Chapter 2
What had Elowyn stumbled onto?
She’d been making her merry way to the Earl of Stagbourne when the man suddenly sauntered off, and she’d made the impulsive decision to follow.
Why, oh, why had she decided to follow? And only to lose Stagbourne anyway! Excitement had gotten the better of her. Though honestly, losing him might have been a stroke of luck. She should never have ventured after him outside of the eyes of the ballroom.
And now this.
She recognized the couple instantly. The foul-tempered Duke of Mandeville and the venomous Lady Gabrielle. She’d been fortunate, as a wallflower, to avoid these two without much trouble. Elowyn lamented her luck again. Did couples who slipped away for a romp not close and lock the doors?
What rotten luck.
Lady Gabrielle’s glare contained daggers. “What are you doing here?”
Ah, the question of the evening.
“Do not stop on my account,” Elowyn blurted, her hand flying to clutch her throat as the words left her lips.
Fabulous, Elowyn. Fabulous! Now the beast was glaring!
His face practically transformed into a black cloud, and he let out a curse unfit for a lady’s ears, tossing aside Lady Gabrielle’s arm.
“I mean to say . . . is . . . I didn’t see anything!
Nothing whatsoever. I took a wrong turn.
Just ignore me. I’m not here. I’m just a flower on the wall.
Invisible. No threat in any way.” She retreated a step. “So, um, I’ll just take my leave.”
She spun on her heel, intent on escaping this nightmare.
“Don’t you dare take another step,” a deep male voice snapped in command.
Elowyn froze on the spot, shivers erupting all over her body. To make things infinitely worse, two other women appeared, their gaze jumping from her to the couple at her back.
Clarity instantly dawned.
She’d interrupted a snare of wedlock.
“Florence! Matilda!” A thud followed the exclamation, and Elowyn wished she could be anywhere but here.
She turned, grimacing at the scene that met her. Lady Gabrielle on the floor, clutching her chest as one of her sleeves hung askew, tears streaming down her face.
Stars.
Lady Gabrielle’s sobs grew louder, echoing through the drawing room like a medieval trumpet announcing a sordid scandal. “Mandeville took advantage of me! He . . . he . . . touched me!”
Elowyn grimaced.
This woman belonged in a theatre.
Then her eyes shifted to her.
A cold chill spread down Elowyn’s spine.
Lady Gabrielle pointed a finger directly at her. “She witnessed it all!”
I witnessed nothing! Nothing!
And worse—which she really didn’t believe there could be a worse—all eyes turned squarely on her. Elowyn could only describe the sensation as ants crawling all over her body. She didn’t like it one bit. In fact, the urge to run had never been as overwhelming as this moment.
Her hands instantly shot up. “Do not involve me in this matter.”
“You’re involved whether you wish it or not,” Lady Matilda snapped.
No.
No.
She’d come to this ball with a purpose. To dance her first dance.
Not be dragged into some scandalous manipulation!
The words spilled from her before she could stop them.
“What are you talking about? I was here for a tour of,” her gaze swept the room, “this magnificent drawing room and now you are crying foul? Absurd!”
What are you even saying, Elowyn?
But honestly, what else should she do?
Lady Gabrielle’s sobs caught in her throat and her friends’ faces crumpled with displeasure. The duke remained silent. Elowyn dared not meet any of their gazes, sensing the calm before a raging storm. But this had nothing to do with her. They should sort out their messy affairs on their own.
She’d had enough. Turning on her heel, she hurried off as fast as her trembling legs would muster while their wits had momentarily left them at her outburst. She’d just turned the corner when chaos erupted—raised voices, accusations, the theatrical wailing.
She broke into a run.
Dancing would have to wait for another ball.
If she stayed here, those women would hunt her down and drag her to the hosts with their grievances.
Drat it.
All she wanted was to purge her mind of this horrific turn of events, to escape back home, make a new plan of action, and avoid these troublesome characters for the rest of the season.
No problem. Correct?
***
Julien didn’t damn well tarry. He used the beauty’s distraction and headed directly for the window, shoved the thing up with enough force that it rattled in its frame, the cool night air rushing in like absolution itself, though there would never be any for him.
