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Chapter one
TORY
Iworegoldthe night I thought my life was going to end. I should have worn black like my mother wanted me to—classic, elegant, and what people traditionally wore to funerals—but this ball was probably my last night of whatever freedom I possessed, so I was wearing whatever I damn well pleased.
“You look lovely, dear.”
I attempted a smile as my mother reached out to tuck a strand of unruly hair behind my ear. No matter what hair products Felix used, our stylist could never tame my dark curls. Tonight, it was pinned and tucked with gold hair pins and secured with industrial-strength hairspray. I would give it an hour before I gave up and took the whole lot down, but I did give him points for trying. Although I had inherited her Middle Eastern colouring, my mother’s hair was silky smooth and poker straight, swept up in an ornate antique clip that sparkled in the light from the windows of the imposing house. She was perfect, as always.
She stepped back and smiled at me, her dark eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as she glanced down at my dress. “You didn’t go for the classic black then? Shame, it was very becoming on you.”
I turned to show off the pale gold sparkly fabric that clung to my curves, hoping if I turned slowly enough, she wouldn’t spot the thigh high slit on one side that showed off a long expanse of my smooth brown leg. “Nope, I thought this little number was too pretty to leave in the dressing room. Besides, you told me to make an impression tonight.” I tried not to dwell on why exactly they wanted me to make a good impression. The bars of my pampered and protected life seemed to be closing in, and inside I felt like turning and running for my life, my Valentino rock stud heels be damned. Instead, I took a deep breath and dug my gold-tipped nails into my clutch bag.
“Oh, you’ll definitely make an impression.” My father walked around the car to join us, nodding at the chauffeur who pulled away, letting the next car pull up behind. Two men in dark suits stood silently behind the car. He didn’t acknowledge their presence. None of us did. It wasn’t the done thing. “And don’t refer to couture as a ‘number,’ my dear. Felix would have an apoplectic fit if he were to hear you.” He smiled at me, nodding in approval, and then turned to my mother and took her hand, bringing it to his lips.
“As beautiful as our daughter is, you will still light up the room, Countess.” My mother returned his smile and reached out to straighten his tie to hide her embarrassment. I shook my head. Always so proper.Glancing back at me, he reached out for my hand. “This is an important night for our family. I want you to know how proud I am of you both. My stunning wife, always so perfect, raising our daughter to follow in her footsteps, and my beautiful Victoria, only twenty-three and already making such a splash in society.”
I didn’t trust myself to answer him, so I squeezed his hand gently. I felt sick to my stomach as I saw the love and pride on his face. He squeezed my fingers back then released them, offering his arm to my mother. I followed them up the wide steps, my gold heels sinking into the plush red carpet. Behind me, I heard the soft, ever-present footsteps of my security. It wasn’t strictly necessary to have security here, the duke’s would be exemplary, but I’d had bodyguards ever since I was eight, and I was never allowed anywhere without them. Even at night, there were two posted outside my bedroom door. It had made having night-time guests extremely tricky, and I knew that I’d never really managed to fool them. There’d been a few mornings at breakfast over the last few years where Davenport especially had tried to conceal a knowing smile.
Two footmen in full livery opened the double doorway into the house, and my parents headed through it. A couple of steps down from the entrance, I paused for a moment, reluctant to leave the fresh air of the night for the stifling atmosphere of a society party—especially this one and what was expected to happen.
“Lady Victoria, are you alright?” The soft drawl of West’s Virginian accent drifted over my shoulder, and I turned to see him looking at me with concern. He was much taller than me, though considering I was only five foot three, that wasn’t difficult. Underneath his customary black suit and white shirt, his broad shoulders tapered down to a slim waist, and his dark hair, with touches of silver at his temples, was swept back. I saw his light blue eyes drop to my hands and realised I had been twisting the fastening of my clutch again.
Dropping my arms to my sides, I met his gaze. “I’m fine, thank you, West. I was just... preparing myself.”
He nodded and stepped back into position, though I knew he wasn’t convinced. Bodyguards weren’t really supposed to talk to me, but I’d known West since I was eight. He was the first one I’d met. My father had hired him from the States. There was a rumour that he’d even protected the president once, but he’d never admit to it, though I had badgered him often when I was younger. West had been my first teenage crush as well, with his deep, gravelly voice and his whole “touch her and I’ll kill you” demeanour. He was totally hot to a teenager who dreamed of being wild and crazy.
