Page 43 of A Duchess to Unravel (The Devil’s Masquerade #3)
CHAPTER ONE
“ I am waiting,” Mister Terrance Robins stated, his grip tightening on Amelia’s hand.
Amelia Hollowcroft, eldest daughter to Felton Hollowcroft, Viscount of Hoge, blinked as her brows drew together, and she followed the man's lead into the dance’s steps.
“For what, Mister Robins?” Amelia asked.
She flexed her fingers, trying to signal that his hold was too tight. He either did not notice or ignored it.
“For your gratitude, Miss Hollowcroft. For saving you from a night completely stuck to the wall,” Mister Robins replied.
He led her into a twirl, just as the other dancers were doing with their partners, but the force of his efforts had Amelia struggling to keep up. It did not help that his behavior, though kind at first, was now quickly crumbling into one that was most unbecoming of a gentleman.
“I have thanked you for the dance, Mister Robins,” she answered, her tone sweet and steady. “However, I willingly thank you again.”
It was not what she truly wished to say. She would have much rather preferred to push herself out of his embrace and tell him she preferred the wall to such behavior- but she could not. At least not right now. Not with her father watching like a hawk.
It had been three years since Roland, her former betrothed, had left her.
Three years since he ran away to Italy with bruises on his face and a woman on his arm the very day of their wedding- at least according to the gossip.
She hadn’t paid much attention to what was said about him though, not with her own tattered reputation to worry about.
A week ago, on the anniversary of her greatest shame, her father, Felton Hollowcroft, had come to her with a warning.
She was to tarry by the wall no longer, but stop her moping and find a husband or at least a serious suitor within the week, or he was going to arrange a suitor for her.
Amelia had tried in earnest to obey, despite loathing the idea, and had thus far failed in completing the task.
Tonight was her last night, and though she did not want to, she had to put forth the effort to sway Mister Robins.
Even if only to buy her a little more time.
“Please, Mister Robins, tell me about yourself?” Amelia implored sweetly. “Do you enjoy your duties? I hear as a second son of a viscount, they can still be rather demanding.”
Mister Robins looked almost flattered as he twirled her again.
“Indeed,” he replied readily, “Most do not believe that the second born bears much responsibility, but we certainly do. Family affairs, keeping my younger siblings in order, all the while preparing for the possibility of suddenly having to take on the eldest son’s responsibilities should any misfortune befall him. It is most stressful.”
“I am certain it is,” Amelia replied, trying to sound compassionate despite her hidden lack of interest. “I am sure whoever you choose to marry may also need to take on such responsibilities as well. One might never know if or when the title of Viscountess might befall her.”
Mister Robins smirked.
“Do you have interest in discovering such responsibilities?” he asked.
Not at all, Amelia thought, but kept her smile firmly on her lips.
“Oh, yes,” she answered, “Though my mother has already trained me extensively on the duties of being a lady of the house. I feel I would be quite capable.”
Mister Robins’ smirk transformed into a grin that made Amelia’s stomach tighten and twist. His hands grew tighter on her person, and she felt her skin heat with shame as they also furtively moved lower.
“And what other duties might you be capable of, Miss Hollowcroft?”
It was a question that had been one of the many reasons she had placed herself on the wall at parties.
Since Roland had left her, the most salacious rumors had been spread.
One of which was that she’d given her virtue too early.
Some said it was such a poor performance it did not please the young noble.
Others whispered that it was so exemplary that it intimidated him into running away.
It was obvious which one Mister Robins believed at present.
“Would you be so kind as to be more direct with your question, Mister Robins?” she asked, batting her lashes as a bit of venom escaped into her voice. “Just so as I know exactly what it is you are asking.”
Mister Robins’ devilish grin faltered for a moment, but he composed himself and flexed his fingers at her bottom. Even through the fabric of her lavender gown, she felt the grossness of it.
“I have heard that you are a very educated woman, Miss Hollowcroft. In all sorts of areas.”
He’d danced her into the far corner of the dance floor, away from the others and hidden by the moving bodies so that when he gripped her backside and pushed her flush to his rigid manhood, no one saw.
