“Betrothed?”gasped Miss Westcott.
“But you..he…when…” Lady Rothley stammered, robbed of her usual poise.
Lady Stratmore’s mask slipped enough to reveal her astonishment.“How positively thrilling,” she managed.
Clara, flushed to her hairline, risked a glance at Oakford.He met her eyes, and in the split second before he smiled, she saw it—the glimmer of genuine surprise, the calculation as he pivoted to meet her audacity.Then, with the utmost gravity, he took her hand and pressed it to his lips.
“I had hoped to keep our betrothal private until I had spoken with your father,” he said, a master of theater.“But it seems the fates have forced our hand.”
Lady Stratmore, never one to lose advantage, stepped forward.“You must allow us to congratulate you!What a coup!Oh, Lady Clara, what happiness for your family.And for you, Lord Oakford, a most splendid match.”
Clara nodded, teeth clenched so tightly her jaw smarted.She felt Oakford’s grip on her waist tighten, as though to steady her, or perhaps to keep her from bolting.
Miss Westcott, emboldened by scandal, asked, “How long have you…?”
“Since this evening,” Clara said, heart racing.“It was… unexpected.”
“Love always is,” Oakford supplied.He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear.“Well played,” he murmured.“I thought I was the devil, but perhaps you rival me.”
She did not answer.There was no triumph in her, only a swirl of conflicting emotions—rage, humiliation, and a dangerous flicker of pride that she had dared take control, even if the cost might be everything.
As the ball resumed and guests began to murmur their speculations behind embroidered fans, Clara tugged Lord Oakford into a shadowed hallway off the main ballroom.A roar filled her ears, each heartbeat drumming louder than the last, the weight of what she had done settling over her.
Had she truly just announced an engagement to Crispin Hallworth—the one man she loathed more than any other?A dozen consequences spun through her mind, each more dire than the last.She could see her mother’s dismay, hear the giddy horror in society’s whispers.Was this survival, or disaster?She was not yet sure, but her pride refused to let her retreat.Her fingers trembled as she released his arm, betraying the vulnerability she had so carefully masked.
“Have you gone mad?”she snapped the moment they were alone.
“Possibly,” Oakford said, stepping closer, each motion deliberate, as if the tension between them warranted nothing more than idle distraction.“But I would say the madness lies with you, Lady Clara.An engagement?Truly?”
“You kissed me before half of London!”
“You kissed me back…ardently.”
She peered at him.“That is a lie.”
He leaned in, his voice a velvet murmur laced with amusement and danger.“It felt very real to me.”
A tremor ran through her, chest tight and throat constricting, not just from anger, but from the echo of that kiss still humming on her lips.“You have managed to ruin me.Again.”
His expression changed.A brief flicker of something behind his mocking gaze.Then he smirked, though the glint in his eye veiled something far more calculating.“If I am to play the part of your betrothed, Lady Clara, I might as well enjoy the advantages.Do you not agree?”
“I will never allow?—”
“Oh, but darling,” he murmured, stepping closer, “you already have.”
Her breath stuttered, a flicker of danger coiling low in her belly.She clenched her fists, furious at the thrill that followed.The infuriating way her body reacted despite her better judgment.A flush rose along her collarbone, confusion mingling with a hunger she scarcely understood.One forged from fury, history, and the undeniable pull of his mouth on hers.
Clara met his gaze.Whatever came next, she would face it with her head high.She had survived one scandal.She would survive this too.Even if it meant facing the Devil of Oakford himself...every day, until the lie unraveled or the truth became unbearable.
Chapter2
Crispin Hallworth, Earl of Oakford, was no stranger to spectacle, nor the consequences that followed.He leaned half-shrouded in shadow and studied Lady Clara Mapleton with the cool appraisal of a man contemplating a particularly beautiful dagger—elegant, dangerous, and recently turned against him.She stood a few paces away, her posture rigid, her crimson gown still echoing the scandal of the moment, as music drifted from the ballroom, filling the surrounding corridor.
Engaged.
He nearly laughed again.
Of all the unpredictable, deliciously brazen things Clara could have done, this, announcing an engagement before half the ton, was inspired.Reckless, yes.Foolish, certainly.But inspired.And now she was glaring at him as though he had orchestrated the entire evening.
