Page 27 of Diamond of the Season (Heiress #1)
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
B y the following evening the news of the late duke’s inability to keep his mistress and their offspring a secret became the hottest tidbit of gossip around London. And a week after the scandal had broken, Lady Smithe, although only too willing to try to kiss Nathaniel in his library, now avoided him at every ball and dinner they attended. A cynical part of him couldn’t help but wonder if her ladyship would ask to leave soon, not wish to be tainted by association to a family that could not behave. Save her reputation from being corrupted by mere proximity.
Rosalind stood beside him at the St. George ball, as beautiful and untouchable as ever, but this evening society’s idea of what a diamond of the first water should be had shifted—and Rosalind was no longer it. Although several men had danced with her, including the blasted buffle-headed Lord Kelter, many had neither returned to her side nor engaged her in conversation.
"I fear your hope that I shall marry this Season will come to nothing now, Your Grace. I’m being given the cut obtuse, it would seem. How quickly the ton turns. I had heard it was so, but I did not think it would be so hasty," Rosalind declared, her tone sharp.
Her words cut him to his core and he hated she had been found wanting by people who had no right to judge. Rosalind had done nothing wrong and was an innocent party in all the mess her father had left. The ton ought to be ashamed of themselves.
An intense urge to punish Lord Kelter for opening his bloody mouth overwhelmed him. Not that she didn’t deserve to know the truth—of course she did—but he never wished for Rosalind to be injured as she now was. Not that he could save her from the hurt such news would bring. Rosalind was destined to be wounded no matter when or how she found out about her family.
"If you do not receive an offer of marriage, then the men are all fools." Nathaniel included himself in that statement—not that he believed Rosalind wished to hear such things from him. Not anymore.
She had barely spoken a word to him the past week. Whenever she looked at him, he had an inkling of what being loathed felt like. He had ruined everything between them, and he did not know how to restore their friendship. He inwardly cursed at the thought.
To hell with friendship—he wanted her, all of her, including her heart. The past week, being apart from her, feeling the distance growing between them had put paid to his determination to keep her away. He could not do it. Nor did he want to. To hell with the society who turned their back on a wonderful woman. They could all go hang.
"I do not wish to remain. I want to leave," she declared, her voice quavering in distress.
He nodded and waved for Lady Smithe to join them. That her ladyship, seeing his gesture, promptly turned her back and ignored his command sent fire through his blood. The audacity! He would dismiss her and hire a new companion posthaste. Nathaniel held out his arm, and Rosalind took it before he escorted her out of the ball.
"Lady Rosalind, Your Grace, I was just coming to find you," Lord Felton called as he walked toward them.
Inwardly, Nathaniel groaned at the sight of the earl. He wanted to be gone, away from this glittering society whose honor was only as deep as the material of one’s gown. His lordship bowed before Rosalind, smiling mischievously. Although Rosalind had not enjoyed the evening so far, it pleased Nathaniel to see one of her beaus bowing before her and happy to be in her presence.
"I've come to ask for a dance, my lady. There is a lively set coming up next, which I think will be enjoyable, if you're willing," he declared.
Rosalind bit her lip, and the image that conjured in Nathaniel’s mind was everything it should not have been. He glanced at Lord Felton, whose attention was fixed on Rosalind’s mouth also, and it took all Nathaniel’s willpower not to throttle the rogue right then and there in the ballroom.
"I suppose one more dance will not hurt, if we can delay our leaving, Your Grace?”
“Of course,” he said, stepping aside. Nathaniel watched as Rosalind was escorted away, feeling utterly bereft now that she was no longer by his side. He was a lovesick fool who needed to act before it was too late—before men such as Lord Felton, who clearly did not care about the idle gossip, made it their mission to claim Rosalind forever.
R osalind was thankful for the dance with Lord Felton. For the first set, his company had been excellent—amusing and distracting from the worries that plagued her. What she had come to rely on whenever they were together. However, during the second, he watched her so intently that it left her uneasy, and she did not know if there was something amiss.
"My dearest Lady Rosalind, how are you faring this evening? Now that we’re mostly alone, I wanted to mention that during the past week I have heard the terrible things that involve your family and could hardly believe any of it was true," his lordship said, his tone mocking, his face one of fabricated pity.
