Her heart gave a sharp, incredulous beat.
“He was not the man you imagined,” William continued, his face so near she could see the faint sheen in his eyes. “Your father’s affairs were not simple misfortune. There were transactions. Dangerous men. His brother was involved. You think Thornton stands above it? He stands upon it.”
“You lie,” she said evenly.
His jaw flexed. The mask slipped a fraction.
“You are naive,” he said, the softness draining from his voice. “He gains from your ignorance. He always has. You think he shelters you from charity? He shelters you from truth.”
“I trust him more than I have ever trusted you.”
The words struck.
The quartet began to play, music rising beneath the trees as guests drifted outward, drawn by sound and lantern light.
William’s grip tightened until pain flared white-hot up her arm.
“You will regret that loyalty,” he said quietly.
She twisted, trying to wrench free. “Let me go.”
Instead, he stepped in, caging her fully against the pillar. He slid his free hand to her jaw, fingers pressing hard enough to force her chin upward.
Panic surged through her.
“Do not,” she warned.
He kissed her.
There was no hesitation in it. No confusion. No mistake.
She shoved his chest, twisted her face away, her free hand striking uselessly against his shoulder. The stone bit cold into her spine as his mouth pressed harder, possessive and deliberate.
Even as she struggled, she felt the shift—the careful positioning, the calculated angle of his body toward the garden path.
He was not losing control. He was staging it.
The music swelled. Footsteps approached along the gravel.
Then a scream tore through the night.
High. Piercing. Perfectly timed.
Chapter 28
Lady Amelia stood rigid near the fountain, one gloved hand pressed dramatically to her breast.
Gasps traveled outward in uneven waves. Heads turned. Fans snapped shut.
Edward followed her gaze. And the world narrowed.
Beneath the arbor, half-shrouded in climbing ivy and lantern shadow, William had Charlotte backed against one of the stone pillars. His hand was not merely at her wrist—it was clamped around it. Possessive. Controlling.
His other hand was at her jaw. His mouth was on hers.
It was not a hesitant near-kiss. Not an ambiguous proximity. It was unmistakable. Deliberate.
Edward saw the tension in her body at once. The way her shoulders were rigid. How her free hand pushed weakly at his chest. The way her head was angled away rather than toward him.
