Chapter Nine
“You are going to ruin her.”
William looked up from the brandy he had been contemplating, his third of the evening, though it was barely seven o’clock, and found Worthington standing in the doorway of his study with an expression of grim determination.
“Good evening to you as well,” William said. “Do come in. Make yourself comfortable. Help yourself to my liquor while you lecture me about my life choices.”
“This is not a joke, Will.” Worthington crossed the room but did not sit.
He stood before the fireplace, arms crossed, looking more serious than William had seen him in years.
“The entire ton is talking about you and Miss Hayfield. The musicale. The carriage today, yes, people saw. They always see.”
William’s hand tightened on his glass. “What did they see?”
“They saw her get into your carriage. Alone. They saw the carriage drive in circles for some time before depositing her back on the street looking…” Worthington paused, choosing his words. “Dishevelled.”
“She was not dishevelled.”
“Her cheeks were flushed. Her hair was not quite as it had been.” Worthington’s voice was flat.
“That is enough, Will. Lady Thornbury is already telling anyone who will listen that Miss Hayfield is no better than she should be, Mrs Ashborn is apparently in hysterics, and the girl’s chances of making a respectable match are diminishing by the hour. ”
William set down his brandy with more force than necessary. “Lady Thornbury is a vicious harpy who would slander her own grandmother if it gave her something to gossip about.”
“That may be true, but her gossip has power. And you have given her ammunition.” Worthington finally sat, dropping into the chair across from William with the air of a man preparing for a long battle. “What are you doing, Will? What is your endgame here?”
“I don’t have an endgame.”
“Then find one. Because right now, you are destroying that girl’s reputation while offering her nothing in return. You are taking everything and giving nothing. And that is not…” He broke off, shaking his head. “That is not who I thought you were.”
The words landed with unexpected force. William stared at his oldest friend, at the disappointment written plainly across his features, and felt something twist in his chest.
“You thought I was better than this?”
“I thought you had rules. Lines you wouldn’t cross.
” Worthington leaned forward. “You have spent so many years as a rake, and in all that time, you have never ruined an innocent. Never targeted a debutante. Never pursued a woman who didn’t know exactly what she was getting into.
That was your code, was it not? Take pleasure where it is freely offered, but never destroy someone who does not understand the game. ”
“Eliza understands—”
“Does she?” Worthington’s voice was sharp.
“Does she understand that you will never marry her? Does she understand that whatever you’re offering, it is not a future?
Does she understand that when you grow bored, and you always grow bored, Will, that’s who you are, she will be left with nothing but a ruined reputation and memories of whatever fleeting pleasure you deigned to give her? ”
William was on his feet before he realised he had moved. He crossed to the window and stared out at the darkening London street, his reflection a ghost in the glass.
“I will not grow bored of her.”
“You have grown bored of everyone.”
“Not her.” The words came out rough, almost pained. “She is… different.”
“Every woman is different until she isn’t.
” Worthington’s voice had softened slightly.
“I’m not saying this to hurt you. I’m saying it because I have watched you pass from one woman to another for fifteen years, and the pattern is always the same.
Fascination. Obsession. Conquest. And then, nothing.
The flame goes out, and you move on; and they’re left wondering what they did wrong. ”
“Eliza is not like the others.”
“Then prove it.” Worthington rose and came to stand beside him at the window.
“If she’s truly different, if this is truly something more than your usual pursuit, then offer her something real.
Court her properly. Ask for her hand. Give her the protection of your name instead of the destruction of your attention. Offer her marriage.”
Marriage.
The word hung in the air between them, heavy with implication.
William had not allowed himself to think about marriage.
Had not permitted the concept to enter his conscious mind, despite the fact that it had been lurking at the edges of his thoughts for weeks.
Marriage meant permanence. Marriage meant trust. Marriage meant handing someone the power to destroy him, the way his mother had destroyed his father.
“I cannot marry her,” he said quietly.
“Cannot or will not?”
