Page 15 of The Inconvenient Compromise
Fiona felt a frisson of,not fear precisely, but definitely uneasiness at his assertion. In all the gossip she’d heard about him over the years, it had never been stated that he was cruel or wicked. But there had been no denying that he was an opportunist. It hardly seemed fair to hold such a thing against him when she herself could be described just the same.
Recalling the unusual deference her father had displayed that morning as they were leaving, Fiona asked, “What did you say to my father when I was not present?”
She couldn’t see his smile, but she sensed it in the darkened carriage. “I informed him that it was a good match, one with great financial and social benefit to you and thus to his entire family… then I informed him that if he ever dared speak to you so harshly again or if I heard him so much as raise his voice to your sister, that he would be picking himself up from the floor before he had the chance to regret it.”
Fiona blinked in surprise. He said it so gleefully, almost as if he relished the notion of knocking her father on his—well, knocking him down. “Why?”
“Because I detest a bully. That’s what he is. That’s what Charlotte Farraday is. He trained you from the cradle to be the victim of a woman like her,” Lucian insisted. “She did not but exploit what he had created within you—doubt, insecurity, a lack of understanding of your true worth.”
He was being deliberately obtuse with his answers. So she became more deliberately direct with her questions. “And what occurred in your own life to make you detest bullies so very much?”
He shrugged, the motion visible in the pale light streaking in through the window beside him. “I’ve endured my own share of them in life. You can’t be a bastard, even the bastard of a duke, and not be bullied at least once or twice—until you learn how to fight back. Did no one ever teach you to fight back, Fiona? There was not a soul in your life who had the gumption to tell you that you deserved better?”
No. There hadn’t been. They’d all lived in fear of her father’s temper, of hearing him shout and yell and throw things. Her mother, her sister, the servants—they all walked on eggshells, tiptoeing around to avoid invoking his wrath. Except, of course, when it came to her mother’s gambling. She could not resist the lure of the tables, even if it meant facing his fury and bringing it down upon all their heads.
“I’ve engaged in my own share of bullying,” she admitted softly. “At Charlotte’s behest, but that does not absolve me of guilt. I have been very unkind to people who did nothing to deserve it. At the very least, I failed to intervene on their behalf when I knew what was being done to them was wrong.”
“Then you make amends… and you do so by stopping that vicious cat from hurting anyone else.”
There was no denying it. She could not undo the hurtful things she’d been a party to in the past, but she could, if she were brave enough, stop them from happening again. “Very well. Every worthwhile endeavor poses a risk, does it not?”
“Indeed it does, Fiona. Indeed it does.”
THIRTEEN
Tuesday—the ball…
They entered the ballroom and were announced by the butler. And the entire room went utterly silent. The drop of a pin would have sounded like canon fire.
Fiona felt positively ill. The hot, tight feeling in her stomach, as if her stays were too tight, made her want to turn around and run from the room. Only the steely presence of Lucian’s hand at the small of her back held her in check.
All eyes were on them as they walked into the ballroom and were presented to the host and hostess.
“Lord Rathmore,” Lady Hedleigh said, a bright smile on her face. “It is very good to see you here and your new bride, Lady Rathmore. You are most welcome here, and we are so very grateful that you have chosen to make your debut as a married couple at our little soiree.”
Her words were warm and welcoming, but the smile she’d bestowed on them had not quite reached her eyes. It seemed disingenuous to Fiona, calculating even. “Thank you for the invitation, Lady Hedleigh,” she replied, hearing the proper words coming from her own lips. “We are very pleased to be in attendance.”
“Indeed, we are very grateful,” Lucian replied. “But now we shall mingle with the other guests and leave you to your many duties as hostess.”
“I believe you are well acquainted with many people present,” Lady Hedleigh countered. “Ralston and his bride are here. And Lady Bruxton. You are fast friends, are you not, Lady Rathmore?”
Fiona felt her heart stuttering in her chest. “We are acquainted,” she answered blandly. Then they were moving away, slipping into the crowd and away from the knowing smirk of a woman who had invited them there just to feed them to the lions. Or the lioness, in their current case.
“What has that wretched woman done now?”
The question had been posed by Lucian. He was not oblivious to the stir their presence had created. It was more than simply idle curiosity that they had unexpectedly wed. There was a predatory gleam in the eyes of those who watched them, like jackals stalking their prey.
“Whatever it is, I can assure you that she will be cast in the light of victim. I will be an evil scheming adventuress, and you my hapless dupe,” Fiona replied.
He snorted in disgust. “Hapless dupe. I’ve never been such a thing in my life—not for any woman, no matter how beautiful they are. You are no exception to that rule, Fiona.”
It was not the first time he had told her she was beautiful. He said such things often, and he said them very casually. It wasn’t empty flattery, as he had naught to gain from it. Despite the fact that she did not question his sincerity in uttering the compliment, she could not bring herself to believe it. Years of listening to her mother bemoan her horrid red hair, her father complaining that she was eating them out of house and home and would need new dresses when she grew fat from it—those things had left an invisible but indelible mark on her.
Thinking of what he’d said in the carriage, about her father and mother grooming her from the cradle to be a victim, she had to admit that there was some truth to it. Charlotte Farraday had used those chinks in her armor from the first day of their meeting. She’d talked about how ugly a woman’s freckles were just before turning to Fiona with a false smile and saying that hers were not, of course. Hers were quite charming. Sly insults. Compliments that weren’t truly complimentary at all. Smug looks. Knowing smirks. And that was exactly how the other guests were looking at them—as if they knew a secret that she did not.
“We need to make it our first priority to uncover whatever scheme is afoot,” Fiona replied, not acknowledging his remark about her appearance. Hearing him say such things made her the last thing she could afford to be—hopeful.
“I have some friends who will be able to help us with that, and as Lady Hedleigh stated, they are here. They have their own reasons to want to call a halt to that viperous woman’s machinations. Let us locate them and begin our counterattack.”
