Page 53 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

She was laughing genuinely, openly, in the arms of the wrong man, wearing the wrong coat, living a lie that Edmund had forced upon them all. A hollow, sickening feeling bloomed in Edmund’s chest. He was ruining her. He was ruining Julian.

He was ruining everything he touched in his desperate, cowardly attempt to protect himself. He was grateful, at the very least, that his mother’s attention had stayed firmly anchored on him, completely missing the dangerous, undeniable chemistry sparking between the “earl” and the “secretary’s sister.”

The waltz ended. Julian escorted Arabella back, requested a dance with Vivienne, and swept the elder Ashwell sister away for his required performance.

Edmund turned toward the refreshment table, desperate for a glass of water to clear his dry throat.

“You look as though you are planning a military retreat, Mr. Marsh.”

Edmund stopped. Corinna was standing at his elbow. Her voice was quiet, laced with that dry wit that always managed to bypass his defenses.

He looked down at her. The ambient noise of the ballroom faded into a dull roar. “I am perfectly well, Miss Ashwell.”

Corinna did not blink. Her gray eyes swept over his rigid posture, the tense line of his jaw, and the way his hands were balled into fists at his sides. She said absolutely nothing further. The silence was worse than an accusation.

“Well. If it isn’t the mysterious Mr. Marsh.”

The smoky, velvety voice cut through the space between them.

Cecily Vane stepped out of the crowd. She wore a gown of sheer, glittering gold tissue, her copper curls piled high and laced with diamonds. She looked exquisite, predatory, and entirely in control.

“Miss Vane,” Edmund said, his voice dropping to a low rumble.

Cecily ignored his tone, offering a brilliant smile. She stepped directly into his space, completely ignoring Corinna’s presence.

“The musicians are striking up a country dance,” she purred, her dark eyes locking onto his with absolute, challenging intent. “And since we are such very old friends, I insist you dance with me. For old times’ sake.”

It was a public request. It was spoken loudly enough that a dozen heads turned in their direction. A secretary could not refuse a lady on a crowded ballroom floor without causing an immediate, highly visible scene. Cecily knew it. She had trapped him perfectly.

Edmund’s jaw locked tight. He looked at Corinna, desperately wishing he could explain, wishing he could pull her away from the toxic orbit of this woman. But Corinna was already stepping back, her expression closing off into a mask of polite, icy indifference.

“Of course,” Edmund forced the words out.

He offered Cecily his arm. She took it with a triumphant little squeeze, letting him lead her onto the floor.

The dance was a nightmare of prescribed movements and forced proximity. Every time the steps brought them together, Cecily leaned in, the heavy scent of vanilla and cloves suffocating him.

“You look miserable, Edmund,” Cecily whispered cheerfully as they circled one another. “You really should relax. The ton is entirely blind.”

“What do you want, Cecily?” he ground out, refusing to look at her face.

Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the edge of the room. Corinna was standing exactly where he had left her. She was watching him. She wasn’t glaring, and she wasn’t crying. She was simply watching him dance with the woman who held the power to destroy his life.

“I want what I have always wanted,” Cecily replied smoothly as they joined hands to turn down the line. “I want you to stop this ridiculous performance and come back to your senses.”

“I am in my senses,” Edmund said, dropping her hand the absolute second the music allowed.

The final chord struck. Edmund did not offer a polite bow, nor did he offer to escort her from the floor. He simply turned his back on her and walked away.

He crossed the ballroom with single-minded, ruthless purpose. He dodged a waiter, sidestepped Lord Fife, and stopped directly in front of Corinna.

She looked up at him, her gray eyes guarded and wary.

“Will you take some air with me?” Edmund asked. His voice was ragged. He didn’t care who was listening. He didn’t care about the rules of the companion anymore. “Please.”

Corinna studied his face for a long, agonizing second. Then she gave a tight nod. “I will.”

They walked toward the tall glass doors leading to the terrace. As they reached the threshold, a soft rustle of silk sounded behind them. Arabella had detached herself from the crowd and fell into step slightly behind them, joining them without being asked, offering the necessary cover of a chaperone.