She rolled her eyes but continued. “I’d only just settled into a chair when the door opened, and Lord Haverford stumbled in. He was half-drunk, his tie askew, and he was clearly looking for a quiet corner to… well, be indiscreet with…someone. When he saw me, he stopped short.”
Austin’s brow lifted; he made a mental note of Lord Haverford’s name. “And?”
“I stood at once. ‘My lord,’ I said, as politely as I could manage, ‘this room is occupied. Please leave.’”
He could picture her, eighteen, proud even then, with her chin high. “And did he?”
“Not immediately.” Her voice cooled. “He laughed and said something about how a little company might improve my evening. I told him again, more firmly, that I wished to be alone and he should go before anyone noticed.”
Austin’s jaw tightened. “The bastard.”
Deena shrugged, though tension lingered in her shoulders. “We argued, and he advanced and grabbed my wrists. I fought against his grip until he let go, and I retreated behind a chair. I threatened to call for my brother, and Haverford laughed and called me a cold little thing who needed some warming up. And then—” Her voice cracked.
“What did he do?” Austin growled.
“As he was approaching me again, this time with more darkness in his eyes, the matron opened the door and… the rest was history. We were alone. Unchaperoned. That was all.” Her shoulders drooped.
Silence settled between them, heavy as the night air, broken only by the soft hum of fireflies.
“Did he touch you?” Austin asked, his voice low, edged with a quiet fury.
Deena met his gaze, her green eyes steady but shadowed with old weariness. “No. Not in the way you mean. He only grabbed my wrists.”
Austin’s jaw tightened. “But he wanted to.”
She looked away, toward the drifting lights in the meadow. “Yes. I believe he did.”
“Without your consent?”
“Yes.”
The muscle in his cheek flexed. “Is he here? Participating in your grandmother’s Duke Hunt?”
Deena turned back, brows drawing together. “Not this season. Why?”
Austin shrugged. “No reason.”
She studied him for a long moment, suspicion flickering. “All right…”
He exhaled slowly, reining in the protective anger that had flared so suddenly. “And then what happened?”
Deena’s shoulders lifted in a small, resigned breath. “By morning, the story had grown, whispers of embraces, of torn gowns, of things I’d never even imagined. Dominic did what he thought was best. He sent me to Paris to let the scandal die down. But it never truly died, did it?”
Austin placed a steady hand on her tiny shoulder. “It should have. You did nothing wrong.”
“Tell that to theton,” she said bitterly, then softened. “Though… thank you. For saying it.”
He wanted to pull her against him and shield her from every whispered judgment and potential threat. Instead, he only murmured, “You deserved better, then. And you deserve better now.”
Her gaze returned to his. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she gave a small, cheeky smile. “Your turn, Your Grace. I believe you owe me something equally if not more scandalous.”
“Thatwas the great scandal?”
“Yes.” Her tone was wry. “Reputation cares nothing for truth.”
He shook his head slowly. “Women have it damned harder than we do. A man could be caught in the act and still be invited to Almack’s. You read a book in the wrong room with the wrong man and are exiled for five years.”
