Page 46 of A Most Improper Duchess
‘Winton. Winton West.’
‘West. Like Arley. Are you from his family?’
‘I’m his brother.’ Winton’s hand clasped Vivianne’s tight as she stumbled over her feet, and he slowed until together, they found the rhythm again. ‘I gather he hasn’t mentioned me.’
A little in the jawline, and maybe, the set of his eyes resembled Arley’s, but more than that, he bore the most striking resemblance to the portraits in the hall. Thin lines curved his set mouth, and he had creases around his eyes that Arley didn’t have, and just a few flecks of grey through his dark hair.
‘You are his older brother? But how is he the du—’
‘Bastard. Me, that is. Not Arley. My mother was our father’s mistress. He married Lorelei for her breeding. Nothing less than a duke’s daughter for a duke’s wife. But Arley has definitely stepped away from expectation with you, hasn’t he?’ His hand shifted a little lower down her back as they moved through the triangle of steps.
Vivianne tried to pull her hand from his, but his fingers squeezed so tight that her bones pinched together. ‘I am not that woman anymore, and you are not treating me as a lady should be treated. You will not even think of propositioning me.’
He laughed, his tone dark and malicious. ‘Not a lady, though, are you? And save your flattery of yourself. After Arley and heavens knows who else in this hall has had you, I am not interested.’ He pulled her a little closer to his chest, and his hand returned to her waist.
Fury burned in her, hot and raw, the sort that made her slap cheeks or throw perfume bottles at the heads of archdukes. Fury at this man for wielding her as a weapon, and for Arley who had not told her about his own brother, and whatever threat he had made. But then, she glimpsed Lorelei as she danced. She chatted with the man she spun the circle with, but Vivianne followed her stiff body and read the lies it told. She was trying to help, even though she did not want to be here. And Iris, with unmistakable dark pockets under her eyes, smiled proudly at her husband. Tonight was her triumph, although she could not claim it. Her own version of a spotlight on the stage. Vivianne could not deny another woman such a moment.
With a leaden breath, Vivianne pushed down her anger. Too many people relied on her now, and while she wanted to rage at Arley, and his secret half-brother, and shake Iris until she understood what she was missing, she couldn’t. Not in a room full of people. Right now, the only thing she could do was dance.
People, presence, persuasion.
‘What do you want?’
‘I want my share. I want what's fair. And if I don’t get it, I will shatter your lie. I’ve been waiting a long time for this. Through payment or the press, I am going to set things right.’
The song ended. Winton abandoned her on the dancefloor, and she slightly swayed with the rush of his departure. Vivianne pushed her way through the crowd.
Lorelei stepped in front of her. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I must speak with Arley. His brother—’
‘Hush!’ Lorelei looked over her shoulder. ‘You cannot mention Winton. And you cannot leave a ball you are hosting. Everyone is watching.’
Vivianne was about to argue, when the man who had been speaking earlier with Arley addressed them both, introduced himself as Viscount Pemberton, then asked her to dance.
Why had Arley not told her about his brother, and his threat? How many watched her as she went about her day, also waiting for her to make some error? Not only Arley and Lorelei, or Mrs Crofts.
How many watched her, even now?
Her next dance was with a man named Jonah, then some earl, or was it a baron? She could not remember, but she smiled and stepped and held her stance through it all. Merchant, investor, politician. She held her pose. She smiled and chatted. She danced until her feet ached as much as her heart, until she did not want to dance another step. Not just that evening, but ever again in her life.
‘Would you like the carriage, my lady?’ Cecil asked as the last guest left.
Vivianne pushed past him and moved down the hallway. ‘I am going to see Arley.’
‘I think he has retired,’ Cecil called.
‘Then I shall wake him.’
Vivianne trudged past the line of disapproving portraits. Up the staircase with its polished handrail and along the hallway papered with flowers and gold leaf. She pushed open the door to the duchess’s suite, crossed to the door that led into the bedchamber then shoved open the interconnecting door to the duke’s room.
‘You demanded my honesty. But you live on lies. Since we have met, it is all you have done.’
He sat hunched over a desk by the window, and as she spoke, he half rose from his seat. He removed his glasses and laid them aside. ‘That was only because I had to know I could trust you—’
‘Liar!’ She sounded hoarse and shrill, old and angry. ‘You cover me with lies. You cover your life with lies.’
‘Is this the tour? I meant to tell you, but the session has been so busy—’