Without hesitation, he vaulted through, his boots hitting the ground below with barely a sound. The corner of his lips hooked up in a cold smile at the disgruntled cries from inside the drawing room.
Served them right.
He would not forget the stunt they pulled today. Casting one last glance at the window, he strolled off before those madwomen could jump after him.
“Now there’s a sight I never thought I’d see.”
Julien glanced sideways to find the Duke of Wrath peeling from the shadows and stepping in line with him, their strides perfectly matched as they made their way to the carriage. “Where are you coming from?”
“Nowhere near as fun as you.”
Julien arched a brow.
“A garden mishap, if you must know.”
Julien gave a low snort. “Offended another lady, I see.”
“What of you?” Wrath countered, a deep chuckle rumbling from his chest. “Fleeing through a window like some thief? Judging by the wails, you seem to have offended your lady much more than I mine.”
“Not my lady,” Julien muttered. “Narrowly escaped a bloody trap laid out for me.”
Wrath burst out in laughter, and Julien scowled.
Wrath could be considered one of his closest friends, as close as anyone could get to a man like him.
The heavens must really be in a damn mischievous mood to have countered such rotten luck twice.
No doubt Wrath would never let him live this damn debacle down.
“Who was it that almost ensnared you?” Wrath asked after he had his laugh.
“Lady Gabrielle.”
Wrath whistled. “That could turn into a nasty affair.”
“Why is that?” Not that it mattered. The woman had nothing to do with him.
“Her uncle is the Marquess of Dansbury.”
Ah. “An arse.”
“Yes, but an arse with powerful connections, unfortunately,” Wrath pointed out. “So what do you plan to do about the chit?”
“Ignore her.”
Wrath chuckled. “Not wise, old chap.”
Julien clenched his fists. Not wise? The chit had tried to trap him. That entire family could go to perdition for all he cared. “They don’t have proof, and I don’t have to tolerate them.”
“You have business dealings with Cranbrook for that shipping company, correct? Cranbrook needs Dansbury’s connection for his political ambitions. I’d tread carefully here.”
Damnation.
This rotten bloody luck.
He couldn’t lose the chance to get his hands on that shipping company.
His revenge was too damn close. He could taste its bitter sweetness.
A vision in pink surfaced in his mind. If what Wrath said was correct, then they’d try to force his hand by dragging Cranbrook into their schemes.
But by doing that . . . “Dansbury should be part of this, then.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Wrath muttered. “Apparently, he’s always wanted to be part of our Duke Alliance, but he sadly falls short of the title, and any hope for it.
If he gains connection through his niece’s husband, he’d have a powerful ally in his family with a direct line to the alliance.
Apparently, you were the one chosen. Congratulations. ”
Julien cursed. Just what he bloody needed.
“There was a woman who interrupted the chit’s plan. She spun an outrageous lie in my favor.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t sound so bloody intrigued,” Julien muttered, thinking about the beauty with the heart-shaped face and cat-like blue eyes. Did she have some ulterior motive? She’d appeared flustered, but then again, that could also be an act.
“Well, who is she?” Wrath demanded.
Good question. “I don’t know.”
Wrath’s look turned to one of disbelief. “Christ man, you should pay more attention.”
Julien shrugged. “She was wearing a pink dress.”
A snort. “So did half the women tonight.”
“She had hair the color of aged brandy.”
“Made an impression on you, did she?”
Julien shrugged. “Well, given the circumstances, how could she not?”
“Well, find her,” Wrath urged. “So long as her account favors you, then Dansbury will have difficulty pressuring Cranbrook. I almost feel sorry for the poor girl. She has no idea who she stepped in between.”
She might know exactly.
Julien shrugged out of his jacket as they reached his awaiting carriage and tossed it to his driver in distaste, his gloves following suit. Wrath shook his head without commenting.
“Join me at White’s?” Julien asked.
Wrath nodded. “Why not.”
The driver glanced down at the items in his hands. “How shall I see to these, Your Grace?”
Julien didn’t bother looking at the man as he followed Wrath.
“Burn them.”