“Lady Sophia.”
The voice slithered down her spine. She turned to find Lord Drakeston standing too close, his pale eyes gleaming in the candlelight.
“I believe this dance is mine.”
“I have not agreed to dance with you.”
Drakeston stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “I thought you might wish to reconsider. These gatherings do provide excellent opportunities for conversation. About all manner of topics. Family matters. Financial arrangements.” His smile widened. “Debts.”
Sophia’s blood turned to ice.
“I would hate for certain information to reach the wrong ears.” Drakeston offered his hand. “A single dance, my lady. Surely, that is not too much to ask.”
She stared at his outstretched hand. Every instinct screamed at her to refuse. To walk away. To find Edward or Hugo or anyone who might shield her from this man.
But she could not. Not without risking everything.
She placed her hand in his.
Drakeston’s fingers closed around hers, too tight, too possessive. He led her onto the floor, and the music began.
A waltz. The most intimate of dances, the one that required the closest contact.
Drakeston pulled her closer than propriety allowed. His hand pressed against her lower back, fingers splayed wide. His breath was hot against her ear.
“You dance beautifully, Sophia.” His thumb traced a slow circle against her spine. “I wonder what other talents this luscious body of yours possesses.”
Sophia stiffened. “You forget yourself, my lord.”
He spun her through a turn, his grip tightening. “Oh, I think I know exactly what I am doing. And what you are willing to endure to protect your family’s secrets.”
Bile rose in her throat. His hands on her felt like a violation, his fingers pressing into her flesh as though he already owned her. She wanted to wrench herself free, to slap the smug satisfaction from his face, to scream the truth of what he was to everyone in this glittering ballroom.
But she could not. Her father’s debts bound her to this man as surely as shackles, and Drakeston knew it. He was enjoying her helplessness, savoring it like a cat toying with a mouse it had already caught.
“You are despicable.”
“I am practical.” Drakeston’s lips brushed her ear as he spoke. “As are you. We are not so different, you and I.”
“We are nothing alike.”
His hand slid lower on her back, grazing the curve of her hip. “We both know what it is to want things we cannot have. To do what is necessary to survive, and to wear masks for the world while hiding our true natures.”
Sophia felt sick. The room spun around her, a blur of light and color. She counted the measures of music and tried to will the dance to end.
But his words burrowed under her skin, twisting something inside her.
How dare he compare them? Yes, she wore a mask. Yes, she hid her true nature from the world. But Lady Fairhart brought people together. She created happiness, forged connections, and helped lonely souls find their way to one another. She had never used her secrets to extort money from desperate families. She had never preyed on the vulnerable. And she had never taken pleasure in another person’s suffering.
They were nothing alike. And the fact that he believed otherwise only proved how little he understood about anything that mattered.
“Your father was a weak man.” Drakeston’s voice was soft and poisonous. “He gambled away everything and left you to clean up his mess. How noble of you. How pathetic.”
“Do not speak of my father.”
“Or what?” Drakeston laughed, low and ugly. “You will report me? To whom? The Duke, who is too busy courting his perfect lady to heed you? The ton who already thinks you are beneath notice?” His grip tightened to the point of pain. “You have no power here, dear Sophia. You havenothing. Except what I allow you to keep.”
Each word found its mark, precise and merciless. He was right. That was the worst of it. She had no allies here, no protectors, no one who would believe her word against that of a marquess. She was alone in a room full of people, trapped in the arms of a predator who knew exactly how vulnerable she was.
