Page 50 of A Virgin to Trap the Earl of Thornhill
As the final notes of their dance rang out, a momentary lull swept through the grand ballroom. Dancers applauded their partners. A chorus of laughter and excited chatter filled the air. Eris remained arm-in-arm with Viscount Sinclair, his grasp confident, almost proprietorial.
While Eris and Viscount Sinclair exited the dance floor, he gracefully guided her toward a cooler, quieter corner of the grand ballroom, the music, and merriment fading to a distant hum.
“Miss Eris,” he began, a calculating smile forming on his face, “there is something you should know… It seems your father is quite indebted to me.”
Her breath hitched in her throat, her hand on his arm tightening. “I do not understand, My Lord.”
“Ah,” he laughed, his voice a low murmur. “No need to play coy. I would wager a woman as observant as yourself is not blind to her family’s predicaments.”
Eris clenched her jaw, maintaining a polite smile as a wave of dread washed over her. “What are you suggesting, My Lord?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The Viscount leaned closer with his eyes gleaming in the soft candlelight. “It is quite simple, really. Your father’s debt to me is considerable, but I am willing to forgive it.”
“And in return?” Eris dared to ask, her heart pounding in her chest.
“For the pleasure of your company,” he replied smoothly. “You would become my wife, Miss Eris.”
The realization hit her like a bucket of ice-cold water. She felt her knees buckle, but she managed to steady herself against the wall behind her. Was this not what she wanted?
Eris forced herself to meet his gaze, managing a small, resigned nod. “Thank you, My Lord. You are too kind,” she murmured, biting back the bitter taste of defeat. Here she was, her worst nightmare coming true. Sold to the highest bidder, her father’s debts traded for her freedom.
But she had to do this. Her family needed her. Looking back toward the dance floor, her gaze fell on William, laughing at something Lady Felicity said. She had to keep him at arm’s length, keep him safe from the mess that was her family.
A resigned sigh escaped her lips. “Shall we join the next dance, Viscount Sinclair?”
As she allowed him to lead her back to the dance floor, she could only hope that this sacrifice would be worth it.
With a firm hand on her waist, Viscount Sinclair led Eris back to the whirlwind of dancers as the orchestra commenced another lively set. His tone was jaunty, belying the weight of the conversation. “Miss Eris, we can arrange for a special license, dispense with the banns. We shall be wed within the fortnight.”
Eris nodded in acquiescence, forcing her lips to curl upwards in a vague attempt at a smile. Her heart ached in her chest, but she dutifully recited her rehearsed responses. “As you wish, My Lord. So long as my father is in agreement…”
Viscount Sinclair seemed to inflate at her agreement, waxing lyrical about his grand country estate, his London townhouse, the carriage he would gift her on their wedding day. His voice became a distant hum, his promises of wealth and stability blurring together into one unappealing monotone.
Eris’ gaze strayed to William. Their eyes met, a spark flashing between them. The emerald green of his eyes, so intense in the candlelight, seared her to the core. Time seemed to slow. For a moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the vast ballroom.
Yet reality returned all too soon. She was not in William’s arms, and she never would be. The realization was like a physical blow, her heart clenching painfully in her chest. As the music ended, and the dancers applauded, Eris allowed Viscount Sinclair to lead her from the dance floor once more. The despair settling in her heart was as heavy as the golden gown she wore.
Suddenly, there was a collective intake of breath from the crowd, conversations halting mid-sentence, and the lively music from the orchestra stuttering to an abrupt pause. Eyes widened and heads turned toward the grand entrance of the ballroom. A murmur swept through the room like a wave, peppered with hushed whispers and stunned gasps.
“Lieutenant Cassian Hudson and,” the master of ceremonies’ voice boomed, ringing out clearly in the stunned silence, followed closely by, “Miss Lily Saffron.”
Cassian walked in, looking every inch the distinguished naval officer in his dark blue evening suit that offset his wavy black hair and sharp hazel eyes. His arm was hooked protectively around the woman at his side. There, radiant as a lily in bloom, was Lily, her striking blue eyes twinkling under the chandeliers. She was resplendent in a rose-colored gown that complimented her rosy cheeks and emphasized her dark curls. To Eris, she appeared a bit rounder in the face, her dress fuller than before, but far from a noticeable pregnancy. The realization of the subtle changes in her sister’s appearance slowly dawned on Eris.
The room was abuzz with murmurs, the attendees turning to one another in shock and intrigue. The audacity of Lily and Cassian’s appearance had the ballroom in an uproar, the whispers growing louder and more scandalized. “Isn’t that the Blackwell girl? The one who was ruined?” “How dare they show up here?” “And pregnant, no less!”
Viscount and Viscountess Blackwell, both looking as if they had been slapped, vehemently denied the young woman’s identity. “This is not our daughter,” they insisted, their faces pale and their voices rising in denial.
Meanwhile, the orchestra, recovering from their surprise, began to play a slow waltz. Cassian, ever the picture of confidence, guided Lily toward the dance floor, unperturbed by the spectacle they had caused. Eris watched them, a mix of emotions swelling in her heart. The night had taken a turn she had not expected, a storm brewing on an already tumultuous sea.
The ballroom buzzed with whispers as Lily and Cassian began to dance. Lady Marianne’s words, always amplified by her sharp tone, resonated through the throng of attendees.
“Isn’t that the girl who had that unfortunate dalliance?” Lady Marianne’s voice was laden with judgment and a touch of cruelty. Others joined in, creating a chorus of scandalous murmurs and thinly veiled disdain. “A child out of wedlock,” “A total disgrace, if you ask me,” “And here she is, parading about as if nothing happened.”
Viscount Sinclair, clearly disconcerted by the unfolding scandal, shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. He muttered something about the need to reconsider their betrothal, his eyes darting between Eris and the spectacle of her older sister on the dance floor.
The dramatic scene reached its zenith when Lady Worthington, a formidable matron with a penchant for theatrics, publicly confronted the couple. “How dare you show your face here!” she bellowed, her finger jabbing toward Lily.
The room fell into an uneasy silence, all eyes glued to the drama. Eris could almost feel the collective breath of the crowd being held, waiting for the storm to pass.
