Page 52 of Cursed By Gold

The woman shakes her head apologetically. "I'm sorry, but those are the rules. No exceptions."

I open my mouth to argue further, but a familiar voice cuts through the din.

"There you are, darling."

Lord Greystone strides toward me, that insufferable smirk playing on his lips. Grabbing my hand he drags me behind him to an empty hallways nearby. He holds up a folded newspaper and steps towards me. "You'll never guess what the headline says about us."

I straighten my shoulders, bracing myself as he draws near. Too near, his body crowding into my space in that way he knows I can't refuse. The familiar woodsy scent of his cologne surrounds me as he leans in, his breath warm against my ear.

"Problem, love?" he murmurs, low enough for only me to hear.

I turn my head, our faces inches apart as I fix him with a hard stare. "I won't marry you. I am owned by no one."

One dark brow arches. "I'm your fiancé. Of course you will marry me and do exactly as I say. Or have you forgotten?" His hand slides possessively around my waist, pulling me flush against him.

I try to squirm away, but he's immovable, trapping me against the hard planes of his body. "I will take care of my families own debts," I hiss. "You have enough of your own."

Anger flashes in his eyes, but he smothers it quickly, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Such concern for me and my finances." His fingers tighten on my hip in subtle warning. "How touching. Afterall, soon they will be yours as well."

Before I can retort, he produces an embossed envelope from his jacket pocket and presses it into my hand. "We're expected at Lord Everton's fete this evening. As my fiancée, your attendance is mandatory." His tone brooks no argument. "I'll see you there, dressed and ready at seven sharp."

With that, he releases me and strides away, leaving me flushed and seething in his wake. My fingers curl tightly around the invitation, crumpling it as I fight the urge to stamp my foot like a petulant child.

The crumpled invitation feels like a lead weight in my hand as I stare at his retreating back. Every fiber of my being screams to throw it at the back of his arrogant head and reject him outright. But a harsh reality settles over me - I haven't won the tournament yet. As much as King Remme's attentions bolstered my confidence, his flirtatious glances don't guarantee me a way out of this wretched situation. For now, playing the dutiful, happy couple is my only viable option, and the thought makes my stomach churn.

Gritting my teeth, I tuck the invitation away, forcing a neutral expression as I make my way back to the crowded hall. Rose smirks at me from across the room, her gaze calculating as if she can sense the inner turmoil roiling beneath my calm facade. I'll not give her the satisfaction of seeing me crack.

Tonight, I'll don the costume of the perfect nobleman's fiancée, all smiles and graciousness on the surface. But beneath, the defiant embers continue to burn bright. This battle isn'tover, not by a long shot. I am no fragile butterfly to be mounted and displayed, but a phoenix rising from the ashes of my circumstances.

One way or another, I'll find my freedom from my fiance’s grasp. Even if I have to burn his gilded cage to the ground to do it.

***

The rhythmic clop of horses' hooves on cobblestone heralds the arrival of the ornate carriage, its gleaming black lacquer reflecting the warm glow of the lanterns lining the drive. I smooth my hands over the sumptuous emerald silk of my gown, taking a deep, steadying breath. Tonight's performance begins now.

As the carriage rolls to a stop, the footman swings down and hurries to open the door, offering a white-gloved hand to assist me. I place my fingers lightly on his and step out, the skirts of my dress pooling around my feet. Before me looms the imposing façade of Lord Everton's estate, its grand façade softened by the meticulously tended gardens and artfully placed lantern light.

My gaze is immediately drawn to the figure waiting at the entrance – Lord Greystone, already swaying slightly on his feet, a crystal tumbler in hand. His free arm sweeps out in a grand, if somewhat unsteady, gesture. "My darling Scarlet! You're positively radiant this evening."

I paste on a serene smile, dipping into a shallow curtsy. "You flatter me, my lord."

He snakes an arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him as he leans in, his breath hot and sour with spirits against my cheek. "Let's keep the niceties between us, pet. You know how I detest..." he wavers, catching himself, " detest the need for propriety in our...private dealings."

A shiver runs through me, his words sending a clear message – he expects my full compliance tonight, no matter how boorish or entitled his behavior. Refusal is not an option, not with the tournament and my family's future at stake.

"Of course, darling," I murmur, allowing him to steer me through the arched entranceway.

We're immediately submerged in a sea of finery – brocaded gowns that shimmer with every movement, gentlemen in expertly tailored suits, the air thick with the scents of polish, perfume, and barely-concealed ambition. Nobles and wealthy merchants alike cluster in throngs, speaking in bright, brittle tones that belie the calculating pursuit of status beneath every polished word.

"Lady Marheart!" An older matron in dove gray sweeps toward me, a sickly sweet smile plastered across her lined face. "What a pleasure to see you attending Lord Everton's little...soirée." She casts a pointed look at my fiance, who merely offers a mock salute with his glass.

I summon up my most gracious smile. "The pleasure is all mine, Lady Rutherford. You are too kind."

Her gaze drops in an unmistakable perusal of my gown. "My, that is a striking color on you. Not quite proper for a lady of refinement, but...bold. Quite fitting, given your penchant for theatrics in the tournament so far."

The backhanded compliment stings, but I keep my tone light and airy. "You're too generous. I simply aim to make the most of the opportunities I've been given."

Lady Rutherford releases a tinkling laugh. "Of course, dear girl. Do give us a good show, won't you? My Edgar has quite a stake riding on your continued success. We’ve read wonderful things about your performance in the first two trials. Made quite the impression. We look forward to seeing you personally inaction." She leans in conspiratorially. "And if you should happen to require any...additional support, you need only ask."

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