Page 92 of The Duke and the Runaway Bride

“No,youforced yourself on me, and I had to fend you off. Tell them the truth, Your Grace!”

Agnes started down the stairs, and Edwin put himself between her and his wife.

“Father!” Agnes shouted. “Father, tell him about the dowry! Tell him you will double it! I am worth that much!”

The Viscount looked shocked. “You informed me you had the situation under control, my dear,” he said, trying to soothe her. “I can’t… I don’t have that sort of money. Perhaps we can talk about this later?”

“No!” Agnes shouted. “No, we will talk about this now.” She turned to Edwin. “She has a secret child, and I know your marriage has been struggling, and she does not love you, and she goes out drinking alone at night with the commoners. She likely pays them to sleep with her.”

She had set out to make the ball one of the premium events of the Season, and she had not done that, but it did not mean the event would not be talked about for a very long time. The guests were engrossed with what was going on, and if the Viscount and his wife were ever to host a ball again, everyone would want to attend in the hopes of seeing something equally as exciting.

“That is enough!” Edwin boomed. “If you say another word, there will be further consequences for you and your family. I will not be spoken to like that, and neither should anyone else. I attended this ball as a courtesy, but it is clear you had nefarious ideas. I will listen to your ramblings no longer and put the safety of my family before your schemes.” He walked over to the Viscount. “This was a fine ball for the most part.”

He stuck out his hand, and the Viscount shook it.

Edwin returned to Beatrice. “My dear, we shall leave, and your sister might come with us, too. This event has been a disappointment, but the night need not be ruined. Perhaps Elizabeth and Hannah can return to our estate together and plan other events for the Season.”

“That sounds nice,” Beatrice replied.

“Father, stop them,” Agnes demanded.

“Agnes, be quiet,” her mother snapped. “You are making a fool of yourself.”

“You have already made a fool of yourself,” her father growled. “Not another word.”

With the Duke leaving, it felt like a natural conclusion to the evening, and everyone started gathering their things.

“No, the ball is not over!” Agnes shouted. “Play some music!”

The Viscountess tried to contain a groan, but Agnes was intent on keeping the ball going.

“We shall reschedule the event,” the Viscount informed everyone.

Agnes stomped around the room, trying to take control of the situation to no avail.

“Come on,” Edwin said, shepherding his family out of the hall.

Beatrice clung to him, holding his arm and enjoying the sense of safety she felt. When they got outside, she stopped him and pulled him to her to kiss him finally. She had wanted to do it since she had arrived at the ball but had not imagined she would get the chance.

The Duke embraced her, and it felt right this time—he was finally holding nothing back. She could feel the energy and emotion coursing through his body. She pressed her lips harder against his, needing to feel him.

When they came apart, it was not because they wanted to end the kiss but because they were being shouted at from a balcony above the main entrance to the manor.

“I have all the proof I need!” Agnes shouted. “I know what you did, Beatrice, and I shall prove it. You have made an enemy out of me, and I will destroy you. If I can’t have him, then no one can!”

Edwin quickly shepherded Beatrice away from the commotion.

Beatrice tried not to worry now that she was in the arms of her love, but she was wary after Agnes’s threat. Agnes was set on destroying her reputation, but her own reputation had been destroyed at the ball. Would it be enough to stop any oncoming storm?

Beatrice pulled the note out of her reticule—the one Sally handed to her. She passed it to Edwin when they were in the coach. He opened it and read it.

“You can’t go out there tonight,” he said.

* * *

Agnes clung to the man on the horse and hated herself for riding with him, but her needs far outweighed her feelings. She forgot what his name was. Walter? William? Some other name that started with W? He was a footman from her estate, and he was there to do her bidding, and that was all that mattered.

She didn’t need his name, as she had no intention of speaking to him any more than needed to. She blamed her parents for not pushing her more to learn to ride. She could keep her balance on a horse, but she could not ride at full speed. If they had been more firm when she had complained of hating horse riding, she wouldn’t have been in this embarrassing situation.

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