He was always immaculate as well, and I’d had fantasies about roughing up his hair or pulling his shirt from his trousers just to mess up his appearance a little. He was even more perfect than my mother, always so stiff and all about the job. Untouchable. Maybe that was why I’d always been attracted to him. I knew there would never be a chance with him. For starters, I had been a gangly teenage girl, and he was at least twenty years my senior, but even as I grew up, leaving school, graduating from university, I could tell he never looked at me that way. He never relaxed, and he was never up for a chat or a laugh like some of the other servants we had. Even a couple of the other bodyguards relaxed a bit when West wasn’t on duty. I realised as I grew up that to him, I was nothing more than his pay cheque, and though I appreciated his expertise and competence in my protection, to the hopeful teenager inside, the realisation had been a hard one.
At twenty-three, I now had more important and pressing issues to deal with. Knowing I couldn’t hang back any longer, I took a deep breath and made my way up the last few steps and through the entrance into the hall beyond. Even I had to admit it was stunning. The grand staircase rose at the far end, branching out on both sides to reach the galleried landing that ran the entire circumference of the hall. Oil paintings and embroideries adorned the walls, and gold leaf accents glinted in the light of easily a hundred candles. The ancient parquet floor was polished to a sheen and huge, deep pile rugs lay scattered over its surface. I wondered what it would be like to walk into this hall every day. Our estate was beautiful, but the duke’s was vast and impressive, even to an earl’s daughter.
Just inside the door stood several footmen collecting coats and scarves from the visitors. I slipped off the sheer gold wrap I was wearing and handed it to the nearest one, quietly murmuring my thanks so only he heard me. West and Davenport dropped back. They wouldn’t follow me around the ballroom, just hang about on the edges of the crowds, keeping an eye on things. They were like furniture. I preferred it when I was at home, and I only ended up with one of them. Davenport had a good sense of humour, and we’d often played a sneaky game of cards when West was off patrolling the grounds with the rest of the team. Davenport was only three or four years older than me, and I had the feeling that Davenport and I could have been good friends in different circumstances.
The Duke and Duchess of Northbrook stood at one side about halfway down the hallway, greeting their guests. Their son, Lord Jasper Wyndham, stood with them. Smart, charming, and gracious, he was every inch a true gentleman. Lord Jasper was the catch of the southern counties, and he knew it too. Everyone knew it, and everyone talked about it. I glanced about for my parents and realised they must have already greeted the duke and duchess and gone through into the ballroom. I was hoping for strength in numbers. I sighed, straightened, and plastered an appropriate smile on my face before I approached our hosts.
“Lady Victoria Astley-Hawke,” the butler announced as I approached, though there was no need. The duke and duchess were fully aware of who I was. As was Jasper.
“Lady Victoria!” the duke boomed, reaching out to take my hand. He was a large man, and his toned figure acquired from years of riding, hunting, and fishing had been lost to increasingly sumptuous parties and dinners, and the rich food and drink they provided as the years passed. He’d always been a friendly, jovial sort, if rather loud, and I genuinely liked the man. His face was already red, and he held a glass of champagne in his other hand. His small, dark eyes sparkled at me, and I smiled sweetly at him as he pressed his lips to my fingers and dipped into a brief curtsy.
“Your Grace.”
“How wonderful to see you, my dear. You look absolutely ravishing! Doesn’t she, my darling? Doesn’t she look ravishing?”He turned to his wife, who, very used to his thundering enthusiasm, merely smiled and nodded.
“Beautiful as always, Lady Victoria. Jasper, dear. Lady Victoria is here.”
Lord Jasper turned from the conversation he’d been having, and his chocolate brown eyes lit up when he saw me. I saw them drop briefly, taking in my rather slinky dress, before returning quickly and more appropriately to my face. He took my proffered hand and pressed his warm lips to my fingers. “Lady Victoria, you are a vision, as ever.”
I dipped again, this time keeping my eyes on his, peering up at him through my lashes. “Lord Jasper.”
He smiled at me. “I believe Lady Harriet is already here. She asked me to inform you that she would meet you by the fireplace. Please tell her I passed the message on, else I fear for my safety.”
I laughed. “I’ll tell her. I’ll see you later?”
“Of course. I shall find you once the dancing starts, if I may presume a dance with you?” He raised his eyebrows.
“You may presume, Lord Jasper. I would be honoured.” I curtsied again, then headed into the ballroom away from the eyes that had been firmly fixed on us since we had started talking.
More eyes focused on me as I entered the ballroom, but I had a fancy it was more due to my dress than the rumours, as it seemed mainly men were glancing my way. I ignored them, taking a champagne flute from the nearest silver tray before making my way through the milling guests towards where I remembered the fireplace to be. The ballroom was huge and exquisite, with tall windows and doors that opened out onto a stone terrace, the gardens sweeping away into the distance. Beautiful paintings hung on the deep red silk walls, and ornate chandeliers cast glittering light over the guests. At one end, a raised platform held a small orchestra, which was playing quietly in the background for now, though the music would increase in volume once the duke and duchess entered and the dancing started.
