Lady Charlotte greeted her with a warm embrace, her friendship and genuine concern a soothing balm to Selina's frayed edges. "Selina, my dear, you look positively radiant," Charlotte exclaimed, her eyes bright.
"Thank you for the kind words, Charlotte," Selina responded, offering a tight-lipped smile. She took a moment to admire the splendor of the garden party,it seemed every member of the elite and privileged had turned out.
"Is... is he here?" Selina whispered, leaning in closer to Charlotte under the pretense of admiring a nearby arrangement of peonies.
"Lord Blackwood? Yes, he arrived some time ago," Charlotte replied, her gaze following Selina's as it scanned the crowd. "He's been quite the center of attention, as usual."
"Thankful am I for your help in getting the scoundrel here, dearest Charlotte," Selina said, her gratitude genuine despite the weight of the task before her.
With a nod to her friend, she navigated through clusters of gossiping matrons and posturing gentlemen. Her lavender skirts rustling against the grass as she moved through the crush.
Finally, her eyes found him. James Barton, Viscount Blackwood, stood near a marble fountain, his posture relaxed, a glass of claret in hand. The scoundrel’s laughter echoed above the genteel chatter, ensnaring the adoration of those who lingered on his every word. He was the epitome of charm and confidence, a visage she knew all too well to be wary of.
Selina navigated the throng of nobility with measured grace, her eyes never leaving Lord Blackwood. Amidst the verdant splendor of Lady Charlotte's gardens, he was a dark star in the daylight, drawing gazes as surely as night summons shadows. The murmur of voices around her faded to a distant hum as Selina continued toward him, every step amplifying the accusation that had taken root in her soul.
James, ensconced in the light-hearted banter of his peers, paused mid-sentence as his gaze intercepted hers. Amidst the gardens blooms and fluttering laughter, an invisible thread pulled taut between them, woven of equal parts suspicion and curiosity. In that charged glance, the air seemed to grow thick, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths and lies alike.
She steeled herself as she closed the distance between them, her stride purposeful, her intentions cloaked behind a mask of polite indifference. The questions she intended to ask danced on her tongue, ready to be unleashed. Today was the day he would discover her intentions.
"Viscount Blackwood," Selina greeted coolly as she came upon him, her tone laced with the subtlest hint of dislike.
"Countess Hollyfield, what an unexpectedpleasure," James replied, stepping away from those he’d been speaking with, his smile unfaltering. "To find you here amidst such joyful reprieve is to see a rose among thorns. And that you have sought me out. To what do I owe this delight?"
Her eyes locked with his in a silent challenge. "Your flattery remains as barbed as ever," Selina retorted, refusing to succumb to the warmth of his charm. "One might wonder your flowery words conceal."
"Surely you jest," James quipped, his eyebrow arching in feigned surprise. "I hide nothing, my dear countess. Come now, let us not shadow this delightful occasion with such talk."
"Yet shadows cling to you most persistently, do they not?" Selina pressed, her tone steady, though the undercurrent of her grief threatened to surface. "One suspects that where Lord Blackwood stands, darkness follows."
"Accusations without evidence are but whispers in the wind, Lady Hollyfield," he countered, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that bordered on defiance. Yet beneath the assured veneer, there lurked a flicker of something else—an acknowledgment of the stakes at play.
"Whispers can be quite revealing, should oneonly listen," she said, stepping closer, the space between them charged with a tension that belied their tranquil surroundings.
Their proximity was dangerous, the heat of his body a weapon against her cool resolve. The subtle scent of him—sandalwood and spice—threatened to dismantle the walls she had so carefully erected. Yet, Selina stood her ground, her gaze never faltering from his.
"Then let us hope, my dear, that the breeze carries only truths this day," James said, his voice low.
"Indeed," Selina replied, her breath catching slightly as the intensity of their encounter wove a seductive spell around her.
Selina drew in a steadying breath, feeling the weave of her silk gloves tighten against her skin as she clenched her hands. She held the damning letter with an unyielding grip, evidence that could very well rip apart the carefully constructed façade of Viscount Blackwood.
"My Lord," she said, the timbre of her voice betraying no hint of the tumultuous storm raging within her. "A private word, if you please." Her request was laced with the decorum expected among the ton, yet it carried the weight of an unspokenthreat.
He offered his arm, the corners of his mouth lifting in a semblance of a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "very well.”
"I would rather not, my lord," Selina said sharply, a glimmer of fire igniting in her gaze as she strode away from his crowd of admirers. Once out of earshot, she turned back to him. Selina unfolded the parchment between them. "What knowledge have you of these accusations?" Her finger jabbed at the inked words, each one a silent scream for justice.
His gaze flickered to the paper, his blue eyes sharp and assessing. "Accusations? Of what? There is no crime in wagering.” He met her gaze. “My dear countess, you wound me with your lack of faith."
"Faith has little to do with it," Selina retorted, her heart thrumming with a potent blend of fear and resolve. It was not merely her reputation at stake but the memory of Nile, whose specter lay between them, a silent witness to their confrontation.
"Two hundred pounds wagered on a race is a great deal of money for anyone to risk." The words fell from her lips like stones into still water, causing ripples that would soon become waves. "An axle that mysteriously fails at a critical moment resulting in you winning theoutrageous wager. You must understand why such...coincidences give rise to questions of integrity."
"Integrity?" Lord Blackwood echoed, his voice smooth. He leaned closer, bridging the gap she had meticulously maintained. "Surely, Lady Hollyfield, a woman of your intellect would not be swayed by mere hearsay."
"Intellect demands I follow where evidence leads," she replied, every syllable measured and precise. "And it has led me to you."
"Then allow me to allay your fears," James offered, a dangerous glint surfacing within the depths of his gaze. "For I assure you, the only thing I am guilty of is being ensnared by the charms of the most captivating widow in London."
