Page 96 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

Fury flared across the countess’s face. “Do not dare speak⁠—”

“Enough.”

The single word, spoken low and edged with chilling authority, cut through the gathering scandal like a blade. Darcy’s heart seemed to stop before surging violently as Sebastian appeared beside them. He closed one hand around his mother’s wrist with quiet firmness. As ever, he was impeccably attired, though a faint disarray betrayed him: his dark hair fell more heavily across his brow, and strain sharpened the austere beauty of his face.

Then his blue eyes found Darcy’s. For one suspended instant, the ballroom receded. Memory rushed between them with cruel immediacy: the warmth, security, and pleasure she had known in his embrace, the intimacy they had shared, and the devastating coldness of the letter with which he had cast her aside.

He inclined his head. “Miss Whitley.”

Darcy sank into a curtsy while something fragile within her fractured anew. My lord.”

His gaze lingered for one heartbeat too long. Then he turned and guided his mother away despite her low, indignant protest, leaving behind a silence crowded with everything that had been spoken and everything he had refused to say.

“It is time for you to leave,” one of the countess’s companions said, without the slightest civility.

“That is quite enough.” Agatha came to Darcy’s side, her tone calm but edged with unmistakable authority. “You forget yourself, Lady Whithorn. Miss Whitley is my guest and my dear friend. It is not your place to dictate when she must quit my home.”

“I forget nothing,” Lady Whithorn replied, though color rose into her cheeks. “I merely give voice to what others are too well-bred to utter.”

Darcy drew a measured breath and lifted her chin, forcing her composure to hold while her pulse thundered in her ears. “I have conducted myself with propriety and offered insult to no one. If you object so strongly to my presence, then the fault lies not in my conduct but in your inclination to condemn what you do not understand. Such behavior does not, I think, reflect the superior breeding you so readily claim.”

Shock flickered across Lady Whithorn’s face. For once, she seemed to possess no immediate answer.

Agatha’s cool, unwavering stare permitted no further insult.

“I find I require some air,” Darcy said, turning from the avid scrutiny surrounding them.

She knew enough of society to understand that even so brief an exchange with the Countess of Raine would feed gossip for weeks. The first whispers were already passing through the ballroom.

“Thank you,” Darcy said softly to Agatha, managing a small, composed smile. “Your support⁠—”

“Say no more.” Agatha’s gaze remained steady and kind. “You have nothing to explain. Go. I shall speak to Lily and Elizabeth.”

Darcy inclined her head in gratitude and slipped away. Yet as she crossed the crowded ballroom, the countess’s words followed her, sharp and unrelenting, battering the fragile strength she had summoned to endure them. She passed through the ballroom doors and into the corridor beyond. The music faded to a muffled pulse behind her. Shadows pooled between the wall sconces, offering a welcome refuge from the heat of the room and the burden of so many curious eyes, but her heart still beat too quickly, and her thoughts remained hopelessly disordered.

Darcy did not slow until she reached the library Agatha had shown her earlier that evening. With unsteady fingers, she turned the handle and pushed open the door.

She stopped upon the threshold. A single lamp burned within, casting wavering gold across the shelves. In the dimness stood Sebastian and his mother, so deeply engaged in their quarrel that neither perceived her.

Darcy’s breath caught. For a single, suspended instant, she could neither move nor leave, caught between the instinct to flee and the compulsion to remain unseen. She retreated instinctively into the shadow of the doorway, one hand tightening upon its edge. She ought to withdraw at once. Instead, caught between conscience and a desperate need to understand, she remained motionless while their low voices reached her, strained and far from calm.

“You dare address me in such a tone?” the countess demanded.

“Is that truly your chief concern, Mother?” Sebastian replied evenly. “Pray remember the warning I gave you.”

Every instinct urged Darcy to retreat, yet she could not turn away.

Sebastian shifted as though to leave.

His mother seized his arm. “Who is she to you that you would speak to me so?”

“Mother—”

“No. I demand the truth.”

A low, mirthless laugh escaped him. “The truth is precisely what I told you before. If you ever again approach Miss Whitley with the intention of causing her harm, I shall not forgive it. Tonight you sought to humiliate a woman who has done you no injury.”

“That you should rebuke me for her is intolerable. I am your mother, and she is an upstart with the morals of an alley cat. Did you imagine I was blind to the manner in which she looked at you? Do you suppose she concealed her desire? It was improper. Outrageous.”