Chapter 19
Nineteen
Nell couldn’t breathe.
The room felt too hot, too crowded, and far too full of whispers. She needed air. She needed to get away from the music and the lights and the burning memory of his hand on the small of her back.
Edmund appeared at her elbow, his brown gaze tracing the lines of her face with deep concern. “Nell? Are you all right?”
“I need air.” She was already moving, pushing through the crowd with her skirts rustling, not waiting for his response. “Just a moment.”
She didn’t look back. She didn’t care if she was being rude.
She pushed through the press of bodies and fled down a quiet hallway, away from the music and the light and the eyes that followed her everywhere.
A door appeared on her left. She opened it and slipped inside, closing it firmly behind her and pressing her back against the wood.
The study was quiet and dark. It was lit only by the fire burning low in the grate, casting shadows that danced across the rows of leather-bound books. She leaned against the door, breathing hard, her hands pressed flat against the timber.
What was wrong with her?
She’d made the right choice. Dominic had Lady Catherine now. She was a beautiful, young, and appropriate woman who would give him heirs and grace his arm at balls without ever embarrassing him in front of the ton.
But his hand on her waist had been so steady. His body had been pressed against hers, and he'd said her name like a prayer and a curse. He still wanted her — she'd felt it in the heat of his gaze — and God help her, she still wanted him.
She crossed to the window and stared out at the dark gardens.
Her reflection appeared ghostly in the glass.
The maze was visible in the moonlight, its green walls edged in silver and its secrets hidden in deep shadow.
That was where he’d touched her. Where he’d made her come apart and told her she was his.
She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and closed her eyes.
Back in the ballroom, Dominic watched her disappear down the corridor with something twisting painfully in his chest. He should let her go. He should stay away and maintain the careful distance he’d been building for five days. But he couldn’t.
He was already moving toward the hallway when he heard the voices. They were sharp and malicious, carrying from behind a cluster of potted palms. Mrs. Pemberton was there with two other ladies, their heads bent together and their fans fluttering.
“Did you see them dancing?” Mrs. Pemberton’s voice dripped with venom. “Quite the display. I am surprised they didn’t simply couple right there on the floor.”
“Shameless.” A second woman chimed in, her chin lifting as she fussed with the strand of pearls at her throat. A tight, pinched quality entered the conversation. “A baker at a ball. Who does she think she is?”
“A scheming widow.” Mrs. Pemberton laughed, the sound like breaking glass, and she tapped her chin with her fan. “First she traps Dr. Hartley with her sad story, and now she is after the viscount. Though heaven knows what she thinks she can offer a man of his standing.”
“She is too old for Lord Westmore.” The third woman sniffed, her nose wrinkling with distaste as she looked toward the refreshments. “And those children of hers. No one even knows who the father was.”
“Probably some traveling merchant.” Mrs. Pemberton tittered behind her fan, her shoulders shaking with mirth. “Or worse. A groom, perhaps. A footman.”
Dominic’s blood turned to ice. He stepped around the palms and into their view, his hands clasped behind his back and his expression carved from stone. All three women froze. Their fans stopped mid-flutter and their faces drained of all colour.
“Ladies.” He didn’t raise his volume, yet the single word seemed to suck the warmth from the hallway. He tilted his head with a predatory slowness, pinning them under a stare that held all the warmth of a winter grave. “Forgive me—I could not help but overhear.”
Mrs. Pemberton’s smile faltered, her hand flying to her chest like to shield her heart. “Lord Westmore, we were simply...”
“You were insulting a guest in my home.” He took a single step forward. The three women moved as one, retreating until the wall stopped them, their eyes rounding with a sudden, sharp fear. “A woman worth more than the three of you combined.”
“I didn’t mean...” Mrs. Pemberton’s fan rattled against her stays, her words stumbling over one another.
“Mrs. Ashford built a business from nothing.” He severed her protest mid-sentence, the words landing with the sharp, clean edge of a blade.
He stood his ground, a towering shadow that seemed to shrink the space around them.
“She raised two children alone, without help or support. She works harder in a single day than any of you work in an entire year. And she does it with more grace and dignity than I have ever seen in a London ballroom.”
The three women stood silent and frozen, their mouths hanging open.
“If I hear her name in your mouths again.” He stepped closer still. “If I hear so much as a whisper about her, or her children, or her reputation, you will find yourselves unwelcome in every home in this county. Every ball. Every dinner party. Do I make myself clear?”
They nodded, mute with terror.
“Then enjoy the rest of the evening.” He turned on his heel and walked away. He didn’t care who had heard or what they thought.
He didn’t see Daphne standing behind a nearby pillar. Her dark eyes were wide and her face was slack with shock. But Daphne saw him. She heard every word. And for the first time, she didn't know what to think about Lord Westmore.
Dominic found the study door and stood before it. His hand rested on the handle, and his heart pounded against his ribs, but he should stay away. He was trying to be steady and reliable, not reckless. He opened the door anyway.
She was standing at the window with her back to him, silhouetted by the moonlight. The green silk of her gown hugged her curves. Her hair was coming loose from its pins, and dark tendrils curled against the pale skin of her neck.
“Please, go away.” She didn’t turn. Her shoulders stayed rigid, her attention fixed on the window as if he weren’t standing there at all.
“No.” Dominic stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The key turned in the lock, the final click sharp in the quiet room.
“Dominic.” Her fingers curled into fists at her sides as she started to turn.
“Don’t.” He crossed the room. He did not look away from her. “Don’t tell me to go. Don’t tell me to be sensible. I have been sensible for five days.” He let out a rough breath. “It is killing me.”
She turned to face him. The firelight caught the anger in her face. “Then go back to your Lady Catherine.” Her chin lifted in challenge. “You looked perfectly content with her.”
