Page 7 of A Duke's Sinful Bargain
“Indeed,” Alexander murmured, already in search of an excuse to withdraw from this conversation, but John’s hand was still on his shoulder for some reason.
“Listen… about that debt.” John neared Alexander, his voice now a hushed whisper. “There is something I wanted to talk to you about—a business opportunity, a very good one. If you invest in it, you would double your money, I swear.”
Alexander frowned. “And this isyourbusiness idea, I presume?”
“Well, no… yes, but technically not.” John sounded confused, his cheeks flushing a deeper red.
“Yes, but technically not?” Alexander frowned, tilting his head suspiciously.
“Well, yes.” John nodded more determinedly this time, but Alexander was still not convinced. “I need to explain it in more detail, you see.”
“Not now.” Alexander shook his head. He glanced at the crowd and, much to his displeasure, realized he had lost sight of Anna. “I’m busy.”
“Of course.” John nodded hastily, in agreement. “Maybe later… or whenever Your Grace sees fit.”
He was not “Alexander, old boy” any longer. He was once again “Your Grace.” Alexander knew what this meant. When people needed favors, they were too polite, too respectful, too… everything.
“Excuse me,” Alexander said without much regret, and found his way onto the terrace, closing the door behind him. The cool night air provided some semblance of comfort, and he relished the fact that the chatter was not as loud, but rather muffled and somehow far away.
He sighed, contemplating the conflicting emotions swirling within him. He had been rather hesitant to give the order to his steward, Tom Higgins, to proceed with the collections of the debt from the Ravenscroft estate. Now, the thought of pressing Anna for these debts seemed callous, a stark contrast to the connection they had shared while dancing.
The weight of responsibility and a growing sense of guilt pressed on Alexander’s shoulders. Was it fair to pursue the debts when it would be Anna paying for them? After all, none of this was her fault.
Her late husband had been the one to blame, and now, in light of his death, it was she who was left with the burden. The dance he shared with her had not only kindled insatiable desire within him, but it had also opened a door to a complex and delicate situation that demanded careful consideration.
***
Lady Pentor had excused herself to tend to her other guests, and Anna welcomed a moment of solitude amid the lively dance and chatter as she stood at the edge of the bustling ballroom. The grandeur of Lady Pentor’s gathering seemed to fade into the background as her mind became occupied with thoughts of the enigmatic duke she had just met.
Although it was he as a person who had arrested her attention, it was also his name, Blackthorn, that resonated within the recesses of her memory, a haunting familiarity with it that dwindled just out of reach. She couldn’t quite place where she had encountered the name before, but the mere mention of it stirred something within her, a puzzle waiting to be solved.
As she endeavored to delve into the mystery that surrounded the duke’s name, another revelation took hold of her senses, and that was something she had already sensed: a profound attraction to the duke himself. It was a sentiment that caught her off guard the moment she became aware of it, a rush of excitement that tingled through her veins.
The dance they shared, the witty conversation, and the magnetic connection they had undoubtedly forged lingered in her mind like a sweet, intoxicating melody.
Her thoughts of reflection were abruptly shattered by the sly and unwelcome presence of Lady Genevieve Stirling. Like a serpent slithering through the crowd, Lady Genevieve approached, surrounded by two of her best friends, who knew only to nod to her malicious comments. Anna and Lady Genevieve were far from friends, far even from acquaintances. Anna could not fathom why the lady would be approaching her.
As soon as Lady Genevieve was within earshot, her eyes fixated on Anna’s limp, a trait she obviously deemed worthy of exploiting all in an effort to tarnish Anna’s excitement of the evening.
“Imagine that, girls!” Lady Genevieve spoke loudly enough that Anna could hear her, although she addressed her two friends. “Being so bold to dance with the duke even with such a lame foot! Why, it is a wonder that she has not stumbled over her own feet!”
The two ladies chuckled with their hands pressed to their lips, their venomous mirth spreading all around. Unfazed by the barb, Anna met Lady Genevieve’s gaze with a steely resolve. She had weathered the storm of societal judgment and the unkindness of fate, and she was damned if she would allow the likes of Lady Genevieve to erode the exhilaration within her.
In the face of Lady Genevieve’s thinly veiled mockery, Anna summoned all her wit and resilience. With a cool composure that belied the fiery spirit within, she offered a retort that cut through the air like a well-sharpened blade.
“Perhaps, Lady Genevieve, you ought to consider cutting down on the marzipan.” She paused to look up and down the woman’s gown. “It seems that your gown is on the verge of bursting,” Anna remarked, her words carrying a sharpness that left no room for further cruelty.
Lady Genevieve, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected counterstrike, faltered in her attempt to undermine Anna. The ballroom, though filled with the melodies of dance and laughter, became witness to a silent but fierce battle of words between two women from different echelons of society, both of whom were fighting for a completely different cause.
Anna hoped that would be the end of this unpleasant encounter, for she had not come here to make enemies. But the air grew thick with spite as Lady Genevieve, unwilling to be outdone, found another means of threatening Anna.
“I see you have your eye on His Grace, Alexander Hastings, the Duke of Blackthorn.” Lady Genevieve spoke with a cold smile as she turned to her friends. “I do admit, he is quite a treat for the eyes, but as it is always the case, beneath a beautiful surface lies a dark depth. You would be wise to mark my words.”
Anna swallowed with difficulty. Was her sudden infatuation with the man so obvious? She dreaded this possibility. After all, the little that she had left were but crumbs of her dignity, which she was adamant to hold onto with her dear life. Pining so openly after a man was not something she was akin to do, especially in these circumstances.
She didn’t want to be around this woman any longer. She wanted to turn away and stop listening to her, because such a vicious woman always had an ulterior motive for everything she said. Only, she could not move. Curiosity kept her in place. She wanted to know what dark depths lurked in the duke’s eyes.
“In case you were unaware, Lady Ravenscroft,” the woman continued, not turning to Anna, her voice dripping with malicious delight in this theatrical flourish, “there are whispers about the duke—and where there are whispers, there must be some ounce of truth in these words. Despite his façade of respectability and his generous acts of charity, the rumors suggest a much darker reality than the one he presents to theton.”
