“And the mother? What was she like, this Irish farmer’s daughter who captured the heart of a viscount?”
“She was his wife,” Courtney said, wondering why he would ask such a question. “And she is deceased. It’s hardly appropriate to discuss her.”
“His wife,” Lockwood repeated, as if testing the word. “Yes, of course. How unfortunate that she passed before she could join London society.”
“I believe we’ve entertained your conversation long enough, Baron,” Ashley said firmly. “If you’ll excuse us.”
Lockwood bowed, but his eyes never left Courtney’s face. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of imposing further. But LadyCourtney, should you ever wish to learn more about your returned fiancé’s…adventures in Ireland, I would be most happy to share what I’ve discovered.”
There was something disturbing in his tone, a hint of malice thinly veiled as concern. Courtney felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
“I doubt you could tell me anything of value that Lucien could not tell me himself,” she replied icily.
“Perhaps not,” he conceded, though his smile suggested otherwise. “But it’s always wise to know the truth about those closest to us, wouldn’t you agree? Especially when children are involved.”
Before she could respond, Ivy stepped forward, deliberately placing herself between Courtney and the baron. “I believe Lord Blackstone was looking for you in the card room, Baron. Something about a wager from last week’s races.”
It was a blatant fabrication, but an effective one. Lockwood hesitated, clearly weighing the potential advantage of continuing his conversation against the risk of offending a duke.
“I should hate to keep His Grace waiting,” he said finally. “Ladies, it has been a pleasure. Lady Courtney—” he bowed over her hand, his grip lingering uncomfortably “—until our next meeting.”
As he disappeared back through the terrace doors, the tension among the women eased tangibly.
“What an odious man,” Claire declared, shuddering slightly.
“He’s dangerous,” Lauren added, her expression troubled. “Lucien said as much after their confrontation at Crockford’s. My father, who was well in his cups, lost a significant sum to the baron and he was deliberately attempting to win more when Lucien intervened.”
“And now it seems he’s seeking some form of revenge,” Ivy observed. “Though what he hopes to accomplish by makingvague insinuations about Lucien’s time in Ireland, I can’t imagine.”
More concerning was his evident interest in Ava-Marie. What possible reason could he have for asking about the child’s mother?
“Are you all right, Court?” Ashley asked gently. “You’ve gone quite pale.”
“I’m fine,” she replied automatically, though her mind was racing. “Just tired. Perhaps I should return to the ballroom.”
“We’ll all go,” Valora declared, linking her arm through Courtney’s. “Safety in numbers. That man is vile.”
As they made their way back inside, Courtney scanned the crowd for Lucien. She spotted him across the room, deep in conversation with Rockwell. His expression was serious, intent, so different from the carefree viscount she’d known before. Yet there was something compelling in that seriousness, a depth that drew her, even as it reminded her how much he had changed.
Whether Lockwood was merely being malicious or truly knew something about Lucien’s time in Ireland, one thing was clear: she needed to proceed with care. Not just to protect her own heart, but perhaps Lucien’s as well. Whatever Lockwood was planning, he clearly meant harm to the Furoe family.
And despite everything that had happened, despite her lingering uncertainties, she found herself unwilling to allow that. If Lockwood thought he could use her as a pawn in whatever game he was playing, he would soon discover his mistake. She might be cautious with her heart these days, but her loyalty—once given—was not easily shaken.
As if sensing her gaze, Lucien looked up, his eyes finding hers across the crowded ballroom. Something passed between them, a silent recognition, a connection that transcended memory.He excused himself from Rockwell and began making his way toward her, his expression warming as he drew near.
“You look troubled,” he said without preamble when he reached her side. “Has something happened?”
The concern in his voice was genuine, and Courtney found herself momentarily at a loss for words.
“It’s nothing,” she said finally, deciding that Lockwood’s insinuations could wait for a more private moment. “Just a tiresome conversation on the terrace.”
Lucien studied her face, clearly unconvinced. “I see.” His gaze moved to where Lockwood had entered the ballroom behind them, and his expression hardened. “Did the baron have something to say that upset you?”
His perception surprised her. “How did you know it was Lockwood?”
“The way you’re looking at him,” Lucien replied simply. “Like he’s a particularly unpleasant insect you found in your tea.”
Despite herself, Courtney laughed. “What a charming analogy.”
