The lie, or perhaps the promise, settled between them.
Richard turned away before the moment stretched too far, already bracing himself for what lay ahead.
Soho would be dangerous. The truth, more so.
And bringing Victoria with him would change everything.
The ball hosted by the Countess of Mildrake—the invitation from Hyde Park—finally arrived.
Victoria had been anticipating it with a mixture of dread and reluctant excitement. She and Richard had to establish some form of domestic unity in public. Gossip about their sudden reunion and the mysterious child in their care had already begun to spread, and appearances mattered, even if she hated the pretense.
The other reason was simpler: a night away from worries, if only fleeting. She missed the rare indulgence of dressing up purely for the joy of it. There was something decadent in the silk against her skin, the cool brush of satin slippers on polished floors.
She had never liked dressing for attention before—never for the sake of a suitor, but now, as the Duchess of Hawksford, she could do it on her own terms.
When she emerged from the dressing room, the reaction she hadn’t expected struck her like a jolt. Richard’s jaw slackened; his blue eyes widened as if he’d never seen her before. He took her in with a slow gaze, from the carefully pinned curls of her dark-blonde hair to the sapphire gown that clung just enoughto her form without overreaching, down to the delicate satin slippers that peeked from beneath her hem.
“Y-you …” he faltered, his voice breaking slightly as it traveled over the curves of her gown, the faint sparkle of her jewels catching the light.
Victoria’s chest warmed. That gaze, the one that made her feel both desired and small, had always been a dangerous weapon in Richard’s hands. It wasn’t the first time he had looked at her as if she were something newly discovered, yet tonight it felt sharper, more immediate, like he was seeing her for the first time and also claiming her silently before everyone else.
“You’re staring,” she murmured, though she didn’t pull back.
She wanted to, she wanted to tease him, but she also didn’t. Her body hummed with an awareness she had never fully indulged before.
His stare softened slightly, but did not leave her form. Instead, it lingered, appreciating, judging, claiming. Her fingers itched to smooth down her gown, to reclaim some semblance of composure. Yet she didn’t. There was a thrill in feeling so visible to him, so acknowledged, and yet not entirely exposed.
They descended the grand staircase in near silence. Normally, Victoria would have had something biting to remark upon, something clever to throw at him, but she found herself oddly distracted. The awe in his expression seemed to fade, replaced by a seriousness she could not read. Still, the occasional glancehe stole at her drew a flush she could not suppress. Even in her mind, she felt the danger of her heart betraying her composure.
By the time they entered the carriage, she was acutely aware of how closely he walked to her, of the subtle heat that radiated off him, and how impossible it was to focus on anything else when Richard Hawksford was so near.
The ball was as she expected: a swirl of color, scent, and constant movement, with the ton gliding through the room as if they owned it. Victoria adjusted the folds of her sapphire gown, taking a deep breath. Her pulse quickened, but from the faint, steady weight of Richard’s presence behind her.
“Vickie, you must come here!” Daphne’s voice rang across the room, pulling her toward her sisters. “You simply must see the chandelier!”
“I suppose it is …” Victoria said lightly, forcing a smile, though her eyes kept flicking to Richard.
He stood a few feet away, broad-shouldered and still, surveying her as though the rest of the world had disappeared. Each subtle movement of his head, each tightening of his jaw, made her heart skip.
And then someone approached, a man she had not met before. He stopped a few feet away, bowing smoothly. “Good evening, duchess. I am Jonathan Trupleigh, Marquess of Cotswell. I have heard much of you from our mutual friend,” he said, eyes twinkling, warm and unthreatening.
Victoria blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Richard speaks of me?” she asked, a faint lift to her brow.
“Yes, though I assure you, I only know the highlights,” Jonathan replied lightly, bowing again. “I hope this first introduction is as agreeable as it is inevitable.”
Victoria found herself smiling, charmed despite the tension curling in her stomach. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord.”
He gestured slightly toward Richard, who had begun to move toward them. “Evening, Hawksford. Quite shy this evening, are you?”
Victoria’s attention shifted, and her stomach fluttered. Richard’s eyes were locked on her, hands lightly clasped behind his back at first, then moving with deliberate precision to the small of her back. The heat of his hand against her gown was unmistakable, subtle yet commanding. The touch startled her, awareness snapping to every detail of him: the tilt of his head, the controlled tension in his frame, the quiet authority that made the entire room seem to blur around them.
“Evening, Cotswell,” Richard said, voice low, deliberate, keeping his eyes on Jonathan. “I believe I should escort my wife this evening.”
Jonathan’s smile remained polite, though his eyes betrayed amusement. “By all means, Your Grace. I would not presume to intrude.”
Richard’s hand pressed just slightly more firmly to the small of her back. Victoria felt herself respond, a shiver trailing along her spine. The possessive pressure, subtle yet undeniable, left her cheeks warm. Her pulse raced, awareness of the room and Jonathan fading, leaving only the proximity of her husband.
“Duchess, the music is about to begin,” Richard murmured, his lips close enough that only she could hear.
