a withering look. “Which rumor claims I abducted a French heiress?”
“Two separate ones, actually. Both absurd.” He gave his own words some thought before shaking his head.
Cassian pushed a hand through his hair, irritated. “I will not parade myself, just so they stop whispering about those rumors. The truth of the matter is far more complex than any of them realize.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow, placing his half-drunk glass of whisky on a side table before straightening and addressing his friend. “And when exactly are you planning on revealing any of these complexities to people other than your grandmother and me?”
Cassian’s chest clenched in anger as he thought of the secrets he had shared with his closest and only friend. Many people had speculated about the time he had gone missing before returning to live with his grandmother in London.
The stolen duke.
He had heard the whispers of the name. Yet not a single person of the ton had dared to truly understand what it meant. The years preceding his return had been stolen from him. They had formed him into the heartless monster that people whispered about behind closed doors.
They had no idea just how accurate the description truly was.
The thick scars on his back began to ache, reminding him of a time he’d rather forget. He knew it was just his mind playing tricks on him; the wounds had long since healed, yet the old aches returned whenever someone reminded him of the past.
“I cannot speak of what happened back then. I refuse to drag another person into the abyss along with me. You and my grandmother are strong; not everyone can shoulder the burden of truth that is my past.”
Cassian stiffened as Lady Isabella flashed across his mind.
What would she say if she knew what had happened to him?
That he had been shamefully flogged over a feud he had not even started.
He knew very well that she had seen the scars that night in his workshop, but she had not shied away from him.
Would she be able to stomach the story if he ever worked up the courage to tell it to her?
“Then hide,” Tristan conceded briskly. “I have guests to greet. Do as you wish. I can lead you to the water, but I cannot force you to drink.” He turned sharply and left, leaving his half-finished drink behind.
Did he just call me a horse?
Cassian frowned and remained in the library for nearly an hour, and only when he felt boredom did he enter the ballroom with the same cold composure he always wore: shoulders straight, expression unreadable, footsteps measured.
A few heads turned, fans fluttering as the crowd parted naturally around him, making space without making direct eye contact. He ignored everyone except Tristan, whom he spotted near the far end of the ballroom.
Tristan seemed to be in conversation with a cluster of newly arrived guests when Cassian approached slowly, intending only to nod in greeting and help himself to some whiskey, until he saw her.
Lady Isabella Hunton.
The name always sliced through his mind with sharp precision.
Standing there in a gown of soft ivory, trimmed with shimmering gold thread, the fabric flowing like liquid light as she moved. Her hair had been styled with delicate care, a few curls framing her cheeks in a way that made his breath catch painfully.
She was breathtaking, and Cassian’s feet nearly faltered.
Her parents stood beside her, exchanging polite conversation with Tristan.
Isabella’s father smiled warmly at something Tristan said, and his wife nodded with quiet grace.
Then Isabella lifted her gaze, and their eyes met.
Her breath hitched almost imperceptibly, and he caught the movement. Her fingers tensed around the fabric of her dress, her shoulders straightened, and yet she did not look away.
Nor did he.
Tension sparked between them, sharp enough to be felt by anyone standing too close. Tristan glanced between them, noticing instantly.
“Ah,” Tristan said, his voice lilting with mischief as Cassian approached.
“Everthorne, allow me to introduce you to our newest guests, His Grace, Edwin Hunton, the Duke of Ironstone, and his family.” He gestured toward Isabella and her family, though his smirk made it obvious he sensed far more beneath the surface.
Isabella curtsied. “Your Grace.” Her face revealed nothing, yet Cassian could not help but feel as if something had shifted between them.
Cassian bowed, though his voice came out lower than intended.
“Lady Isabella,” He breathed.
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, as though the mere sound of his voice challenged her resolve.
Her father and mother then eased away to greet other acquaintances after their greetings, leaving Isabella standing directly before the two gentlemen.
Tristan wasted no time leaning in. “Lady Isabella,” he said with curious warmth, “I am delighted you could attend. You brighten my ballroom more effectively than all the chandeliers combined.” He gestured to the grand crystal chandelier above their heads with a sweep of his arm.
“You flatter me, My Lord.” Isabella smiled politely.
“I am only speaking the truth,” Tristan insisted.
Cassian’s jaw tightened.
Is he flirting with her on purpose?
Tristan continued smoothly, “I have long wondered why London does not crown you its most radiant jewel. But perhaps the men of the ton simply fear approaching a lady so elegant.”
Cassian made a quiet, disgruntled sound in his throat, though he covered it with a stiff cough as he placed his hands behind his back and clenched his fingers into fists.
“Perhaps the men of the ton choose better flattery.” Isabella tilted her head, the same defiant glint in her eyes as when she had challenged Cassian in his own house.
Does she speak like that to all the men of the ton?
Tristan laughed, delighted, as the sound made passersby turn to look at them.
