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CHAPTER FOUR

T eresa crept down the stairs, eyes stinging with lack of sleep, listening out for any unusual sounds coming from the manor.

She would have preferred to stay in her bed, beneath the covers, hiding from the inevitable explosion of her reputation, but a heroine’s courage had coaxed her out of her bed, made her put on her clothes, and urged her to face the music.

It will be better coming from me, she told herself, continuing down the final curve of the staircase, her hand gripping the banister tightly.

It had been late when they had returned last night, and Vincent had already retired to his bed.

Julianna had suggested that they should not wake him with the unfortunate news of the scandal, and Teresa had been glad of the reprieve.

Now, she wished she had just gotten it out of the way; the thought of her brother’s reaction had already robbed her of her sleep and her appetite for breakfast.

Although, she would have been lying if she had said that was the only reason she had not been able to sleep.

Her imagination had been granted a taste of reality, and it had been relentless ever since, taking her back to that room at the masquerade again and again, taking her back to the moment just before the door opened and the flame of possibility had turned to ash, taking her back to the anticipation of a kiss that had never come.

“What is the meaning of this?” a sharp bark ricocheted through the hallway on the left of the entrance hall.

Teresa froze, cringing. She was too late. She had not beaten the morning papers, nor the scandal sheets tucked away inside.

It could be that his eggs are cold, or the toast is burnt. She held onto that fragile possibility as she hurried the rest of the way down the stairs and along the hallway, only slowing as she came to the partially open door of the dining room.

In an echo of the eavesdropping that had gotten her into this mess in the first place, she paused, held her breath, and waited.

“Tell me this is a mistake!” Vincent roared. “Mother, I suggest you start speaking, and I would urge you to explain why this is a gross misunderstanding.”

There was the faint clink of cutlery being set down on a plate, and a nervous clearing of Julianna’s throat.

“Yes, about that…” She hesitated. “I regret to inform you that it is not a misunderstanding, nor is it a mistake. I had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that it might not make its way into the scandal sheets, but I see that is not the case.”

“Caught alone in the embrace of a lion, Lady Teresa, sister to the Earl of Grayling and the Duchess of Davenport, certainly had no pride when she was discovered,” Vincent bellowed, clearly reading the ungenerous article.

“Let this be a warning, that a masquerade is no place to do as one pleases—indiscretion will always be exposed, mask or no. As for the lion himself, he is certainly no King of Beasts, but the beastly Cyrus Deverell, the Duke of Darnley.”

Cyrus Deverell?

Teresa’s throat tightened, her mind stubbornly wandering back to that room again, with him, his lips so close that if he had just bent his head a little more, she would have known what it felt like to be kissed.

He had had no name then, no title either.

He had just been the rude man with the list and the lion mask, who she had ruined herself for in a moment of vengeful madness.

Cyrus… An exotic name. A name that suited him, even if she had only seen his eyes and the lower part of his face.

“Did you think I would not find out?” Vincent snapped. “Did you not think it important to inform me yourself, instead of letting me read this… this… awful thing?”

“You were asleep,” Julianna replied.

“And would have preferred to be woken!” Vincent shot back, punctuating his words with the sound of paper crumpling, as though he had crushed the scandal sheets in his hand.

“It was your duty to protect her from this sort of thing, Mother. I trusted you to protect her! She is not a debutante anymore; she is already short of options. Mercy, why were you not more careful?”

I wish I could answer that. I am the one who made the mistake.

And Teresa still could not fully explain what had possessed her.

Revenge did seem like the simplest reason, but it felt somewhat flimsy as an excuse.

After all, true revenge would have been taking the list out to the ballroom and exposing it to the ladies in attendance.

Julianna coughed. “I… confess, I lost sight of her. She was with Beatrice and I thought?—”

“You let her wander off with Beatrice , of all people?” Vincent gasped, and Teresa could picture him running his vexed hands through his hair. “That girl has always been trouble. I said I did not like Teresa being acquainted with her, but you insisted. Now, look where we are!”

It is not Beatrice’s fault. She was helping me.

“Vincent, Beatrice is her only real friend,” Julianna tried to argue. “Would you have me separate her from her only real friend?”

But Vincent was past listening. “I expected you to show wise judgment, and to take your role of chaperone seriously! As for Teresa’s friendships: she got on well with Lionel’s sister.

And though Rebecca is a little… lively, she is at least respectable.

You are as much to blame for this as Teresa, Mother. How could you allow this to happen?”

Teresa burst through the door, her hand on her heart as she cried, “Vincent, do not blame her and do not blame Beatrice. It is not their fault. I did this. I caused all of this.” Her voice faltered. “If I had not fled from Mama, none of this would have happened. I heard her coming and I… ran off.”

Vincent, drained of all color, the scandal sheets crumpled in his fist, turned his wild eyes toward his sister. “Why on earth would you do such a thing?”

“Because I… did not want to be introduced to another unpleasant gentleman,” she murmured, bowing her head.

“So, you thought you would just find an unpleasant gentleman of your own, and throw our entire family to the wolves?” Vincent snarled, rising from his chair. “Do you have any idea who that man is?”

Teresa shook her head. I did not have a helpful list like he did.

“If you wanted to be thoroughly miserable, you chose well,” Vincent remarked, shaking with the force of his anger. “There are… stories about that man that I do not dare to repeat, even though you deserve to hear them after this utter foolishness!”

