Page 6 of When Hearts Are Wylde
Leo said nothing. He dropped his hand and stepped back, giving her space.
“I’m not afraid for myself,” she said, her voice shaking now. “I could weather scandal. I could endure being pitied or cast out or turned into a cautionary tale. But if it touches my brother—if Phinneas is made to suffer because of me—if my name brings shame tohis—” Her throat closed and she looked away. “He believes in me. He thinks I’m good and kind and worthy of the life he’s tried to give me. If I lose that, I lose everything.”
The silence that followed was not empty. It was full of everything unsaid, of everything lost between them. And when Leo finally spoke, his voice was no longer cold, no longer distant.
“Then let me help you. Let me do this one thing right, if I’ve done nothing else.”
Hermione nodded. “If I receive another letter, I will let you know.”
“You will,” he said quietly. “And when you do, we’ll put an end to this.”
She turned without another word and disappeared into the shadows, her heart racing.
The ballroom was as stifling as it had ever been, its mirrored walls and blazing chandeliers amplifying the noise, the heat, and the sheer weight of expectation. Hermione returned with her face composed, her hair only slightly mussed, and the same pleasant smile fixed carefully into place. She had just reached the edge of the floor when a footman appeared at her side, bowing discreetly.
“Miss Waring,” he said, offering her a small folded note.
She took it, her fingers steady despite the fact that her heart was battering against her ribs like a bird desperate to flee its cage. She knew before opening it what it would be.
The handwriting was the same—elegant, slanted, and disturbingly familiar now in its cruel refinement.
You have been defiant, Miss Waring. The conversation in the garden was quite illuminating. Your association with Hartley is more about the heart than the flesh. An unanticipated boon for me. Because I do not only have your secrets, dear, I have his. And his would see him ruined, shamed, cast out. A pariah—and you would be as well due to your involvement with him. And if you go to him for help again, I will do it. I will send what I know—and WHAT I HAVE— to every gossip rag in this city.
Now, regarding my directive for you, you are to accept the next offer of a dance from Mr. Joseph Baxter. You are to charm him. Smile, flatter, engage him as if he were the most fascinating man in London. Do this, and you will receive your next instruction. Defy me and it will be more than your life which is ruined.
Remember—my mercy has limits.
The Witness
A cold dread settled over her. Baxter. The very idea of him made her stomach twist. He was everything she despised—coarse, smug, insufferably ambitious. That he had shown interest in her before was bad enough. That she would now becompelledto encourage that interest made bile rise in her throat.
She folded the note, returned it to her reticule, and smoothed her skirts with mechanical precision. She couldn’t tell Leo. If she did, she was putting him at risk just as she was everyone else. Blinking rapidly to stifle the tears that threatened, her gaze roamed the space. And across the room, she spotted him—standing near the refreshment table with his usual smirk, already watching her with eager expectation. He looked too pleased with himself, as if he somehow knew what the note contained.
She didn’t allow herself to hesitate. Her family’s honor was on the line, and her dignity was a small price to pay in comparison. And there was Leo. He was clinging to respectability by the merest thread. And contrary to his flippant remarks about such things, he had no wish to be a pariah. She couldn’t let this bring harm to anyone. Well, anyone but herself.
With her head high and her expression serene, she crossed the ballroom. When she was close enough to him, she stumbled ever so slightly. He was instantly at her side, offering aid.
“Thank you, Mr. Baxter,” she simpered. “I might have turned my ankle terribly had you not been here to prevent it.”
“I twas my pleasure, Miss Waring. I do hope you are well,” he said.
“Oh, quite well, Mr. Baxter. Thank you.” She batted her eyelashes and fluttered her fan. “And how fortuitous that I had buy little stumbled right here when I was so hoping I might see you here tonight.”
He beamed like she’d told him he was strongest and handsomest man in all the world. But then she imagined that with vanity such Mr. Baxter possessed, it took very little in the way of actual praise to boost his already inflated opinion of himself. “Miss Waring, if I may say so, you look absolutely charming tonight. The fairest rose in all of England.”
She’d heard him utter those exact words to three other young ladies that very night. But she smiled and simpered as expected.Because someone was watching.
“Mr. Baxter,” she said, the false warmth in her tone making her skin crawl. “I am terribly parched. Would you be so kind as to fetch me a lemonade”
His smile widened, and his hand closed over hers with something far too possessive to be polite.
“I would be delighted to serve you, Miss Waring. Utterly delighted.” He stepped away, nearly tripping in his eagerness and returned in short order with the tepid beverage.
Forcing herself to sip the god-awful concoction, she forced another smile. “You are too kind, Mr. Baxter. Far too kind.”
“Miss Waring, when your thirst has been adequately slaked, might I importune you for the next dance?”
Hermione made a show of examining her dance card and then lifting the small pencil attached by silk cording. There she wrote his name in and crossed another name off. “Certainly, Mr. Baxter. There is nothing I would like better than to dance with you.” If the lies she’d told to indulge in her clandestine meetings with Leo weren’t enough to send her to Hell, the untruth she’d just uttered surely would be.
