Clara slowly shook her head. “No. If having small feet is a requirement of marriage to him, then we had better end this now.”
All the color left Honora’s face, but her eyes narrowed, turning dark, and her fists clenched at her side. “You had best be grateful we are in public. Your insolence will not be tolerated.”
“Why, my dear, how fortunate to find the two of you together!” Wykeham’s sing-song voice came from over Clara’s shoulder. Neither woman had seen him approach.
Honora transformed in an instant, a wide smile splitting her face as she curtsied to the duke. “Your Grace. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
Clara turned and mirrored the curtsy. “Your Grace.”
Wykeham reached for her hand, kissing the back of it lightly. “My dear, I believe our cotillion is coming up shortly.”
Clara did her best to look demure, lowering her eyes. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“But as it is yet a dance away”—he turned to Honora—“I hoped Lady Durham would honor me with a trip around the floor.”
Her mother’s eyebrows shot up and her cheeks reddened. “Me, Your Grace?”
“Yes, indeed. This is the Scotch reel, my favorite dance.” He winked at Clara even as he spoke to her mother. “You will be the perfect partner.”
Honora actually stuttered. “I—why, it has been years, but I—yes, Your Grace. I would be honored.”
His responding smile made Clara’s skin prickle. He held out his arm, and Honora took it. She put a hand to her cheek, clearly flustered, as he led her in among the other dancers, who parted around them. One of the highest-ranking nobles in the room was about to dance, and they all waited to see where he would stand. Around the edges, heads turned, and tongues wagged, carefully hidden behind fans and hands.
Wykeham smiled at Clara over her mother’s shoulder, a sly, wicked expression that told her exactly what he was doing. Her mother had been on his side in this campaign before. Now she would be relentless. And the rest of the dancers would immediately recognize his intent toward Clara. An eligible duke did not randomly dance with a married countess unless something else was afoot. He had indeed seen her dancing with Michael Ashton, and his response was to lay a clearer, broader claim.
Business, my arse,Clara thought.He’s playing politics, even with my own mother.
Without looking, she could feel people in the room shifting to look from the dancers to her. And Clara knew, without a doubt, that that interminable nightmare had already begun.
Chapter Eleven
Friday, 19 August 1825
The Blackwell ball
Half-past ten in the evening
Michael watched, hisanger tamped down to an ember’s burn, as Clara’s face moved through a half-dozen tight expressions in response to her mother’s harsh words. Although he could not hear Honora’s voice, the fury in her eyes shone like flinted sparks. He saw Wykeham saunter through the mass of people, his simpering steps precisely lined up so neither woman could see him approach. The sly smile on the man’s face made Michael’s gut roil, and he fought the urge to swoop Clara up and take her far away from this place and those people.
And exactly where would you go in the wake of such an action? Scotland? The south seas? India?
Michael growled under his breath. The voice of reason in his head sounded a lot like Robert, but he knew it was his own good sense breaking through the anger, the intense desire to protect Clara.
“Ashton?”
“Yes?” Michael pivoted around and froze as he spotted Matthew Rydell, the Duke of Embleton, who had been on the dance floor as their first couple. He bowed his head. “Apologies, Your Grace.”
Embleton smiled. “I’m not sure what scheme you and your brother—”
“I assure you it is no scheme, my lord. We are not—”
Embleton held up a hand, and Michael stopped. “Whatever your goals, the progress you have made in the last sennight has been remarkable. Everyone is talking.” He stepped a bit closer. “Making your first purchases from the estate in Kent was brilliant. You solidified a good relationship with a neighbor, and the gossip spread like wildfire. I knew you were coming to visit me even before you sent the request.”
A tinge of worry hit the back of Michael’s mind. “But you will still bring the two geldings and the black stallion to Tattersall’s Monday?”
A curt nod. “Of course. I have to admit, I was curious about why you wanted to do the sale there instead of privately, and why do it now. An auction could drive up the price, and the geldings are not yet ready for the track. But it did not take long for me to decipher that you want the price and your interest public.”
“I think it will also benefit your stables to see the quality of your stock.”
