Page 61 of The Proposition
“You have discovered some of Mrs. Chilvers’s secrets, but I’m afraid not all. Your sister and that Chilvers widow are engaged in a most scandalous arrangement, which you must have known or at least assumed,” he sneered. “What would thetonsay if they knew? If I made their letters public? Yoursister would be disgraced, and you the cause of all her unhappiness.”
Nora and the widow? Clemency almost buckled, not out of shock that her sister might love a woman, but that Nora would keep such a thing from her. It did make sense to her then—the urgency with which Nora had wanted her to deliver the letter, and both of the women widows…They must have found such comfort in each other, in their shared experiences and similar status in the world. And now Turner could use that love against Nora, and the thought of it made Clemency ill. If Mrs. Chilvers’s criminal activity came to light, it would only reflect even more poorly on her sister.
She gripped him back, but only because she had become dizzy. The circle of the dance felt impossible to endure, the room suddenly rocking from side to side.
“Chilvers provided useful documents to claim my son as a ward, but I can do it with or without her. You’ve accomplished nothing, really; that boy is mine by rights. A man always has a right to his son. Ferrand will be entirely without recourse when I have the boy under my control.”
“No.” Clemency finally found her voice, gasping. “Delphine…You will not wound her that way. You will not hurt her, and you will not hurt Honora—”
“Me?” He had the audacity to laugh, crinkling up his eyes as he threw his head back. “I would not dream of hurting them, not, of course, if you keep your promises, Clemency, and marry me. I will even give up on claiming the boy as my ward. You see? I promised you a baron, and now in the eyes of the Crown I am one. You might try to prove otherwise, but Ede is too powerful, too connected, and too close to all of this nasty business. The man so hates a scandal—onewhiff of your intentions and he will crush you and Ferrand like the scrabbling rodents that you are.”
“He would turn on you first,” she hissed. “You are the source of all his woes.”
“Perhaps. Care to take that gamble?”
Somehow, through the flames searing against her cheeks and the dizziness overcoming her, she saw Audric, tall and brilliant, slicing his way through the crowd. People parted for him, aware, as she was, of his solemn, powerful presence. The cello and violins raced toward the climax of the dance, the circle spinning faster, Clemency carried along by it, and by the man clutching her with painful force. If only the floor could swallow her up, disappear her from this nightmare…
Why had he chosen that moment, of all moments, to appear?
And yet he could not save her, and his radiance, and his clear emerald eyes, and the sweet, knowing curve to his lips, none of it could intervene.
I must save myself.
“I cannot let you do this,” Clemency told him through clenched teeth. It was her turn to clutch him, letting her fingers bite into his sleeve, into his arm. “I will fight you, Boyle, for I am not the naïve young woman you persuaded with your pretty words and empty promises.”
“You will not fight me,” he grunted, giving her the small satisfaction of showing pain for the force of her grip. “You have not a soldier on the field, Clemency. The war is over, and I have won.”
“No—”
Before she could speak another word, Turner Boyle hadturned to the short young couple dancing to their left. The woman of the pair, obviously a little deep into her punch already, beamed up at him with a sweat-sheened pink face.
“Good evening!” Boyle called to her over the music. “Tell me, have you heard the latest gossip of out Round Orchard?”
“Oh?” The young lady frowned but then shook her head and giggled. “Is it terribly wicked?”
“It concerns a widow by the name of Hono—”
“Lord Boyle!” Clemency stomped, hard, on his foot, and mercifully he shut up, tearing his attention away from the other couple. “Stop! Stop this instant.”
“Then relent.” His smile held the cold white gleam of a string of cheap pearls. Clemency shivered and bowed her head and felt a surge of pain at the base of her skull. “Or shall I say more?”
“Why?” she wheezed, breathless with confusion. The dance would end soon, and they would be expected to part and smile, and bow, but she felt too weak to do any of those things. “Why would you want to marry me when you have nothing but contempt for me and my family? When we so clearly revolt each other?”
“There are other rich women,” Boyle said with a shrug, loosening his grasp on her at last. She sagged. “But I would not have the power over them that I have over you. Step one toe out of line in our marriage, my sweet, attempt to outmaneuver me or contact Mr. Ferrand and Delphine Ferrand’s child will be mine. Your sister’s life? Ruined. Mrs. Chilvers? Ruined. How freeing, don’t you think? To be the husband I want to be, and not the husband you or anyone else expects me to be. I suspect it will be rather liberating.” His smile turned brilliant, and it even reached his dead, cold eyes. “Yes,I suspect I will infinitely enjoy being a married man. The delicious icing on top is that I have taken you from Ferrand; he will likely flee back to France and never show his face in London again.”
Clemency could not risk exposing her sister’s secret, and she could not risk gentle Delphine’s awful dealings with Turner Boyle becoming public knowledge. She was stuck, trapped, and as the dance ended and they made their curtsey and bow, she and Turner came back together, and his hand closing over hers was like the sealing of a tomb.
Her mind raced while her body went completely still. Across the floor, Clemency found Audric, felt his eyes drill into her. His happiness, his anticipation, was palpable in the high, tight line of his shoulders. There he was, ready to swoop in and be at her side, to humiliate the man that would humiliate them both, and Clemency could do nothing but let her face fall.
A wave of regret washed over her, but there was nothing to be done. She simply closed her eyes hard, once, then opened them, hoping Audric could detect the sadness in her gaze. Then she shook her head, and looked down at the floor, and let Lord Boyle lead her away.
23
Clemency was drowning, and the last thing she remembered seeing was the flicker of shock and recognition in Mr. Ferrand’s eyes. Her legs went numb, and she felt Nora and Tansy at her sides, their sure, soft hands keeping her upright as she dipped toward the ground.
“Air!” she heard someone, most likely William, say. “By God, move, the lady requires fresh air!”
The faces in the ballroom became nothing but a nauseating blur as she was rushed away from the dancers. Boyle was somewhere, she knew, gloating over his victory. She couldn’t stand to think of him, of the life she must now forfeit to him in order to protect Honora and Delphine. And she was not even allowed the honorable step of explaining to Mr. Ferrand why, with no warning or good reason, she had chosen the horrid Boyle over him. How could he forgive her for spurning him in such a callous way? Had he done the same to her, her heart would have shattered.
