Chapter 6
Chapter Six
B y the time Ian re-entered the party, Cecilia was nowhere in sight. That said, he did hear her name coming from every corner—accompanied by, he noticed, a great many glances thrown in his direction.
“Harwick.”
No sooner had he whirled around to see his best friend—looking furious—before Zachary was dragging him off the dance floor and out of the ballroom entirely, leading him deeper into the house.
“We need to talk,” Zachary said under his breath as he dragged him down the hallway.
“I can explain,” Ian replied.
“I most certainly hope you can.” When they reached a more private room, Zachary all but threw his friend into it, slamming the door shut behind him before whirling around. “Though I most sincerely doubt it, after the rumors I have heard swirling around the ballroom after you disappeared for an inordinate amount of time with a lady. And not just any lady—Cecilia.”
“Lindbury—” Ian tried to protest but was stopped short by Zachary’s fist connecting with his jaw. He stumbled backwards before straightening himself up just in time to dodge a second blow. “Lindbury! For God’s sake?—”
“I cannot help but blame myself, I suppose,” Zachary fumed, as he threw another punch, which Ian uncannily dodged. “I have never begrudged you your dalliances with ladies?—”
Ian let out a bitter laugh. “I should hope not! Not when you have certainly dallied plenty yourself.”
“This is my sister we are talking about. My sister, who you have now nearly ruined. You know how quickly reputations are made and discarded in this city. You know how delicate the state of affairs is for a young, chaste unmarried woman, and still, you took advantage of her, ruined her honor?—”
“I ruined nothing.”
“It does not look like nothing!” Zachary snapped. “Taking an unmarried young lady into the gardens, at night, unchaperoned?—”
“Lindbury!” Ian finally let lose a punch of his own, if only to shock Zachary into his senses. The blow stopped Zachary for a moment. When he tried to throw another punch, Ian was able to grapple him easily.
“Let me go!”
“Not until you calm yourself. I did not take her anywhere.”
Zachary struggled. “You went with her into the gardens?—”
“Will you let me explain, or shall we trade more blows and continue to resolve absolutely nothing?”
After a moment, Zachary stopped struggling, and nodded. Ian released him. “Explain, but do it quickly, before I come to my senses and strike you again.”
“ Strike implies you’d actually land a blow,” Ian said.
Zachary’s face twisted. “Do not test me, Harwick.”
Ian sighed. “There was nothing untoward, on either of our parts,” he said, as patiently as he could manage. “Lady Cecilia tripped, and I merely caught her before she dashed her brains out on the dirt. That is all anyone saw.”
“Unfortunately, that is not what they think they saw. And what they think they saw was a great deal more. You have disrespected my family most egregiously.”
“I hold your family in the highest regard, just as I hold you in the highest regard. You know what our friendship means to me, Lindbury. Think: whatever you may believe me capable of, do you really think I would denigrate the bond between you and me by destroying the life of your sister?”
Zachary looked at him in silence. Then, finally, he shook his head. “I do not know what to think,” he said, his voice deadly serious. “I do not know you anymore, Harwick. We duel at dawn, after which I never wish to see or speak to you again.”
“Duel?”
“What else do you expect me to do? In a situation such as this? As the man of the house—as Cecilia’s brother—honor demands that I take responsibility to rectify the crime, and so I challenge you to a duel.”
“Lindbury, do not be ridiculous.”
“Far from it, Your Grace,” Zachary said stiffly, stepping away from his friend’s extended hand. “In fact, I believe this is the most sensibly I have behaved since we first began our acquaintance.”
“So that is it?” Hurt clouded Ian’s vision, and he lowered his hand. “You are so swift to wish me dead?”
Zachary neither moved nor spoke. After a long moment, Ian sighed, and lowered his head. For such a fuss to rise up over nothing. He and Lady Cecilia had not even kissed; and for this, Zachary was willing to risk one or both of their lives.
And yet he could not argue. Zachary was right, he had to admit; what the people of the ton saw mattered less than what they assumed. And if they assumed Lady Cecilia had done anything improper with a gentleman, it would be her reputation that was ruined, not his. A dual was the only way to settle things.
Unless…
It was hardly worth thinking about. Cecilia hated him; of his few certainties in the world, that was top of the list. Certainly, she hated him now more than ever; now, she had good reason to. But a duel would not fix things, not really. The damage was done; no amount of noble self-sacrifice on Zachary’s part could undo Ian’s decision to follow Lady Cecilia out of the ball. If either of them died, Lady Cecilia would still be ruined.
