Just then, several things happened at once.
Cecily’s arm slipped free of her satin glove, leaving the garment tangled in Dorian’s fingers.
Her hand, now free, wedged between them to cup his crotch through his fitted black evening breeches.
Dorian, so surprised by the sudden, invasive contact, lost momentary control over Cecily, and she tumbled forward to press their bodies together as she attempted to stroke his unresponsive member. He was sandwiched between the unforgiving stone at his back and Cecily’s insistent advances.
Light spilled out onto the terrace as the doors opened once more. The silhouetted figures exiting to explore the newly refurbished outdoor space turned out to be their hostess, Amelia, and Amelia’s mother, Baroness Wyle.
“As you can see, the stonemasons—” The hostess’s words died at the interruption of Dorian’s undignified yelp of surprise.
All three women’s heads whipped in their direction.
In light of their audience, Cecily seemed to regain control over herself, and she retreated a few steps…but not before Amelia’s keen gaze took in the scene they’d made. Dorian’s heartbeat thudded almost deafeningly in his ears when he saw her eyes flit from where Cecily’s hand had been cupping him, to their flushed faces, and the guilty aversion of Cecily’s eyes.
“Amelia,” Dorian breathed, as much relieved that they’d interrupted the assault as he was embarrassed that he’d allowed himself into such a position. “Darling, I can explain.”
He never had a chance.
Immediately, Amelia gathered her skirts, turned, and fled, bumping shoulders with her aghast mother as she did so.
Little did he know that his entire world would tumble down around him in her wake.
“Amelia!” Dorian called again, dodging around the appropriately abashed Cecily, past the aghast faces of their hostess and a baroness so pale, she looked carved of marble, and he dove back into the ballroom. The throng was parting like tall grasses to the restless wind before a storm as Amelia charged forward, leaving gasping and affronted guests in her wake. Murmured remarks and yelped chastisements went unheeded as she moved as quickly as the crowd would allow. Dorian cursed beneath his breath and moved to follow her.
He called her name once more, not caring that every eye not already turned their way would soon be drawn to the scene playing out. He needed her to stop; he needed her to listen; he needed her to understand that what she’d seen had been out of his control, and that he would gladly surrender all his wealth and title if he could only undo all of it and prevent her from having to bear witness to it.
“Amelia, please!”
She stopped so abruptly that he nearly collided with her when she whirled to face him. The ballroom around them had fallen as silent as a field after a target had been shot.
“How dare you?” she demanded, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “How dare you use my given name and call to me as if I did not just catch you in a compromising situation with another woman?”
Several gasps peppered around them, fans fluttered furiously, shocked grumbles began to surge around them, making Dorian keenly aware that their tragedy had become the evening’s entertainment. He spied Brinley out of the corner of his eye, but he knew none of his friends could offer assistance…not with this.
“Miss Alvin,” Dorian began as calmly as possible despite the painful pounding of his heart, “please, let us speak somewhere in private to clear up this misunderstanding.”
“Are you telling me I cannot trust my own eyes?” she snapped, dark fire rising in her pain-clouded eyes. “That I did not witness another woman touching an indelicate place upon your person?”
Dorian felt his cheeks heat—both at the full realization of what she’d witnessed and at the revelation of that incident to the masses. He’d long prided himself on his scandal-free reputation, and now Amelia held flaming tinder to it and, together, they watched it smolder.
“Please allow me to explain,” he croaked, even though he saw the determination and hurt in her eyes and knew it was futile. Despite the truth of what had transpired, she’d been witness to a compromising situation between her fiancé and another woman. In her mind, she’d already weighed that evidence, placed him on trial, and judged him. He knew even before she opened her beautiful lips that every shred of his hope was about to burst into flames. His heart felt as if it fractured more with every beat.
“Consider our engagement dissolved.” Amelia’s voice caught, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth to stave off a full fit of tears. When she regained some of her composure, she added, “I will not marry a man who whispers words of love to me one moment only to seek comfort in the arms of someone else the next. A scoundrel like that is not worth my time or my heart, and you, Lord Stadewell, are nothing more than a scoundrel.”
Chapter One
Ten years later
“Ihate thatwoman.” Dorian was pacing in the study while his friend, Pearce Brinley, reclined in a chair as he flipped through that day’s paper.
“Hate is a strong word,” Brinley said drolly.
“Fine. I loathe, despise, abhor that fickle-hearted woman.”
“Not much better.”
“Why would you mention her to me when you know how I feel?”
