“Oh.” Leah looked away, her cheeks heating. So Nottington was a rake. She hadn’t known that. W hy would she?
The music ended and the dance was over. They all bowed to one another, then Vivian took Nathan’s arm, who extended his free one to Leah. But Leah shook her head. She needed to be alone for a moment and focus on her mission.
“I’m going to go find Mr. Fitzwilliam,” she said. “Wish me luck.”
“You’re going to propose now?” Vivian asked, her jaw dropping.
“I don’t see why I should delay.” And she disappeared into the crowd, leaving her friends behind before Vivian’s disapproval caused her to question herself even more.
This is the only way. This is what you have to do to save yourself.And she kept repeating this to herself as she searched the room for Mr. Fitzwilliam.
To her surprise— and displeasure— it didn’t take her long to find him. She had barely talked herself into the idea of it all when she spotted him alone by the refreshments table, sipping on a glass of lemonade .
Steeling herself, Leah took a deep breath. She could do this. She had to do this.
Leah took a step forward. Then another. She was close to Mr. Fitzwilliam now. His shoulders tightened as he sensed her presence, and then he was turning toward her. Their eyes locked. He looked surprised to see her, but after several awkward seconds, he smiled. This was her invitation. She only had to take another step forward, begin talking, explain the situation, and then…
And then she might have a husband.
She would be saved from Lord Dubois.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
And suddenly she knew she couldn’t do it. It was all too sudden. She didn’t know what to say. How could she, when she didn’t even know what she felt? .
Instead of stopping by the refreshments table she continued along, passing him. She knew she’d been abominably rude to him just now— she had accidentally given him the cut direct!— but she was too scared and confused to care.
She needed to get out of here. Somewhere safe and quiet, where she could breathe .
When she reached the edge of the crowd, she broke into a run, fleeing out of the ballroom and out the French doors to the gardens, where she could be alone to contemplate the bleak future that awaited her.
CHAPTER THREE
“My God, Dorian, you look well!” Lucien exclaimed, clapping his friend on the back as he led him out of the ballroom doors and into the hallway. “Traveling has done wonders for you.”
“And marriage has done wonders for you,” Dorian said, raising an eyebrow at his old friend. “I don’t remember you being this exuberant before you married the Duchess.”
Lucien grinned at him— also a rare sight on the Duke of Dredford. “I’ll admit it: marrying my wife was the best decision I have ever made. She has completely transformed me and my household. It turns out my parents were right: love is truly the most powerful emotion on earth.”
Dorian laughed and shook his head. “You sound like a damned poet! Don’t tell me you’ve been reading Byron, or any other of that nonsense.”
“You don’t need poetry when you’re in love,” Lucien said. “Every day is poetry.” And he smiled in such a secret, knowing way that made Dorian pause and peer more closely at him. He’d mostly been teasing his friend, but now he could see that he was sincere in the way he spoke about his wife.
How very curious.
“Are you disappointed?” Lucien asked, guiding Dorian down the hall toward the library, where he’d promised there would be brandy.
“Perhaps a little,” Dorian admitted, smiling wickedly. “You were always my stalwart ally in believing that love is , at best, a myth, and, at worst, a vampiric and destructive emotion.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you,” Lucien said, inclining his head, “but unfortunately I have struck the colors and am now a firm believer in love.”
“As long as you have not become a social butterfly. There must be one way in which you have stayed the same.”
“I assure you, I still do not overly enjoy Society. That will remain your purview.” Lucien smiled kindly at him. “But what of you? What of your travels? How was the continent?”
Dorian wondered just how much he could demur. His travels had been… not what he was expecting. He’d gone away hoping to clear his mind and find adventure—and solace. B ut all he’d found on the road were crumbling European cities, fading art, and buildings whose majesty was long-gone.
All he’d found was death and decay. But of course, no one wanted to hear that about the Grand Tour: they wanted to hear how exciting, inspirational, and exotic it all was.
