Chapter Six

She could hear the murmurs again, feel the stares. The news had traveled across London like wildfire, and now she suspected the entirety of the Ton was focused upon her, watching to see how she would react, waiting for any hint of some sort of melodrama to play out before their eyes.
She did not intend to give them the satisfaction, and absolutely not at Lady Lennox’s ball. The past years had been beneficial to her in that regard; she pretended a calm she did not feel, let the whispers flow over her as if she did not hear them, and smiled with placid serenity at everyone who passed. All while she inwardly seethed, her emotions roiling.
The duke was present, of course, in his usual position just a few feet away. She experienced a sharp stab of humiliation to realize that he could have hardly failed to catch the snippets of conversation, that he must know exactly why she was the talk of the Ton once again.
Still, she sipped her champagne, ignored the pitying glances, the fascinated stares. It didn’t matter. Eventually the gossip would die down once again. She would simply have to brazen it out until the scandal faded once more to a distant memory.
As she set her empty flute on a table, she heard a buzz sweep over the room, the fading strains of the music ending in a discordant note that set her teeth on edge. She turned to look, afraid of what she might find—and felt her stomach drop to her shoes. Somehow, by the very skin of her teeth, she kept herself from reacting. Her polite smile stayed frozen in place, her hands loosely knitted before her.
Adrian. Somehow, he had wrangled an invitation. Of course he had. Anyone would have wanted a front-row seat to the drama his attendance would provide. His dark eyes scanned the room as he proceeded down the steps, finally alighting on her. She felt herself blanch, wished for a moment that she could simply slip through the floor and disappear into nothingness. His jaw tightened with determination—and she knew he intended to approach her.
She did not intend to give him the satisfaction.
She held her head high despite the stares, turned on her heel, and walked directly toward the duke lingering not ten steps away.
“Your Grace,” she said, in a low voice designed not to carry, “would you care to dance?”
His golden brows arched in surprise, even as his eyes narrowed. That calculating blue gaze flitted past her, taking in the man who had just arrived, the titillated whispers of the crowd. Drawing in a steadying breath, she lifted her chin, unwilling to let this uncomfortable scene cow her.
“You will attend the theatre with me,” he said, his voice a devious whisper.
“You wanted a dance.” She hissed the reminder. “This is blackmail.”
“Extortion,” he corrected blithely, giving her a ruthless half-grin. “Nevertheless, it is my price. If you were desperate enough to ask, you are desperate enough to agree.”
“Fine,” she snapped, aware of the people sidling closer, hoping to eavesdrop on their hushed conversation.
He favored her with a glorious smile.