Chapter Eight #2
A masterpiece of understatement. Her father had barely mentioned her at all during their business negotiations, treating her as little more than another asset in the transaction.
Which was fitting, given what this marriage truly was—a business arrangement requiring no emotional entanglement whatsoever.
Ironic, that.
“Has he?” Her gaze lifted briefly, and Adrian saw hurt flicker in those green eyes—the same eyes that had looked at him with such defiance in his study, such desire in his aunt’s chambers—before she masked it. “How kind of him. And of you to say so, Your Grace.”
“I trust you found the transition to London agreeable?” Adrian kept his voice perfectly modulated, the picture of polite interest. “I understand you and your father only recently relocated from Edinburgh. It’s quite a change from Scottish society, I imagine?”
“Yes. It is...” She hesitated, and Adrian wondered viciously what lie she was constructing now. What elaborate fiction she’d weave to explain her absence from London society. “Educational. Though I’m pleased to be back in London. I confess I missed the city.”
“How fortuitous that you’ve returned in time for the season.” His smile felt like shattered glass against his face. “I’m certain society has missed your presence. Such beauty hidden away in Scotland seems almost criminal.”
Beside him, Henry made a strangled sound that might have been suppressed laughter.
The Earl beamed, apparently oblivious to the charged undercurrents crackling between them like electricity before a storm. “Lady Cecilia has been eager to meet ye properly, Yer Grace. Haven’t ye, my dear? We’ve spoken of little else these past days.”
“Quite eager, Father.” Her voice remained steady, admirably so, but Adrian could see her hands trembling slightly where they gripped her reticule with white-knuckled intensity. “His Grace’s reputation precedes him. One hears such fascinatin’ things about the Duke of Devonshire.”
“Really?” Adrian’s tone could have frozen wine in the cask. “And what, precisely, have you heard about me, Lady Cecilia? I’m consumed with curiosity about my reputation among Edinburgh society.”
She met his gaze then, fully and deliberately, and Adrian saw the defiance he remembered from Clara Vale flare in those green depths. “That you’re a man of principle, Your Grace. Of honour and discretion. A man who values truth above all else.”
The barb landed precisely where she’d aimed it—straight through whatever fragile thing had been building between them. Adrian felt something crack inside his chest, ice splintering under pressure it wasn’t designed to withstand.
“How remarkably generous of your sources,” he said softly, dangerously.
“Though I find reputation often bears little resemblance to reality. Appearances can be quite deceiving, don’t you agree?
One can present oneself as anything—honest, truthful, exactly what one appears to be—and yet underneath lie only shadows and falsehoods. ”
“Absolutely.” Her chin lifted with that familiar defiance that now seemed like mockery, like she was laughing at him even now.
“One can never truly know a person until they’ve been tested.
Until their masks slip and reveal what lies beneath.
Until circumstances force them to show their true nature rather than the careful facade they present to the world. ”
“Indeed. And what do you suppose lies beneath most masks, Lady Cecilia? Honesty? Or simply more elaborate deceptions layered like Russian dolls, one inside another until the truth is buried so deep it might as well not exist?”
“That depends entirely on the person wearing the mask, I imagine.” Her voice had gone soft but no less sharp. “Some wear them for protection. Others for predation. The difficult part is determining which is which before it’s too late to protect oneself.”
The Earl cleared his throat uncomfortably, his jovial expression faltering as he glanced between them. “Well. This is certainly a... spirited conversation fer a first meetin’. Perhaps we should—”
“Perhaps Lady Cecilia would honour me with a dance?” Adrian interrupted, extending his hand with deliberate challenge. Let her squirm. Let her face the consequences of her deception in the most public way possible. “I find I’m quite curious to know her better. Properly this time.”
He emphasised the last word just slightly, watching colour rise in her cheeks.
Cecilia’s face paled, but she placed her hand in his with admirably steady fingers. “I would be delighted, Your Grace.”
The moment their hands touched, Adrian felt it—that same electric current that had sparked between them from the beginning, in his study when he’d first caught her spying, in his aunt’s chambers when he’d nearly kissed her, yesterday when he’d finally given in to temptation.
His body responded despite his fury, desire and rage tangling into something toxic and consuming, his cock stirring traitorously at her proximity.
He wanted to hate her. Wanted to feel nothing but cold contempt.
Instead, he felt everything, and it was unbearable.
He led her onto the dance floor as the orchestra struck up a waltz—of course it was a waltz, requiring close contact, intimate positioning. Lord Pemberton’s sense of timing was either impeccable or catastrophically poor, Adrian couldn’t decide which.
He placed one hand at her waist with rigid propriety while taking her other hand in his, feeling the fine tremors running through her body even through the layers of silk and stays and whatever armour she’d thought to don tonight.
Good. Let her be afraid. Let her feel a fraction of what he was feeling—this terrible combination of desire and betrayal, want and fury, the urge to pull her closer and the equally strong urge to walk away and never look back.
They began to move, and muscle memory took over—the steps of a dance he’d learned in childhood, performed countless times with countless partners at countless tedious balls exactly like this one.
But nothing had ever felt like this. Like dancing with a ghost. With a lie given form and substance. With a woman who’d shown him glimpses of something real only to reveal it had all been performance, calculation, elaborate theatre for her benefit.
Like dancing with his heart breaking one step at a time.