“Indeed. Please, sit. Tea?”
“No, thank you.” Rees remained standing, his posture military-straight. “I have obtained the special license. The ceremony will take place in five days at St. George’s. I have arranged for only immediate family to attend—I assume that meets with your approval?”
“Perfectly suitable,” her father agreed, though Victoria saw her mother’s face fall slightly at the thought of such a small wedding. “The settlements—”
“My man of business will call this afternoon with the documents. Lady Victoria will want for nothing.” The words were correct but delivered with such coldness that they felt like an accusation rather than reassurance.
“Excellent. I will just fetch the family papers from my study.” Her father rose, eager to escape the tension. “A moment, if you please.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click that seemed to echo like thunder. Victoria stood frozen by the settee, acutely aware of her mother’s presence and Rees standing near the door as if poised to flee. The silence stretched, taut.
“Mr. Harcourt,” Victoria began, her voice thin but determined. “I wanted to say, that is, I am grateful for your—”
“Do not.” The word cracked like a whip, making her flinch. His eyes burned with barely contained fury. “Do not thank me for being trapped. It is insulting to us both.”
“I did not mean—” She stopped, started again. “I thought you entered the challenge willingly. The wine, your friends encouraging you—I never imagined you did not understand—”
“How convenient.” He took a step closer, and she saw her mother shift nervously. “Tell me, Lady Victoria, was it your idea or Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s? The impossible riddle, the technicality about traditional stakes? Or perhaps Lord Sterling helped you plan it? An amusing joke between you—ruin the woman, then trap his rival into cleaning up the mess?”
The accusation hit her like a physical blow. For a moment, she could not speak, could not think past the horror that he believed—that he thought she and Damian—
“How dare you!” The words erupted from deep inside. “How dare you suggest I would conspire with that monster? Damian Herford assaulted me! He lured me to the garden with a forged note, trapped me against a wall, tore my dress when I tried to escape. He arranged for witnesses to find us at precisely the right moment to ensure my ruin. He destroyed my life for sport, for the pleasure of watching me fall!”
“Then why did he not marry you?” Rees’s voice was cold, skeptical. He glanced away for a heartbeat. “If he went to such trouble to compromise you, why not claim the prize?”
Victoria’s composure shattered. Tears spilled over, hot and shameful. “Because I was not the prize—my destruction was. He laughed when my father demanded he marry me. Laughed! Said his family would never accept someone so desperate. He told everyone I had thrown myself at him. And the worst part? People believed him. They chose to believe I was that pathetic, that desperate for his attention, rather than believe a lord capable of such cruelty.”
She saw something flicker across Rees’s face—doubt, perhaps—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by coldness.
“Regardless of what happened with Sterling,” he said, his voice flat, “you still chose to trap me. You made that decision, signed that contract, waited in the shadows while I walked into your snare. That, Lady Victoria, is what I cannot forgive. I will do my duty, but I will not be made a fool.”
They stood separated by the width of the room. Victoria felt hollowed out, exhausted. She had told him the truth, and he had chosen not to believe it. What more was there to say?
Her father returned then, papers in hand, breaking the tension. The rest of the visit passed in a blur of signatures and arrangements, discussions of where they would live, what staff would be required, and when the announcement would appear. Through it all, Rees maintained his frigid courtesy, addressing her only when necessary, his gaze sliding past her as if she were furniture.
When he finally rose to leave, he paused at the door. “We will marry in five days, Lady Victoria. I will provide for you as duty demands and protect you from further scandal. But do not expect more than that. Do not expect affection or warmth or any pretense that this is anything other than what it is—a trap that caught us both.”
The door closed behind him. Victoria stood for a moment, then her knees gave out, and she collapsed onto the settee, sobs tearing from her throat as her mother rushed to hold her, murmuring comfort against hair that smelled of lavender.
***
The leather chair creaked as Rees slumped lower, the amber liquid in his glass glinting in the gaslight, his fourth, or was it fifth? The private corner of White’s he had claimed with Rafe and Alistair was thick with cigar smoke, obscuring the oil paintings of racehorses and past members that lined the walls. Around them, the usual evening crowd engaged in cards and conversation, but Rees heard none of it, his focus on the brandy that burned a path down his throat without quite reaching the cold knot in his chest.
“Sterling,” he muttered, then caught himself, jaw clenching. “Sterling. Of course, it is connected to Sterling.” His hand wavered as he reached for the decanter again, the crystal stopper chiming against the neck like a mocking bell.
Rafe and Alistair exchanged concerned glances. Rafe leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice low enough not to carry to the nearby tables. “The whole thing is the talk of every club in London. They are saying her dress was half torn off when the witnesses found them.”
“Torn?” Alistair took a thoughtful pull from his cigar. “That is an interesting detail. It suggests struggle rather than enthusiasm.”
“Or a dramatic touch for her little scene.” Rees’s words slurred at the edges, the excellent brandy finally beginning to blur the sharp edges of his humiliation. “She needed to look properly compromised, did she not? Needed those witnesses to believe she had been thoroughly debauched by the magnificent Lord Sterling.”
“Except Sterling refused to marry her.” Rafe barely contained his anger. “His father laughed in Lord Richmond’s face when he demanded satisfaction. Said his son would never stoop to marry such a desperate creature.”
The words hit Rees like ice water, clearing the alcoholic haze. He straightened slightly, fingers tightening on his glass until the cut crystal pressed painfully into his palm. “The bastard ruined her, and I am cleaning up his mess.”
There it was, spoken aloud—the truth that had been eating at him since he recognized Victoria Richmond behind that veil. Every time he looked at her, he saw Sterling’s handiwork. Every time he touched her—would he even be able to touch her?—he would wonder if she was comparing him to that smirking bastard. London society would whisper about it forever, how Rees Harcourt had been forced to marry Sterling’s leavings, how he had literally paid for another man’s pleasure.
“At least she is beautiful,” Alistair offered, then winced at the look Rees shot him. “I am just saying it could be worse. You could be shackled to someone hideous as well as ruined.”