She inwardly groaned, not wanting to discuss her father. The late duke had caused so much strife for her and her sisters that, even in death, he remained a burden. "The gossip is not of my doing, and I know little of the particulars,” she lied. “I do not think we should discuss the matter, my lord." Hoping that would put an end to the conversation, Rosalind threw herself into the dance, and for several steps his lordship remained silent, but her reprieve was short-lived.
"I'm sorry that the ton have been so hard on you, even though you are not responsible for your father's actions. But to have had those bastards living in your home—I should think the new duke ought to have them booted from London so they may never injure a woman as pure and beautiful as you."
His words, even if well intended, stirred an annoyance in her. She despised the word bastard when it referred to children unable to choose how and when they came into the world. She possibly loathed the word as much as she hated gossipmongers who did not know when to stop a conversation, even when told.
"My half siblings, for that is what they are, my lord, are innocent in this situation just as I am. I hold no ill will toward them," she said.
"You do not?" The earl raised his brow. "They are children of a courtesan. I am certain you do not share such morals, unless?—"
"Unless what, my lord?" Rosalind interrupted as she stepped from Lord Felton’s arms, daring him to say what she feared. How dare he be so rude and cruel, especially when they had been friends up until tonight?
"Well, if you sympathize with the likes and kinds of people that are the illegitimate children of the duke, mayhap you're not the jewel everyone believed you to be," he spat, snarling like a rabid dog.
Who was this man?
Before she could think to respond, or react, a fist connected with the earl’s nose, snapping his lordship’s head back. The sight was not one that Rosalind thought ever to view with joy, but, after his lordship’s cruel words, she did.
Lord Felton toppled backward, squealing as he did so before landing hard on his bottom. He clasped his nose, his eyes welling with tears from the force of the assault. "How dare you, Your Grace? I should call you out," Felton gasped.
"How dare I? How dare you speak to Lady Rosalind in such a way. Be thankful that I do not bloody more of your body or call you out as well. You are not fit enough to lick her slippers, let alone court her," Nathaniel retorted.
"I would not court her for anything now."
"Good, for I would not want you too," Nathaniel snapped. “You are not worthy of her hand.”
Stunned, Rosalind said nothing as Nathaniel took her hand and dragged her from the room. The ball—once a hive of activity—fell deathly quiet as they summoned the carriage.
"I'm sorry Felton dared speak to you in such a way. I will make your Season right, Rosalind. I will not have you ruined by all this gossip," Nathaniel declared.
Rosalind watched him, unable to believe that he had defended her honor so publicly. The duke wrenched the carriage door open as it pulled up before them, and she noted that his knuckles were a little red and one was cut.
She climbed into the carriage and sat, waiting for him to join her. It was not long before the vehicle lurched forward, and they were on their way home.
"You're hurt?" she asked, moving to sit beside him and taking his hand to inspect it .
"It seems Lord Felton has a bony nose,” he said. “But I think he's worse for wear than I am," the duke replied, a small smile lifting his lips.
She bit her lip to stifle a chuckle at the madness that had befallen everyone. "Thank you for defending my honor. He was out of line and quite vicious. I did not think people could be so false, but I was wrong."
"The ton is full of vipers. One must always be on guard." His fingers linked with hers, and a little of her annoyance toward him for keeping secrets—and for pulling away from whatever was happening between them—dissipated. As for her fears of Lady Smithe clawing her way into the duke’s heart, she had but kept her distance from them both this week, and something told Rosalind her ladyship’s aversion to the duke was because of his shunning of her kiss and nothing else.
"I do not like it when we're not together, when we're not friends," he murmured, playing with her fingers, keeping her hand in his lap.
"Is that what we are, Your Grace? Friends?" she asked softly.
"Is there another term for it?" he inquired.
She met his eyes and saw the question burning in his dark gaze. "I hoped we were becoming lovers." There, she had said it—what she longed for most. Still longed for no matter how mad she had been at him. The man was a fool, but she hoped he would become her fool.
He closed his eyes for a moment, a pained expression crossing his handsome features. "I'm your guardian. It's wrong of me, and yet…" He reached for her, clasped her face in his hands and met her gaze. "I want you to be mine, Rosalind."
"You do?" she asked, uncertainty shading her voice. "Do you mean only here and now, or forever?" She needed clarity, perfect transparency before she could give him her answer.
Rosalind did not hear his reply to her question before he took her lips in a searing kiss, erasing all thought entirely. But then, it was blissful being in his arms so she could forgive him his lapse in concentration.