Sighing, Blanche looked at her mother, who had not stopped borrowing and running errands, acting on the promise that soon all her debts would be paid off.
For now, her good name and assurance alone had won Lady Gooldwer the favor of the dressmaker, as well as many others. But Blanche knew that such luck could not last long, though there was no putting that truth into her mother’s head.
Fanny clung to Blanche’s hands. “Only promise me you won’t do something you’ll come to regret.”
“I won’t,” Blanche vowed, forcing conviction into her voice. “The Duke seems a man of his word so far. This arrangement will benefit us all.”
“I pray you’re right,” Fanny sighed as their mother’s impatient summons grew more strident. Hand in hand like they’d done as children, Blanche sent up a silent prayer that her words might prove true—that this uncertain path she’d chosen might lead somewhere benevolent rather than catastrophic.
“How exactly did we come to find ourselves in this particular establishment?”
Percy’s question held more surprise than disapproval, his gaze sweeping the dimly lit room with mild curiosity.
Normally, his dearest friend, the Duke of Nightborne, never questioned their meetings at houses of ill repute. However, Percy typically preferred the more fashionable ones near St. James’s—particularly those employing his current mistress.
Heath barely spared him a glance as he swirled his scotch with deliberate nonchalance. “You’ll understand shortly,” he replied.
Percy arched one eyebrow, leaning back in his chair with a knowing smirk. “How mysterious.”
A particularly comely courtesan approached their table, her silk skirts whispering across the floorboards.
Percy, ever the charmer, wasted no time favoring her with his most dazzling smile, but Heath dismissed her with a curt wave—just as he had rebuffed all such advances these past weeks.
Only one woman occupied his thoughts now.
That infuriating, fascinating Blanche Waldron.
Three days had passed since their engagement, and still, he had not told Percy.
Not yet.
The very notion of it was absurd—him, engaged. Bound to a woman by something other than fleeting pleasure, something that carried expectation, duty. And yet, he had chosen this: a calculated decision, a strategic alliance.
Blanche had been skeptical, naturally—suspicious, wary—but she had accepted. And soon, she would be his.
The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Heath exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus on the present. This afternoon, he had work to do—a plan to set into motion.
Percy studied him, the amusement in his expression faltering slightly. “You seem distracted.”
Heath lifted his glass, taking a measured sip. “Do I?”
“You do, which is rare for you. Tell me, what has you so utterly absent?”
Heath smirked, setting his glass down. “Many projects in mind.”
Percy rolled his eyes. “Ah, of course. Your infamous schemes. And will I be privy to these grand plans of yours anytime soon?”
“Soon enough.”
Percy narrowed his eyes, assessing him. “You’re being vague.”
“And yet, you’ll still wait patiently for the revelation.”
Percy huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
“You are intolerable.”