A flutter of panic made Teresa’s heart beat out of rhythm. “Stories?”

She adored stories of every kind, but she had recently learned that fiction and reality were better off separated.

Indeed, she was not certain she would enjoy a true story at all, not pertaining to that man with the glittering eyes and the unflinching demeanor, at least. There was no safety, no protection in a true story.

“Of the kind that would make your blood run cold,” Vincent replied, tossing the crushed scandal sheets toward the fireplace. The crumpled ball missed, but he did not seem to notice. “So, you shall have to pray for me, and hope that I survive your stupidity.”

He began to stride toward the dining room door, but Teresa sidestepped to block him, putting her hands up.

“What are you doing?” she gasped, already knowing and dreading the answer.

“I am going to duel the wretch,” Vincent replied grimly. “I am going to ride to his estate this instant and challenge him. I do not want to have to push you out of the way, Teresa, so stand aside.”

Teresa became aware of a presence at her side, helping her to block the doorway.

“Stupidity begets stupidity, it seems,” Prudence said, linking arms with her sister.

“You will die, Vincent. Of the four of us siblings, you are the very worst shot, and Isolde could never hold a pistol without her hand shaking. If you want us to have to bury you as well as weather this scandal, then go ahead, be an idiot.”

Thank goodness for you, Pru. The youngest Wilds sister was small and slender, and did not look like she could win a fight with a sparrow, but what she lacked in stature, she more than made up for with her sharp, clever tongue.

Vincent’s eyes—a lighter blue than Teresa and Prudence’s—narrowed in annoyance, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he glowered at his youngest sister.

“If you marry,” Prudence continued with a smirk, “you will not have to worry about what happens to Tessie and me. We can be spinsters, living here quite happily. Indeed, so what if society spurns us for a while? You do not like attending gatherings, Tessie does not like attending gatherings, and everyone will have forgotten by the time I debut. You are making a mountain out of a reasonably sized molehill.”

Clenching his jaw, Vincent took hold of his sisters’ hands, using no effort at all to unwind their linked arms, pulling them apart to create a gap to walk through.

“I am doing my duty,” he rasped, “since no one else in this family will.”

“Vincent, be reasonable,” Teresa pleaded. “Prudence is right—you will die if you duel that man. Do not make me bear that responsibility. I will never forgive myself.”

At that moment, Julianna grabbed her son by his coattails, grimacing as she tried to heave him back into the room. The sisters took their mother’s lead, grasping an arm apiece, fighting to push him backward, so he would not make a grave and potentially fatal mistake.

“Unhand me!” Vincent snapped, doing his best to throw his sisters and mother off him without harming any of them. It was a delicate balance, and not one easily executed.

Moreover, the moment he managed to get one woman off him and turn his attention to another, the former swept back in to grab him again.

And as all three began to pull backward together, no amount of wrestling could help him, not without him risking inflicting an injury on one of the determined trio.

“Not until you agree to stay away from the Duke of Darnley!” Teresa insisted through labored breaths, attempting to wrench his arm behind his back.

“I am the head of this household!” he bellowed.

“I will see to it that justice is served. If you do not take your hands off me, this very moment, you shall not like the consequences. And, more to the point, you will not stop me. Whether it is in two minutes or an hour from now or this evening, I shall be riding to the Duke’s estate to demand?—”

In the hallway outside, the butler, wide-eyed in astonishment, cleared his throat. “I apologize for the interruption,” he said, clamping his lips together for a moment, as if trying to swallow down a laugh. “There is a visitor for you, my lord. I have situated him in the drawing room.”

“What visitor? I am not expecting anyone,” Vincent replied, wrenching his arms out of Teresa and Prudence’s grip.

The butler bowed his head. “It is the Duke of Darnley, my lord.”

Teresa’s eyes flew wide, her hand pressing against her stomach to try and suppress the sudden burst of violent butterflies that had just been set loose.

She could tell from the way the butler had announced it that he knew about the scandal, which meant everyone in the manor knew about the scandal.

It was no wonder that her lady’s maid had been giving her funny looks earlier.

Indeed, who would have expected it of me? That was what people kept saying, as if she could not possibly be interesting enough to do something so scandalous.

“Here?” she blustered, her voice a squeak. “Why would he be here?”

The butler shrugged. “He has asked to see your brother. I know nothing more than that.”

“He has come to propose!” Julianna cheered, clapping her hands together. “You see, I told you it would not be so bad. I had every faith that he would do the honorable thing.”

Prudence peered up at Teresa. “I suppose congratulations are in order.” She puffed out a breath, adding sarcastically, “Enormous thanks to you and Isolde for putting such unfair expectations on me—it will not seem right if it is not a full complement of Duchesses.”

“But… but I… but…” Teresa could not find a single useful word of protest, her nerves lodged like a whole skeleton of fishbones in her throat.

Smoothing down his ruffled tailcoat and adjusting the askew collar of his shirt, Vincent expelled a breath of relief, stepping out of the dining room unhindered. “Bring His Grace to my study,” he said to the butler as he passed by. “I will speak with him there.”

“Vincent, I—” Teresa tried to speak, but he interrupted her sharply.

“You have done quite enough, Teresa. You will stay here, you will not cause a fuss and, so help me, you will do exactly as you are told.” With that, he marched off, and Teresa felt her mother’s hand close tightly around the back of her collar: a warning that the older woman would not hesitate to hold her daughter back too, if it came to that.