“I don’t want Lady Catherine.” He stopped a few paces away, his hands hanging loose, his concentration fixed entirely on her.
“You certainly seemed to.” Nell’s mouth twisted.
A broken laugh tore out of him. He dragged a hand through his hair and shook his head. “I was pretending. I’ve been pretending since the moment you refused me.” His gaze sharpened. “Pretending I’m fine. Pretending I’ve moved on. Pretending I don’t see your face every time I close my eyes.”
She lifted a hand between them, palm out, as though she could physically stop the words from reaching her. “Stop.”
He didn’t. He moved closer, close enough that the warmth of him reached her, close enough for the faint scent of lavender in her hair to hit him square in the chest. “I can’t.
I’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried. You’re under my skin.
In my blood. I don’t eat. I don’t sleep. I don’t think about anything else.”
Her hand fell. “You don’t even know me that long.”
“I know enough.” The words landed hard. “I know you’re braver than anyone I’ve ever met. I know you’d die for your children. I know you taste like honey and fight like fire.” His chest rose with a heavy breath. “You make me want to be better, Nell. Just to deserve you.”
She shifted back a step, then another, until cold glass pressed against her spine. “You have Lady Catherine.”
“Lady Catherine is Alistair’s sister.” The words were blunt. “Alistair Thorne. My best friend and the man whose life I saved at Waterloo.” His mouth tightened. “She’s been like a younger sister to me since I was twenty. She’s visiting. That’s all.”
Nell searched his face, her lips parting like she expected the lie to reveal itself. “Your best friend’s sister?”
“Yes.” He closed the distance again, close enough to see the frantic pulse at her throat.
“Not your...” The rest dissolved into silence.
“Not anything.” He stepped closer still, until there was barely a breath between them. “There’s no one else. There never will be. Just you.”
She shook her head, even as her gaze dropped—traitorously—to his mouth. “I don’t believe you.”
“Then don’t.” He lifted his hands and cupped her face, tilting it up. His thumbs brushed along her cheekbones reverently. “But understand this—I’m yours. Whether you want me or not.”
Her hands came up to his wrists, gripping without pushing. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“I can.” His thumb traced the curve of her lower lip, his breathing uneven. “I’m done being careful. Done pretending. You’re the only thing that matters.”
His name slipped from her mouth before she could stop it.
“Refuse me again.” His forehead dipped closer to hers, his composure finally cracking. “Send me away. Marry your doctor.” His gaze swept hers. “But never doubt that I love you.”
Her whole body trembled—anger, want, fear tangled together. Tears brightened her eyes as he leaned in, the last inch between them vanishing.
Her hand flew up.
The slap cracked through the room.
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t step back. He only stood there, staring at her, his cheek already flushing beneath the imprint of her hand.
“Stay away from me.” She kept her hand raised, unsure whether she might strike him again. Panic flickered sharp and sudden in her eyes. “I mean it. Stay away. Please.”
She reached past him and fumbled with the lock, yanking the door open and fled. He didn’t follow. He stood alone in the study, his hand eventually rising to press against his burning cheek, watching the empty doorway.
Nell ran. She moved down the hallway and through the crowd, not caring who saw or who whispered. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.
Daphne intercepted her near the entrance hall. “Nell? What happened?”
“We are leaving.” Nell didn’t stop or slow. She kept moving toward the grand doors. “Now.”
Edmund stood near the entrance, his hat already in his hands. He saw her face and stepped forward, his brow furrowing with immediate worry. “Nell?”
She pushed past him, lungs burning as she sought the cold night air. “I need to go home.”
The walk home passed in silence, their boots crunching along the dark, rutted lane. Nell stared straight ahead, her arms wrapped tight around herself while her hand still tingled from the impact of the slap.
“Nell.” Daphne fell into step beside her, her breath clouding in the cold air. “What happened in that study?”
“Nothing.” She lied and kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead.
“You are shaking.” Daphne reached out and caught her elbow.
“I am fine.” She was not. She felt like her heart had been flayed open.
“He loves you.” Daphne said it quietly, as if stating a fact that could no longer be disputed. “You know that, do you not?”
“He doesn’t know what he wants.” Nell closed her eyes, her throat aching with the effort not to sob.
“He defended you tonight.” Daphne’s voice took on a strange, wondering quality. “To Mrs. Pemberton and her coven. I heard every word.”
Nell’s eyes flew open, and she turned her head sharply toward her friend. “What?”
“They were saying horrible things.” Daphne continued. “About you. About your children. About where they came from and why you didn’t belong at that ball.”
Nell’s stomach turned to ice.
“And he stopped them. He told them you were worth more than all of them combined. He threatened to ruin them, to make them unwelcome in every home in the county, if they ever spoke your name again.” Daphne shook her head, still processing the scene.
“I have never seen anything like it, Nell. He meant every word.”
Nell stared at her, her blood rushing against her ribs. “He defended me?”
“Like God help anyone stupid enough to try it again.” Daphne nodded slowly. “Like anyone who hurt you would have to answer to him personally.”
Nell’s throat closed.
“It doesn’t matter.” She forced the words out, turning back to face the dark road. “It doesn’t change anything.”
Daphne said nothing. She just kept walking.
But the silence gave Nell nowhere to hide. He had told her about Lady Catherine. Plainly, repeatedly, with nothing hidden. And she had chosen not to hear it because believing him meant admitting she’d been wrong, and being wrong meant she’d thrown away something real.
That night, she lay awake in her narrow bed, staring at the ceiling as his voice echoed in the darkness.
Send me away. Marry your doctor. But don’t ever doubt that I love you.
Nell closed her eyes tightly. She’d made the sensible choice; but sensible had never felt so much like breaking.