"Do you know her?"
Félix ignored the question. He struggled to reconcile the woman he had been so desperate to see with the fact that she was the viscount's intended, his fourth bride.
Not yet, the duke reminded himself. But still, how was this possible?
Try as he might, he could not shake the memory of their moment together. Nor could he make sense of this newfound revelation that she belonged to the viscount.
"Well," Coralie went on, lowering her voice, "rumour has it the baron had an affair with one of his servant girls in his search for a son, and that's how she was born. Poor girl. Not even her mother survived the baroness's cruelty. It was so bad she died in childbirth, but the child lived." She shook her head. "And now the poor thing is being married off to that man. I dare say she is far too beautiful and young for him. Just look at her. Oh, what's her name again? Was it… Es—Esther? No. It starts with an E and ends with an A."
"How odd! I can't even remember now," she ended with a sigh.
Félix barely heard her. He was too focused on the girl.
Estella.
That was the name she had given him. Could it be that she had not lied after all?
Instead of scheming to seduce and blackmail him, had she been after something else entirely? Had he been the one to ambush her?
No. Two truths could exist at once, Félix decided. She may have had her own purpose for being outside that night and still chosen to use him to her advantage. That much was plausible, he thought.
The dance continued, and more couples stepped onto the floor, but Félix could not tear his gaze from her. He was too invested to back out now.
He noticed her rigid shoulders above all else and how Viscount Alistair seemed the only one truly dancing. The girl merely stood there, barely moving at all. For what it was worth, he could empathize with her struggle, even if he could not fully understand it.
Heat coursed through his veins as he watched the viscount suddenly press his face against her cleavage.
"Has he gone mad?" the duke said aloud without realizing, his tone sharp enough to startle Coralie.
Who would do such a thing in public, especially to a woman who was not a night worker? And why did she not fight back? Why was she enduring it in silence, making no attempt to defend herself? The duke could not make sense of it.
"Heavens, love, you have gone all tense," Coralie said, running a hand over his to calm him.
But the duke's temper did not ease. He clenched his jaw, the sting of his nails pressing into his palm.
He wanted to turn away, to focus on something or someone else. But he could not. If anything, his blood boiled at the sight. He could not understand this ritual of humiliation or why everyone present seemed content to watch it unfold.
"What do you say we go to my estate from here?" Alistair said, flashing a toothy grin that made Estella feel sick.
"You know, there's no point in fighting it or trying anything foolish. Both your parents have already given their blessing for you to be with me. So be a good girl and cooperate unless, of course, you want everyone here to know your family's little secret."
The viscount laughed, a sound that did nothing more than aggravate her further. Funny, he actually believed her father's blatant misuse of public funds was a valid threat to make her yield. He was grossly mistaken if he thought that. That only worked when a daughter genuinely liked her father and worried about him getting found out.
She did not.
She did not consider the baron her family or care if his reputation was ruined. But she did wonder—if she had escaped tonight, what would her father's next move have been? She knew he would never offer Geraldine or Georgina in her place. Still, the thought crossed her mind: how would he react if the viscount demanded it?
"Can't talk?" The viscount tightened his grip on her waist. Estella flinched and Alistair smiled, satisfied. "What just crossed your mind? Do tell. It must be something exciting by the way your eyes lit up."
She heard him but chose to remain silent.
"Hands on my shoulder," he demanded forcefully.
Estella hesitated, then obeyed. The baroness's watchful eyes left her no choice.
"Good girl," the viscount murmured. "Now, as I said, I'll let the baron know you're coming home with me. There's no point in wasting all this passion that is tearing me up inside. I can't wait to have all of you tonight."
He closed his eyes then as if savouring her scent and letting it wash over him. When a low moan escaped his lips, Estella's mind flicked back to the stranger she had kissed not long ago. The thought of herself in such a moment with the Viscount made her stomach turn.
Without thinking, she drove her heel into his foot.
"You impudent brat!" came the viscount's strangled outcry.
"Estella!" the baroness shouted.
The others came running. Within moments, her entire family had gathered around the viscount, fawning over him. Estella thought they could at least try to be less obvious about it.
"Couldn't you manage a simple dance? How hard was it?" Georgina scolded, hurrying over.
"What. Did. You. Do?" the baroness said through gritted teeth, struggling to keep her voice low.
Estella knew she had to act now that the baroness was involved. She turned to the Viscount and looked at him with docile eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said in a carefully rehearsed, soft voice. "I'm so, so sorry, Viscount. I didn't think… my mind was elsewhere. I did not mean to hurt you. I sincerely apologize."
"Where else should your mind be, if not in the moment, arm in arm with your date?" the baron snapped.
"You did it on purpose," Alistair sputtered, jabbing a trembling finger at her. "You… how dare you…" He trailed off, breathless with indignation.
Some attendants came to escort the Viscount away, leaving Estella alone in the centre of the ballroom.
Judging eyes bore into her, condemning her for not knowing her place. She knew what they thought of her. And she could not pretend not to care.
A whore's daughter, unloved by her own father. Unwanted. She should be grateful the Viscount had even deigned to look at her. Did she really think she was in a position to choose otherwise?
While the rest of the family fussed over the Viscount and followed him out, Geraldine lingered. She turned back to Estella; her voice laced with malice as she said,
"I hope you enjoyed your little act. Because once we are home, it will be over for you."
Then, stepping closer, she added, "You did that on purpose. Didn't you? You think I don't know? I am sure Mother knows, too. You wanted to make a scene, and now look, you succeeded. Ungrateful brat. Just you wait until we get home. You will be oh so sorry. I'm sure of it."
With that, she spun on her heel, shoulders back and chin high, as always.
Estella watched her go, knowing her sister was right. She would not hear the end of it when they returned. Dread coiled in her stomach, and tears welled in her eyes at the thought of what the baroness would do.
This was his fault. The man who had accosted her out back. None of this would have happened if he had just let her go. She was sure she would have made it as far as the next village. Instead, he had jumped in and ruined everything.
Where was he now when she needed him to take accountability for his actions?