Which meant there was, really, only one thing he could do.
“Fetch your mother and sister,” he said quietly.
Zachary scoffed. “If you think for one moment, after the events of this night, that I would allow you anywhere near?—”
“Lindbury,” he said, his voice rising sharply. Zachary fell silent. “Fetch your mother and sister,” he repeated, firmly, urgently. “So we can tell them that Lady Cecilia and I are to marry.”
When Cecilia walked into the library with her mother, brought there by a servant, her heart was still pounding. She ran to Zachary. “Brother. I can explain everything?—”
“There is no need to explain,” he said stiffly. Cecilia pulled back, hurt. Never before had she been addressed so coldly by anyone in her family, particularly not her smiling, jovial brother. “The Duke and I have come to a decision.”
Cecilia felt her heart drop to her stomach as, for the first time, she noticed the Duke of Harwick, standing further back in the room by the windows.
Their eyes locked. His dark blue gaze, always piercing, was hard as stone now, and filled with dread. Cecilia felt cold certainty spread over her, chilling her skin, and she took a step backward, shaking her head. “No,” she whispered. “No.”
“My lady.” The duke bowed to her mother, not even bothering to address Cecilia. “I will go obtain a special license first thing in the morning. Your daughter and I will be wed as soon as possible. I apologize for the haste, and for the events of the evening. Rest assured that nothing at all untoward happened between your daughter and I, but that I will do everything in my power to keep your family’s reputation unharmed.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” her mother said, acquitting herself with surprising ease and grace considering the situation. “It is much appreciated. Though I wish it were under different circumstances, I welcome you to the family.”
“No.” Cecilia looked back between them, rage bubbling up in her throat. “Have I no say in this? You cannot marry me off like chattel. Nothing happened between the Duke and I.”
“Can you convince Lady Winthorpe of that?” her brother asked, a hint of anger re-entering his otherwise cold and steady tone. “Can you convince the entire ton? The damage is done, Cecilia.”
“And what if I refuse to marry him?”
“Then I hope you are prepared to resign your life to that of a spinster. Worse than a spinster, a woman of ill repute.”
“Zachary,” their mother admonished him.
“Do you disagree?” he demanded.
Lady Lindbury hesitated. Then she turned to Cecilia, taking her daughter’s hands in hers. “I do not wish to know any of what may or may not have occurred in that garden,” she began tactfully, her voice low. “But the fact of the matter is, people have drawn their own conclusions. It is unfair, but it is the way things are. If you do not marry the Duke then you will never marry at all.”
Cecilia looked from her mother to her brother, steadfastly refusing to meet the eyes of the duke. “You really mean to bind me to the worst rake in London?”
Zachary’s voice remained firm. “It is the only option.”
Her mother squeezed her hands.
There was a long moment of silence. Finally, she let herself look at the duke.
He met her gaze coldly, unflinching. He was willing to marry her, but the deadness in his expression told her everything she needed to know about his true feelings for her. Worse, even, than the hatred she would have once expected from him: there was no passion in his gaze at all. Duty, yes; obligation, yes. Surely Zachary had challenged him to a duel, she knew—her brother was exactly the type to fly into such a rash fit of honorable pique, no matter his own rakish reputation—and would refuse to let the matter settle unless they were wed.
And, horribly, she knew them all to be correct. Even if she didn’t want to believe it. If she refused to marry the duke, no other gentleman would ever come near her again. It would be a fate worse than regular spinsterhood. She would be enduring the same whispers and titters and disapproving glares for the rest of her life.
Not for the first time, Cecilia cursed herself for ever having any hopes of finding a match. Not only would she fail to keep her promise to her father, but she had to watch her dreams of a love match die, sputtering out as though they were a fire she had tossed water on.
And yet, there was nothing else to be done.
“Fine,” she said quietly, letting go of her mother’s hands. She glared at the duke for a second longer, holding that cold, dispassionate gaze, before tearing her eyes away. “Fine,” she spit out again, before storming out of the room before anyone could stop her.
The door slamming behind her made a satisfyingly loud bang. Storming down the hallway, Cecilia ducked into the nearest empty room she could find.
She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her breathing. She was engaged. Engaged to a man she hated. The worst kind of man, a rake among rakes.
And, worst of all, a man who felt nothing for her at all.