He halted with visible effort. “Mother, move.”
Her eyes flashed. “I will not. You have humiliated this house enough for one evening.”
Howard dragged Gwen down the corridor, his grip bruising. She could still hear the Dowager Duchess and Victor’s voices growing sharper.
“You have behaved most inappropriately,” the Dowager Duchess hissed. “A gentleman does not compromise a lady in his own study, in his own house, in full view of half the ton!”
“I did not invite them to follow us,” Victor retorted. “And I did not compromise her. You saw what happened.”
“I saw you on the floor with that girl in your arms,” the Dowager Duchess snapped. “That is what everyone will remember. That is what they will speak about tomorrow. Not your careful negotiations, not your dutiful management of the estate. They will speak about your scandal.”
“Let them,” Victor said.
Gwen’s breath hitched.
The Dowager Duchess’s voice dropped, cold and cutting. “You are the Duke of Greystone. You have worked for years to keep your name above reproach. Now, you throw it away for a girl who has already ruined herself?”
Gwen flinched as if struck.
Howard did not slow down. “Do you hear that?” he muttered. “Even his mother thinks you are worthless.”
Gwen said nothing.
Victor’s answer came a moment later. “I do not care.”
“You do not care?” The Dowager Duchess’s voice sounded almost strangled.
“No,” Victor replied. “Not about the gossip. Not about their whispers. Not about the ton.”
“You are speaking nonsense,” the Dowager Duchess scoffed. “You cannot mean such a thing.”
“I only care about her,” Victor declared, his voice loud enough that it carried down the corridor.
Gwen’s feet faltered. Howard jerked her forward again with a curse.
Her thoughts spun. Victor had said it plainly. In front of his mother. In front of anyone within earshot.
“I only care about her.”
She did not know whether to feel elation or terror.
They reached the main hall. Conversation faltered as they passed. She felt the weight of a dozen eyes on her, caught movement at the edges of her vision as guests pretended not to stare.
Howard did not stop. He hauled her toward the front door, his grip punishing. A footman scrambled to open it before they collided with polished wood.
The cold night air hit her like a slap.
“My Lord, wait,” she tried, breathless. “Please. Let my mother?—”
“Your mother will follow,” Howard said curtly. “After she apologizes to our hostess for raising such a harlot.”
The word sliced deep. She stumbled on the top step and nearly fell. He jerked her upright again without the slightest gentleness.
The carriage waited at the curb. The driver stared straight ahead, studiously pretending that he saw nothing.
Gwen’s heart raced. She could feel the ghost of the blow on her cheek while imagining the fresh one about to fall.
Howard dragged her toward the carriage. Behind them, footsteps pounded.