Bile rose up in Amelia’s throat as she felt the disgusting shape press into her, and not able to keep her act up anymore, she wrenched her hand from his and pushed him away. The shove barely made him move, and only seemed to entertain him as he let out a chuckle and smiled with all his teeth.
“What a wild thing you are,” he mused, reaching for her again. “You like the chase, don’t you? Very well then, I can manage that.”
“The only wild thing here is the assumption you make, Mister Robins,” she spat out, stepping away from his grip. “I do not have the education you speak of yet even if I did, I certainly would not share that with you!”
Her voice had risen from a seething whisper to an incredulous shout, drawing attention from nearly every other attendee in the ballroom. Some even stopped their conversation or dancing.
Realizing her transgression, Amelia looked away from Mister Robins’ furious expression and toward her father, only to find an equally savage look on his face. She blushed wildly, fighting the urge to scream, and attempted to salvage the situation.
“Mister Robins, I apologize, I-”
“I knew better than to dance with a ruined flower,” Mister Robins interrupted, his tone vicious. “I only did so because your father offered me money. Clearly you are not worth the price.”
Amelia flinched at the hostility of his words, and watched with deepening embarrassment as he drew his composure, bowed stiffly, and walked away toward a group of men.
Her heart hammered in her chest as Mister Robins immediately began whispering to them, and they turned their narrowed eyes toward her in apparent disgust.
She hated this. Hated all of it. Hated pretending that her reputation could be salvaged.
Hated that she was forced to appear as if she actually cared.
She had been ruined when Roland had left her.
She knew it, embraced it, even if her parents didn’t, and she wished for nothing more than to be able to accept spinsterhood and hide the rest of her life away in the country.
It would not be so bad. Her dear friend Ophelia would be by her side; another young noble woman who did not wish to marry. And her other dear friends Theo, Rosamund, and Seraphina would visit her frequently.
“What in heaven’s name do you think you are doing?” her father seethed, grabbing her tightly around her upper arm as he appeared by her side.
“Papa, I am sorry,” she whispered, sweat forming on her forehead as her blush grew into a fever, “It is not my fault, he was being so unseemly, I could not-”
“I told you this was your last chance,” Felton hissed through gritted teeth.
Though he was furious, the calm expression on his face did not even show a hint of it.
He’d learned to appear as such while his voice whispered of punishment through years of keeping up with the social standards of the London ton.
If only the others knew what volatile anger laid beneath the disguise of such an unbothered look.
Dread filled Amelia as Felton led them casually through the staring crowd, nodding and smiling politely at every gaze he met.
Though she had been grateful for her friends’ absence at the party at first, she suddenly wished they had been able to come.
Perhaps their intervention would stay whatever punishment was certainly awaiting her in the carriage.
But alas, Seraphina was with her new husband and young twins in Vanderbilt, Theo was at home once more nursing her mother’s slowly failing health, Ophelia was visiting her aunt in the country, and Rosamund was at another ball with her own mother across town. She was alone.
Amelia waited until they were in the confines of the carriage before she spoke to her father again, immediately begging for his forgiveness and time.
“Papa, please, you must know this was not my fault! Roland left my reputation in tatters and now the only men that show interest are the most crude,” Amelia insisted.
“Stop blaming everything on Roland,” Felton commanded, his face twisting into a look of pure fury. “You have had three years. Three years to prove those rumors wrong and you have failed impeccably.”
Amelia flinched, her lithe body tightening at the damnation, but she did not refute it.
“Very well. I have failed,” she admitted, “You still have two other daughters who could yet marry well. Allow me to retire to the country where I will be out of sight and out of mind to all. By the time Sarah comes of age, they will have forgotten all about me.”
Felton laughed darkly, shaking his head.
“No one will forget about you, darling girl,” his voice a clanging juxtaposition to the kind moniker. “Not after the scenes you have caused. And tonight’s was the last one. For the sake of our family name and your sisters’ future, I am taking care of this matter once and for all tonight.”