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Page 39 of A Wife for the Beast (Scandals and Second Chances #6)

The Marquess of Pemberton's annual ball had long been esteemed as the most distinguished entertainment of the London Season, its glittering assembly representing the zenith of fashionable society.

Beneath glittering chandeliers that cast a dazzling glow, ladies adorned in resplendent silks and gentlemen dressed with utmost elegance gathered in refinement and gaiety.

Yet tonight, the usual atmosphere of sophisticated refinement carried an undercurrent of tension that seemed to charge the very air with anticipation, as though the assembled guests sensed that they were about to witness something far more dramatic than the typical social maneuvering that marked such gatherings.

Evangeline stood beside the refreshment tables in conversation with Lady Melbourne, though her attention remained divided between polite social discourse and careful observation of her husband's movements across the crowded ballroom.

The distance between them this evening was not merely physical—the careful space they maintained at such gatherings had become emblematic of the emotional gulf that had opened since their devastating confrontation in the library several days prior.

Lucian commanded his usual position near the card room, surrounded by gentlemen who sought his opinions on political matters despite the recent questions regarding his competence.

Yet even as he engaged in apparently normal conversation, Evangeline could detect the rigid control he maintained over his posture and expression, the way he positioned himself to minimize others' view of his scarred profile, the subtle tension that marked every gesture as calculated rather than natural.

They had attended tonight's entertainment as duty demanded, presenting the facade of marital unity that their circumstances required while carefully avoiding any interaction more intimate than the formal courtesies their public roles necessitated.

The charade was exhausting for both of them, yet neither seemed capable of bridging the chasm that Lucian's deliberate cruelty had carved between them.

"Your Grace appears somewhat distant this evening," Lady Melbourne observed with the sort of diplomatic delicacy that marked her most perceptive social observations. "I trust there are no renewed difficulties with certain malicious parties?"

"Nothing that need concern our friends," Evangeline replied with careful neutrality, maintaining the smile that social obligation demanded while her heart ached with the memory of Lucian's cold dismissal of their marriage. "My husband and I are managing our circumstances as circumstances require."

The diplomatic phrasing revealed nothing while suggesting everything, a skill she had developed during these terrible days of navigating London society while her private world crumbled around her.

How could she explain that the man she had come to love was systematically destroying their relationship from some misguided notion of noble sacrifice?

It was at that moment that a commotion near the ballroom's center drew their attention to a scene that would prove to alter the course of the evening in ways none of them could have anticipated.

Viscount Pembroke, his face flushed with wine and his manner suggesting he had already consumed considerably more than wisdom would recommend, had apparently taken exception to some comment made by Lord Worthington regarding the recent competency proceedings.

"Worthington speaks as though the matter were settled," Pembroke declared with the sort of loud indignation that caused conversations to falter throughout the immediate vicinity.

"Yet I maintain that a man who allows himself to be deceived by a scheming fortune-hunter can hardly be considered competent to manage his own affairs, let alone those of one of England's premier duchies. "

Evangeline felt the blood drain from her face as Pembroke's words carried clearly across the ballroom, striking her like physical blows despite her growing familiarity with such accusations.

Yet what horrified her more than the attack upon her character was the sight of Lucian's reaction—or rather, his apparent lack of reaction to hearing his wife so publicly maligned.

He stood motionless among his companions, his scarred features betraying nothing of his thoughts as Pembroke's voice rose with increasing volume and venom.

For a terrible moment, she wondered if he would simply allow the insults to pass unchallenged, confirming his apparent belief that she was indeed unworthy of his protection.

"The woman married him for his title and fortune, nothing more," Pembroke continued with malicious satisfaction at having captured the attention of the entire assembly.

"Any fool can see that she plays the devoted wife while counting the days until she can claim her widow's portion from a man too damaged by war to recognise feminine duplicity when it shares his bed. "

The gasps that greeted this assault upon Evangeline's virtue and Lucian's judgment created a sound like wind through autumn leaves, while the assembled guests stood frozen in shock at witnessing such a spectacular violation of every code that governed civilized discourse.

Never had anyone heard a lady's reputation attacked so directly at a public gathering, nor a peer's mental capacity questioned with such brutal explicitness.

The silence that followed stretched just long enough for every person in the ballroom to absorb the full magnitude of what had been said, while Evangeline found herself trapped in a nightmare where her husband's continued stillness seemed to confirm every cruel accusation his cousin had made about their marriage.

Then suddenly Lucian moved.

The transformation was so sudden and complete that several guests actually stepped backward as he crossed the ballroom with the sort of predatory grace that belonged on battlefields rather than in drawing rooms. Whatever emotional distance had marked his recent behavior vanished entirely, replaced by something so dangerous that even hardened veterans recognized the signs of a man prepared for violence.

"Pembroke."

His voice carried across the ballroom with the sort of deadly quiet that made even the musicians pause in their performance, each syllable pronounced with the precision of a man accustomed to having his words obeyed without question.

The crowd parted before him as he moved toward his cousin, his dark eyes fixed upon his target with an intensity that left no doubt about his intentions.

"Cousin," Pembroke replied with false bravado that could not entirely conceal his recognition that he had pushed matters beyond the point of mere family dispute into territory that might prove genuinely dangerous to his continued welfare.

"How delightful to see you looking so alert this evening.

I trust you heard my observations regarding your domestic arrangements? "

"I heard you question my wife's virtue and my competence to protect it," Lucian replied with controlled fury that made the very air seem to vibrate with tension. "Such observations require clarification."

Evangeline felt her heart stop as she recognized the formal language that every person present understood marked the prelude to a challenge. Despite their recent estrangement, despite his cruel dismissal of their marriage, Lucian was preparing to defend her honor with his life.

"Clarification?" Pembroke laughed with nervous bravado that fooled no one regarding his growing awareness of the dangerous ground he now occupied.

"My meaning was perfectly clear to anyone possessed of sufficient wit to comprehend plain English.

Though perhaps your altered circumstances make such comprehension more challenging than it once was? "

The second insult to Lucian's mental capacity, delivered before the cream of London society, crossed every possible line that governed discourse between gentlemen.

Evangeline watched in fascinated horror as her husband's scarred features grew utterly still, though his eyes burned with an intensity that spoke of barely contained violence.

"Lord Worthington," Lucian said without taking his gaze from his cousin's face, his voice carrying the sort of formal precision that belonged in military dispatches rather than ballroom conversations.

"Might I prevail upon you to serve as my second in settling this matter of honour with Viscount Pembroke? "

"It would be my privilege, Your Grace," Worthington replied immediately, his own military background making him fully aware of what such a request entailed.

"Though perhaps Lord Pembroke might wish to reconsider his unfortunate choice of words before matters progress beyond the possibility of diplomatic resolution? "

The offer of escape was delivered with diplomatic courtesy that allowed Pembroke to withdraw his accusations without complete loss of face, though every person present understood that such withdrawal would require public acknowledgment of error and formal apology to both Lucian and Evangeline.

"Reconsider?" Pembroke's face had grown even redder, though whether from wine or recognition of his increasingly precarious position remained unclear.

"I stand by every word I have spoken. The Duke of Ravenshollow lacks the mental capacity to distinguish between genuine affection and mercenary calculation, while his duchess possesses exactly the sort of flexible morality that such circumstances reward. "