“Both.” He turned to face Worthington, and something in his expression must have been raw enough to give his friend pause.
“I am not… capable of being a husband. Not the kind she deserves. I would make her miserable. I would grow suspicious, jealous, and controlling. I would poison everything good between us with my own inability to trust.”
“You do not know that.”
“I know myself.” William’s voice was bitter. “I know what I am. I am my mother’s son, Worthington. I will leave before I can be left. I will destroy before I can be destroyed. That is the pattern written into my bones, and no amount of wanting will change it.”
Worthington was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was gentle.
“Then what are you offering her, Will? If not marriage, if not a future, what?”
William closed his eyes. The answer had been forming in his mind for days, taking shape through sleepless nights and fevered imaginings. It was not a good answer. It was not an honourable answer. But it was the only one he had.
“An arrangement,” he said. “Something controlled. Defined. Something that protects her reputation while giving us both what we want.”
“An arrangement.” Worthington’s tone was flat. “You mean you’re going to make her your mistress?”
“No, not like that.” William ran a hand through his hair, frustrated by his own inability to articulate what he meant.
“I will not take her virginity. I will not compromise her ability to marry well when the Season ends. I will simply… teach her. Show her what pleasure means. Give her experiences she will never have with a respectable husband like Edmund Alcott.”
“And what do you get in return?”
Her, William thought. I get her. For as long as she’ll have me.
“I get… time,” he said aloud. “Time to understand what this is. Time to determine whether I am capable of more than I believe. And if I’m not, if I prove to be exactly what I fear, then I will end it cleanly.
She can marry Alcott or someone like him, and she will have memories of passion to sustain her through a lifetime of tepid contentment. ”
Worthington stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
“You’ve convinced yourself this is noble,” he said finally. “You’ve found a way to take what you want while telling yourself you’re doing her a favour.”
“I am not—”
“You are.” Worthington’s voice was not unkind. “You are lying to yourself, Will. You are constructing an elaborate justification for seduction and calling it protection. And the worst part is, I think you actually believe it.”
William had no response. Because Worthington was right, and he knew it, and none of that knowledge made the slightest difference to his determination.
He was going to propose the arrangement to Eliza tonight.
He was going to offer her pleasure without permanence, passion without promise.
And he was going to tell himself it was for her benefit, even as some deep part of him recognised the lie.
***
The Henderson ball was in full swing when William arrived.
The usual spectacle surrounded him, glittering chandeliers, swirling dancers, the hum of gossip and music that characterised every society event.
He moved through the crowd with automatic ease, accepting greetings, deflecting inquiries, playing the role of the Duke of Hollowshade with the practised precision of long habit.
But his attention was elsewhere.
Eliza was here. He had spotted her the moment he entered, a flash of pale green silk near the refreshment table, her brown hair dressed with small pearls that caught the light.
She was speaking with her aunt, nodding along to whatever lecture was surely being delivered, and she had not yet seen him.
He watched her the way a man dying of thirst might watch an oasis.
Goodness, she was beautiful.
There was something about her that drew his eye and held it, something in the way she moved, the way she tilted her head when she was thinking, the way her face transformed when she laughed.
She was wearing the pearl earrings he had sent her that morning. A small thing, easily explained away as a gift from a family member, but he knew she knew they were from him. A token. A promise.
I am going to ruin everything, he thought. I am going to take this bright, good, honest woman and drag her into my darkness, and she will never be the same.
The thought should have stopped him.
It did not.
The clock on the wall showed half past ten. Thirty minutes until their rendezvous in the garden. Thirty minutes until he proposed his arrangement and discovered whether she would accept.
He made himself wait. Made himself circulate, make conversation, perform the expected rituals of a duke at a ball.
He danced once, with a widow who pressed against him suggestively and received nothing but cool politeness in return.
He spoke with Worthington, who had arrived despite his earlier objections and was watching William with an expression of resigned concern.
And he watched Eliza.