“No,” Sesily sighed, distractedly scanning those assembled. “But it’s much more fun if it might. And I’m not ending up in Scotland. No offense, Your Grace.”
“None taken,” Alec said. “Should I apologize?”
“It would not be out of line,” Sesily replied.
Alec put a hand to his chest. “It is, of course, my loss.”
Sesily grinned. “Handsome, rich, titled, and intelligent, to boot. A terrible pity.”
The group laughed, and Lily couldn’t help herself from joining in, ignoring the thread of envy that coursed through her at Sesily’s easy way of bringing out Alec’s good humor. Lily wanted that humor for herself.
She stiffened at the thought. No. No she didn’t.
She didn’t want to like him.
She wanted to leave him behind and start a new life. Far from him.
The orchestra began to play, and like magic, Earl Clare and Mark Landry appeared as if from nowhere to chaperone their respective Talbot sisters to the dance. Eversley bowed elaborately in the direction of his wife. “My love?” he said, the words low and dark like a promise.
Sophie blushed prettily, and took her husband’s hand. “You know that, as hostess, I shall have to dance with others as well.”
Eversley’s brow furrowed. “Then let it be clear that I’m in no way interested in hosting more events. You may dance with Warnick. But that’s it.”
Sophie laughed and called to Alec over her shoulder as her husband dragged her into the fray. “I’m sorry you’ll be saddled with me, Your Grace!”
They were left with Sesily, and Lily sent a little grateful prayer up to the gods for that, as she couldn’t bear to be alone with Alec. Not after the way he’d betrayed her. She willed him to ask the unspoken for Talbot sister to dance. But Sesily beat him to it. Turning to face them, she said, “You must dance.”
“I—” Lily began over the pounding of her heart, but Alec cut her off.
“No.”
Lily ignored the disappointment that came at the curt dismissal. She wasn’t disappointed. She didn’t want anything to do with the man. And she certainly didn’t want to have to dance with him. Touching him was out of the question.
Sesily had other ideas, apparently. “It’s not negotiable. This is the first ball of her first season and she’s wearing . . . well . . . what she’s wearing. You’re the highest-ranking man who knows her. So you have to dance with her.”
“No one knows who I am,” he said.
Sesily smirked. “Your Grace. You’re an unmarried duke with a king’s fortune. You’d have to be a thorough cabbagehead to believe that no one knows who you are. You may have the worst tailor in Christendom, but you’re not a cabbagehead, are you?”
Lily had her own opinions on this particular question, but she stayed quiet.
“I’m her guardian. Surely that’s not proper.”
Sesily raised a brow. “Half the guardians in London end up marrying their wards. It’s an epidemic.”
Lily didn’t stay quiet then. “Not this guardian. Not this ward.”
Warnick cut her a look and said, “I assure you, Lady Sesily, that is not in the cards.”
Sesily watched them both for a long moment before saying, “Certainly not. And yet still, you must dance.”
At that, the massive Scot sighed and reached for Lily, clearly believing that the inquisition of Sesily Talbot’s gaze was less hospitable than a turn about the dance floor with his ward. “Let’s get on with it, then.”
She snatched her hand back. “No, thank you.”
Sesily turned to watch her carefully and then said, “I hadn’t picked you for the cabbagehead in the scenario.”
“I’m not a cabbagehead. I’m simply not interested in dancing with him.”
Sesily considered the duke with a long, head-to-toe look, and then said, “Is he rough with you?”
“No. Not unless you count his forcing me to come here tonight.”
“I don’t,” Sesily said before leaning in and saying, quietly, “Lovely Lily, you haven’t a choice. Dance with the duke and let London get a good look at you in your dog dress, before they get a good look at you with no dress at all.”
Lily froze.
Sesily raised a brow. “The painting is on everyone’s lips and you know it. It doesn’t help that Derek Hawkins is here this evening, arrived like the unwelcome rat he is on the arm of some ancient widow, one foot in the damn grave. No doubt he thinks she’ll leave him a fortune if he plays her dandy, the bastard.”
There was no time to be shocked by Sesily’s language, Lily’s panic flaring, along with frustration. She looked toward Alec in desperation, but his gaze was trained on the far wall of the room. She swallowed around the knot in her throat. “I should like to leave.”
“No,” Alec said, and she whirled to argue with him.
Sesily spoke first. “Listen to me, Lillian Hargrove. I know better than anyone what Hawkins can make a woman do. If you’re to survive this, you must do all you can to make him the villain. The first step is to make London love you. Which begins with dancing with your duke.”
He’s not my duke.
Surprisingly those were the only words Lily could think as shock and horror coursed through her, so much so that she barely heard Alec’s soft, rolling “Come.” He was looking at her when she turned to him the second time, his hand outstretched, rich brown eyes holding her gaze.
Holding her.
She settled her hand into his outstretched one even as she resisted the idea. Even as Sesily’s words echoed through her. Even as he was pulling her into the dance, pulling her close.
At another time, in another place, she might have realized that Alec Stuart, twenty-first and unwilling Duke of Warnick, was a dancer of the highest caliber. Might have asked why that was the case, considering his eschewing of all things Society. But she didn’t. She was too focused on a different man, a man she’d once believed she loved.
A man who had lied to her.
A man who had tempted her with pretty promises. Who’d convinced her to trust him. To pose for his painting without considering the repercussions of the act. Without considering the possibility of what might happen if it were ever discovered.
The woman the world would think her.