“Then I shall attempt more honesty. You look lovely this evening.” He corrected his former faux paw before winking.
Averting her gaze, Isabella allowed her naturally long lashes to brush the top of her cheeks as a gentle smile touched her lips. The delicate gesture exposed the nape of her neck on either side as she came up straight.
Tristan seemed to notice as well, as his gaze swept over her elegant figure.
And Cassian saw red.
Shameless rake of a flirt…
He bit back his anger, not wanting to show Tristan that his flirting was getting to him. Giving Tristan ammunition would only make matters worse, and Cassian was not certain how much longer he could endure the teasing. If Tristan’s teasing was indeed a ploy to get under his skin.
Tristan, oblivious or intentionally provoking, added, “Would you do me the honor of a dance later, Lady Isabella?”
Isabella hesitated briefly, then she dipped her head in agreement. “We shall see about that, My Lord.” A teasing smile danced around her lips.
Cassian nearly snapped as he drew his lower lip between his teeth and sucked on it sharply.
Returning her smile, Tristan bowed. “That certainly is a promising challenge, My Lady. Now, if you would excuse me, I shall leave you in the capable, if somewhat grumpy, hands of my companion. I must circulate before the other young ladies grow jealous of your beauty.” He came up with a smirk and left.
Cassian could feel his anger threatening burst as he watched his friend leave.
Clearing her throat in a delicate manner, Isabella turned to leave. “I guess I shall go and find my family then, if you would excuse me, Your Grace.”
Reaching out without thinking, he gripped her wrist and held her back, letting go as soon as he realized what he was doing. His body was dangerously close to her again, a predicament that seemed hell-bent on repeating itself between them.
She looked from her wrist that hung in mid-air to the arm he had dropped to his side. Her cheeks were flushed with color again while her eyes spun with confusion. “Was there something that you needed, Your Grace?” She swallowed hard and dropped her wrist to her side before straightening.
Why did I do that?
His heart thrummed in his ears as his anger subsided and gave way to reason. “Forgive me, Lady Isabella, I simply wanted to enquire whether or not you have been enjoying the evening. We have not had a chance to speak since the last time that we met.”
Her eyes darkened slightly as her face stiffened. “I thought you made it clear that even speaking to me was a mistake, Your Grace,” she said stiffly.
Is that why her behavior has changed toward me?
Images from the maze flashed across his mind. He had said that their kiss had been a mistake. Had she not thought it a mistake? He examined her face closely, recalling the nearness of her lips and the heat from her body that had radiated through her clothes.
He had wanted to kiss her again at that moment, yet his better judgment had stopped him. “I did not mean that being in your presence was a mistake, Lady Isabella. I simply meant that placing your honor in question was not something that I ever intended.”
His answer seemed to surprise her as her lips parted ever so slightly with a lift of her brow.
“You do surprise me, My Lord. I did not think that a lady’s honor was something that you prized so dearly.
Then again, you did want to save us all from ruin after cavorting with those shirtless men…
” Her voice dropped to a dangerously low tone as her eyes dipped to his chest.
“Is that not what is expected of me as a gentleman of the ton?” He asked stiffly, feeling the heat rise under his collar beneath her gaze.
The corner of her mouth tipped up into a smirk. “I would never have pegged you as someone who cared what the rest of the ton thought of you, Your Grace.”
Feeling his anger darken, Cassian clenched his jaw. “You know nothing of what I care about.” His voice was thick with accusation, resenting the effect that one simple comment could have on him.
If it had been anyone else, any other young woman of the ton, he would not have cared about the remark. Yet somehow her words had penetrated into his heart.
“And do you think the Marquess cares for your reputation?” He asked coolly.
“I beg your pardon?” Her brow creased into a frown.
“You seemed quite taken with the Marquess earlier this evening. I wish you all the luck in the world with your upcoming dance. Perhaps once his reputation had burned you, and you have learned what it feels like when a man does not care for a woman’s moral standing, perhaps then you will yearn for the courtesy I have shown you. ”
Isabella’s lips parted even further with indignation.
“I do not know what it is that you are accusing me of, Your Grace, but I can assure you that I have only agreed to a simple dance. At no point did I ever agree to sell my soul, or my reputation, to your friend!” She bit out the words harshly, gritting her teeth as she glared at him.
Cassian was about to give a reply when Tristan came sauntering over to them with a grin.
“I hope I am not interrupting anything?” He looked from one to the other with a curious glint in his eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Isabella stepped away from Cassian and smiled. “You were not, My Lord, the duke and I were just about to part ways.”
Cassian clenched his jaw.
“Jolly good,” Tristan clasped his hands together in delight, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air, and bowed before offering Lady Isabella his hand. “Shall we, My Lady? The orchestra is just about ready to strike up the first song.”
Isabella held Cassian’s gaze for a heated moment before placing her gloved hand in Tristan’s. “I would be delighted, My Lord.”