Page 25

She had never felt so exhilarated.

The intensity built until she felt her lips stretch into a smile. Until she forgot who she was or where she was, or what they were doing there.

But too soon, the dance drew to a close, the music fading into the next score.

Spencer released her waist, stepped back, and bowed to her as she curtsied. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man approach them, his mask an azure blue, dazzling beneath the chandelier light.

Lord Avington drew to a stop before them, his smile full of mischief. Not even his mask could hide it.

“What a stunning sight you both make,” he greeted, looking between them. “A fox and the moon he is guided by, no? Or perhaps the moon he hunts.”

His eyes flashed, a grin spreading across his face.

“Theodore,” Spencer responded. “And are you the water in which ladies tumble lest they lean so close to look into your eyes too deeply?”

“Exactly. I am an embodiment of the ocean, dark and mysterious, hidden depths and a smooth, crystalline surface that beckons. I just need my pretty siren, banked upon my waves and?—”

“I think that is quite enough innuendo,” Spencer cut in, glancing at Eleanor, who was stifling her laughter.

Her dress was silver, matching her mask, and she did look rather celestial—a brilliant, bright moon, visible in the darkness, never to have her light dimmed. It was quite significant for her.

In comparison, Spencer’s black shirt, dark copper waistcoat, and cravat made her feel as though they had never left the countryside. In that, she found comfort.

“Your Grace, may I steal Spencer from you?” Lord Avington asked. “There are some rather important lords he must meet.”

He looked at Spencer knowingly, but Spencer only nodded, as if to say that Eleanor was privy to some of their plans.

Eleanor expected her nerves to rise at the thought of being left alone, but she found herself feeling bolder than usual. Confident.

She was not defenseless. So she nodded, urging her husband to go with his friend.

“I will be quite fine here,” she assured him. “Besides, I am wearing a mask. I am practically unrecognizable to most people. Forgotten.”

Spencer didn’t look certain, but Lord Avington was already tugging him away.

He brushed a hand over her waist and murmured, “I will not be far, should you need me.” And then he was gone.

Left alone, Eleanor looked around the room and then went to the refreshments table.

The night was warm, and although gauzy drapes billowed in the open doorway of a terrace, very little air flowed into the ballroom.

She was accosted by a man in dark clothing, embroidered with golden thread. His mask was a deep mauve, ringed black around the eyes, with silver thread on the edges.

“You look like a swan, pure and innocent. Yet, you and I both know that you are anything but that, do we not?”

That voice sent a cold shiver down her spine. But she swallowed down a gasp of panic. She was no longer in a cell, where he could hurt her and nobody would stop him. No. She was in a packed ballroom, and she had to believe that she was safe.

So, steeling herself, she forced a smile. “Lord Belgrave.”

“We meet again, Your Grace.”

“I do believe during our last meeting you said I was not worthy of any title.”

“Things have changed, from what I have heard around London.”

His smile was wide but sinister. How had she never seen past his charm all those years ago?

“You are a duchess now.”

“You heard correctly.”

She met his eyes boldly, wanting him to know that she held more power now than ever. That she was not cowering on the cold stone floor of the convent, listening to his mockery.

She had risen .

“Then perhaps you will allow me to… apologize for my past behavior by doing me the honor of dancing with me.”

Every inch of her being recoiled at the request, but she thought of Charlotte. Compliance meant she remained safe; it meant giving in for a moment to secure protection for the long term.

And so she gathered her courage and nodded. “I will.”

Lord Belgrave led her to the dance floor. She tried not to tremble, tried not to think about the last time she had danced with him and what had happened afterward.

Her heart pounded as she looked at him, the man who should have been her husband. The man who had sent her to a hellish convent on false accusations.

He had ruined her life. In turn, she would destroy his.

Eleanor smiled as he bowed to her. She hated how close he stood to her as he led her in a slower dance. It felt loaded, tense—a dance that determined her safety.

“You must humor my curiosity, Your Grace,” Lord Belgrave began, his expression perfectly charming beneath his mask.

Only his icy blue eyes were visible. “The last time we spoke, you were hardly deserving of your title, as you pointed out moments ago. Yet, now you stand before me as the Duchess of Everdawn, apparently madly in love with a duke. Considering you spent the last three years… atoning for your sins, one wonders how you met him.”

