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Chapter 1
London
“Miss Turner.”
Bridget’s shoulders tensed at the sound of her name being called, and her fingers tightened on the stem of her champagne glass. Willing herself to appear unperturbed, she made a slow turn to face Magnus Jackson, Viscount Lore, the man who had murdered her reputation.
“Lovely to see you this evening, Miss Turner,” he said, his gaze slowly drifting from her crown to the hem of her dress. “I thought you would be dancing rather than keeping to the walls.”
She was tempted to ignore him, which was the rational thing to do for a woman who found several pairs of eyes turning in her direction, but Bridget was too willful to remain silent. “And I thought you would be in the gaming room betting away your fortune,” she returned, a stiff smile painted on her lips.
Magnus’ brown eyes narrowed very slightly, then he tilted his head, a lock of black hair falling over his brow, as he guided his eyes to her hand. “Is your dance card full? Perhaps I should take pity on you and ask you to dance.”
“I do not want your pity,” she said through clenched teeth as her eyes sought refuge in all directions.
“Oh, but I believe Ishoulddance with you, Miss Turner, for no other gentleman in this room is inclined to do so.” He leaned forward and whispered, “No gentleman wants a fallen woman.”
A giggle came from someone beside him, and Bridget's attention was drawn for the first time to the woman on his arm; she was very fair, slender, and her blonde hair appeared gold in the candlelight. Bridget was about to address her when Magnus spoke again.
“I do not suppose you are acquainted with my fair betrothed, Miss Turner.” Every time he said her name, he did so with his voice raised, as though to bring to the attention of every guest in the ballroom with whom he was conversing. “Meet Lady Annabelle Langston, daughter of the Duke of Westonshire.”
Bridget curtsied, as propriety demanded it, and she could hear a cold chuckle from him as she rose. Meeting his eyes, she said, “Please, excuse me.” Then turned to take her leave.
“Leaving before our dance?” Magnus raised his brows. “If I do not dance with you, no one will. I am trying to help you.”
Help her?Bridget’s ire was growing. He had ruined her life and was now ridiculing her in public under the pretext of helping her. Her eyes stung, and she blinked, swallowing the bile rising in her throat. It was important that she removed herself from the ballroom before further ignominy befell her.
Several guests had gathered around them with those at the fore whispering amongst themselves, while those behind craned their necks to witness her humiliation. It was all gravely reminiscent of the night he had broken off their engagement. And without a moment’s thought, she pushed past them and fled.
It took her a while to wade through the guests to reach the exit, and she rather thought they were determined to prevent her escape. At last, she emerged in a hallway, her chest tight, and spirit crushed.
“Bridget!”
She gathered her skirts and prepared to run, but then she recognized the voice and paused, turning.
“Goodness, Bridget!” Her brother, Andrew, stopped before her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Are you well? I saw whatLoredid, I’m sorry I could not reach you in time.”
“I am not well, Andrew.” Her voice broke. “I should not have come here. I-I thought…”
He wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “I will take you home. Everything shall be well again.”
Bridget shook her head, unable to say more. After what had happened in that ballroom, she was sure that she would never find a husband. They stepped out of the house and onto the busy streets that were lined with carriages. Some guests seemed to be arriving at that hour. It did not take long for them to find their carriage.
“I should never have insisted you come out tonight,” Andrew lamented once they were in the carriage and on their way home.
“I do not blame you, Brother,” she whispered as she stared out the window.
“I was told that Lore would not be in attendance,” Andrew continued. “I must demand from him atonement for the dishonor he—”
“Please, Andrew,” she interrupted him with a hand on his, “do not duel him. Violence will not restore my reputation.”
Andrew regarded her with incredulity. “You would spare a man that harmed you?”
She looked down at her hands that now lay on her lap. “I do not care for Magnus. You are my brother, and I wish for you to live a long and full life. Think of the consequences if you duel him and he strikes you.”
“…I suppose you are right. You have always been smarter than I am,” he said and Bridget smiled.
They rode the rest of the way in silence, and when they arrived, Andrew led her to the drawing room.
