“Lord Havisham promised me to help me get a seat.”
“I don’t think so, Wharton. We were discussing the possible candidates just the other day, and Lord Havisham didn’t mention you.” He narrowed his gaze. “There must have been a misunderstanding.”
Not likely. So there it was. The earl had lied to him. So Mrs. Haywood might not be guilty of exploiting fallen women.
“I see you’re disappointed,” Lord Redvers said. “Well, I can tell you that, now that you’re getting married, your chances to get support from the lords will increase. If only… forgive me.” He waved a dismissive hand.
“Please do go on.”
Lord Redvers cleared his voice. “Well, it’s about the incident from the night at the ball. There are rumours about your state of mind. You know how gossip works. If you danced in public, people would stop making up stories about you.”
Royston tilted his head. “What rumours?”
“Rumours about your… er, mental condition have been circulating since the ball. You haven’t shown yourself anywhere since. If you want a piece of advice, show yourself around town and dance in front of everyone to quash every possible rumour. The stories about what happened at the last ball became rather exaggerated and outlandish.”
“I’m not surprised.” Royston shifted his weight as the usual uneasiness surged. “North must have done his level best to smear my reputation and start the rumours.”
“What people say is that you don’t want to dance because you become unstable when you dance, smashing things and punching people. I myself heard a couple of people claiming to have witnessed wild behaviour, that you punched a maid while dancing.”
“Me punching a maid? I would never do such a thing, my lord.” Outrage rang out in Royston’s voice.
“I didn’t believe the rumours, but rumours are snowballs rushing down a slope. All it takes is a little shove. By Jove, I’d support you in Parliament if you danced at the next ball and proved the gossip mongers wrong.”
“You would?” Royston asked.
“I would.” The viscount raised a closed fist in encouragement. “Show everyone those rumours are ridiculous. Dance in front of everyone, and let’s put the gossip to rest, once and for all.”
“Yes!” Royston copied the viscount and closed a fist, energy rushing through him.
“You’re Baron Wharton, the man who challenged the fire. Dancing is nothing,” Lord Redvers continued. “Show everyone what you’re made of. You’re going to marry a fine lady. Prove to her that she can be proud of you by facing your biggest fear.”
“Yes,” Royston said again.
A fire started in his veins. The viscount was right! He must dance for Angeline and for his future.
“The world is yours for the taking.” Lord Redvers spread out his arm. “Dance, Wharton.”
Lord Redvers was right. Royston had to act. He had to do it for Angeline as well.
Royston shook Lord Redvers’s hand with energy. “I accept the challenge.”
What had possessedRoyston to accept that stupid challenge?
After the heated moment of bizarre energy fuelled by Lord Redvers encouragement had passed, Royston realised what he’d agreed to and he shivered, his teeth chattered, and his heart had pounded so fast he’d believed it wanted to crawl out of his body.
Lord Redvers’s words had sounded so simple. But afterwards, the familiar sense of panic had descended upon him, leaving him exhausted and cold.
If he had to be honest, he knew Lord Redvers was right. He should put the rumours to rest and bloody dance in front ofeveryone, not simply for the seat, but for his bride-to-be as well. And for himself.
He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life scared of a ghost. As much as he loved his mother, he wanted to move forward and not live with his fears of the past. He should grab his life and lead it.
The velvet box with Angeline’s ring rested in his pocket. She was sitting on the edge of his bed, but he was so agitated he couldn’t find the right moment to give the ring to her. The fact they were having another secret night meeting in his bedroom didn’t help. He loved to be alone with her, but disliked the secrecy and the subterfuge. They were engaged… well, not yet. But they shouldn’t hide.
There was another reason to be agitated. Seeing his bride-to-be on his bed triggered all sorts of beautiful visions of their future together. But since his mind had a dark side, those beautiful visions came with the company of dreadful ones, in which Angeline decided she’d had enough of rumours and gossip about him and wanted to leave him.
“That’s what Lord Redvers said,” he said, finishing recounting his encounter with the viscount.
“So it’s as we thought,” Angeline said. “The earl is lying to you.”