Eleanor did not falter at the threats wrapped in polite inquiry. “You are wrong, Lord Belgrave. One cannot atone for sins that were not committed. At least not by me.”

“The ton says otherwise.”

“Beneath your influence,” she countered.

He gave a tight smile, caught for a moment before he smoothed over the pause. “Regardless, I do hope you are adjusting well at Everdawn. I have heard it is rather beautiful. Conveniently close to St. Euphemia’s, no?”

Eleanor merely gazed back at him, let him wait for a moment, before she answered, “I am settling well. I have assumed my new role most smoothly. It is almost as if I am coming back to myself.”

“Yes,” Lord Belgrave mused. “You were a most exemplary lady of the ton back then. Tell me, do you still have a soft spot for stablehands?”

Eleanor fought back a flinch. It was all lies; she had to remind herself of that. So she kept her smile fixed in place. “Not as soft as the spot reserved for my husband.”

Belgrave’s expression flickered as if he did not know what to do with that.

“As you must have heard, we are very much in love,” she added.

“Indeed. And your new sister-in-law… She has been notably absent as of late. She must not enjoy being around newlyweds. Then again, her disappearance has saved her from hearing a great deal of things she should not.”

The warning was there, disguised as a lewd hint of anybody hearing newlyweds behind closed doors—his and Follet’s business must remain secret.

“After all,” he continued, “some things should remain secret for one’s…

well-being. But if Lady Charlotte catches wind of anything unsavory…

” He leaned in close, dropping all pretense.

Eleanor tensed, hating his proximity. “Then I would be forced to wonder how far your doting husband would go to protect you. Or her.”

He released her right as she stepped back quickly, and she fought not to stumble. Her chin was still lifted, her resolve still strong, but she was shaken by his threat.

She should have expected it. She should have anticipated something . And yet…

Those cruel eyes held the weight of every terrible thing she had discovered about him. How many lives had he ruined? How many false accusations had torn daughters from their families—noble or common—and made their lives hell on earth?

And how many more lives would face the same fate before she could stop him?

Lord Belgrave bowed deeply, his smile twisted. “It is good to see you again, Your Grace. I do hope you have no hard feelings about our past. Do give your best to your husband for me.”

And then he was gone, his threats lingering, and Eleanor was left staring into the space he had occupied.

She did not waste a moment. She left the ballroom, not even bothering to look for Spencer.

She needed a moment to breathe, and her feet carried her through the familiar layout of the house until she emerged into a conservatory.

The glass roof above showed the twinkling stars and the dark blanket of the night sky.

For a moment, Eleanor simply gazed upward, letting the sight calm her. She had been robbed of such things in the convent, and now she found more solace than ever in such simple beauty.

“I saw you dance with him.”

She froze as Spencer’s voice came from behind her. She heard the door click shut, but no footsteps followed. He waited for her to look around. Slowly, she did.

“I did,” she said carefully.

His anger flared, visible even beneath his mask. “You did not have to do that. In fact, I have not gone to such lengths to ensure your safety, only for you to take his hand and dance with him.”

“It was fine.” Still, her voice trembled, still shaken up. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she fought the urge to fidget. “He barely said anything.”

Spencer scoffed, clearly not believing her. “Did he threaten you? I have not seen you this restless since we first arrived at Everdawn. If memory serves me right, that was not long after his visit to the convent.”

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed at his smart remark.

“Yes, he took me by surprise, but have we not been expecting something from him? Better that it was a simple dance than anything worse. I am not defenseless, Spencer. Charlotte is my friend, and our marriage is all about her safety. I had to comply for her safety. It would have been worse, had I refused.”

Spencer stared at her from across the conservatory. In the moonlight, his face looked striking. And then he moved closer to her, closing that distance in a few long strides.

Slowly, he removed his mask and raised his hand to her face. Gently, he tugged at the ribbon that held her mask in place.

She held her breath as he removed her mask, never once looking away from her. Those honey-flecked eyes burned.

“You think I only care for Charlotte’s safety?” he asked, his voice ever so quiet.