“I live for balance,” Hazel said with mock solemnity. “Besides, it’s far too entertaining to see you bested.”
Cordelia smiled at their exchange, the teasing energy lightening the heaviness she had carried all evening. And yet, a small thread of disappointment tugged at her; why had Mason not approached them, too? He remained at the far side of the ballroom, speaking with no one, his gaze elsewhere.
“Come, My Lady,” Jasper said, offering his arm with a smirk that left Matilda little room for refusal.
After a dramatic sigh and a muttered, “You are insufferable,” she placed her hand in his. Jasper led her away toward the dance floor, looking triumphant.
Cordelia leaned toward Hazel, her voice low so as not to be overheard above the swell of music and laughter. “I think I shall step out for a breath of fresh air.”
Hazel immediately straightened. “Then I’ll come with you.”
Cordelia shook her head, offering a reassuring smile. “No, no, stay and enjoy yourself. I’ll only be a moment.”
Hazel hesitated, clearly torn, but the sight of Matilda and Jasper whirling onto the dance floor drew her gaze back to the merriment. “Very well,” she said, “but don’t disappear for too long.”
“I won’t,” Cordelia promised.
She slipped away from the crowded room, weaving past clusters of chattering guests until the cool night air beckoned her through the open terrace doors. The moment she stepped outside, the sounds of the ball softened to a distant hum, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint chirp of crickets. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The evening air was tinged with the faint sweetness of late-blooming jasmine, and it cooled the heat that had risen in her cheeks during the long evening.
For a moment, she simply stood there, letting the breeze wash over her, grateful for the quiet.
But before she could truly enjoy the moment, she heard footsteps from somewhere behind her and a voice that felt like steel scraping against rusty iron.
“Well, well, well… finally, we can talk alone without any distractions.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Cordelia knew that silhouette before her mind even fully formed his name.
“Lord Vernon,” she whispered, the words tasting of dread.
He stepped into the lamplight, his smile a cold slash across his face. “Miss Cordelia… or should I call youYour Gracenow?” His tone was mockingly courteous, the honorific spoken as though it were a jest. “How… radiant you look tonight. Though, I suppose my compliments are wasted; your beauty is no longer yours to sell, is it?”
Her hands tightened upon the balustrade. “You have no right to address me.”
He moved closer, and the scent of his cologne curled into her lungs like smoke. “No right? My dear, I am your guardian. That means every choice you make, every penny you spend, everyjewel you wear… is mine to permit. And don’t think marriage changes that—not entirely.”
“I am no longer under your care,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “You can’t touch my inheritance or control me.”
His smile deepened, cruel and knowing. “You think a ceremony and a name protect you? You think that brooding husband of yours can keep you safe?” His eyes narrowed, the pleasant mask slipping to reveal the glint beneath: malice, and the satisfaction of a predator toying with prey. “I will have what is mine, Cordelia. You and the fortune that comes with you. If I must drag you through scandal, ruin your good name, or convince the courts that you are unfit to take care of yourself, I will. You may have delayed me, but you have not escaped.”
She tried to take a step back, but his hand shot out, bracing against the stone railing beside her. She could not retreat without stumbling.
“You and your money belong to me,” he said softly, his breath hot against her cheek. “Remember that when you go back inside and play the happy little wife. Because I will be there, waiting and watching. And when you least expect it, I will take everything from you.”
A cold shiver ran through her entire body, but she kept her chin lifted, refusing to let him see her fear. “You’ll find, My Lord,” she said, though her voice trembled, “that I am not as easy to break as you imagine.”
His eyes glittered. “We’ll see.”
Cordelia’s heart was already thundering in her chest, but then Lord Vernon’s lips curved into something far more chilling than a sneer. It was the smug grin of a man who believed himself untouchable.
“You know,” he murmured, voice low and intimate, “your little husband may wear the title, but I doubt he knows what to do with a wife like you. All that spirit… all that fire.” His gaze swept over her in a way that made her skin crawl. “It would take a man like me to… tame you.”
Her stomach lurched. Heat of a different kind, mixed with shame and outrage, rushed to her cheeks. Before she could think, her hand shot up to strike him, the reflex of a woman pushed too far.
But he was faster. His fingers closed around her wrist mid-swing, his grip like iron.
The shock stole her breath. They were close enough now that she could feel the solid press of his body in the narrow space between them, the faint rasp of his breath. The terrace was quiet, and somewhere inside, the music played on, a cheerful, mocking counterpoint to her fear.
