Drawing in another deep breath, Derek’s gaze narrowed as it returned to the dark-haired beauty, who now stood up for a cotillion with yet another gentleman he barely looked at.
He ought to have known. She was one of them. One of the few privileged people who considered themselves superior, who could not be bothered to think twice about anything that did not contribute to their own happiness, who had no interest beyond title and reputation, fortune and lineage. No doubt, all she cared for was finding a husband of rank and fortune to ensure her own standing in society and protect said privilege from passing to those less fortunate. It was a small circle, and those in it were determined to keep it that way.
As he watched her, Derek barely noticed that the space next to him was now empty. He was hardly aware of his friend striding toward the other side of the room. He failed to see the crowd that had bothered him not too long ago.
All he saw was her.
And for a long time, he allowed himself to watch her as he could not deny that that was precisely what his heart wanted. Why, he could not say, and he did not dare dwell on it for fear knowing the answer would make it all the harder to walk away.
And walk away, he must.
And yet, Derek could not help the disappointment that seized his heart, and he realised that it bothered him to think of Lady Madeline that way. Strangely enough, he wanted her to be different, to see beyond a person’s superficial attributes and judge them for who they truly were.
Him, namely.
Still, as he looked at her, he knew that the barely notable strain that seemed to rest on her features as she smiled and laughed was only conjured by his own desire for it to be exactly as he wished. It was not real, not true. Nor was the dull gleam in her eyes that spoke of annoyance rather than amusement, exhaustion rather than enthusiasm.
Forcing his gaze to abandon her, Derek turned away, his eyes sweeping over the crowd. He caught sight of Tristan, dancing with a golden-haired beauty, both gazing at each other with such devotion that a touch of jealousy pinched Derek’s heart. He barely noticed that his hands were balled into fists, the sinews standing out white as he tried to fight off the sense of disappointment and loss that swept over him.
And then he saw him.
Townsend.
The Earl of Townsend.
At the sight of him, every muscle in Derek’s body tensed to the point of breaking. His teeth gritted together painfully, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out the music and laughter echoing around him.
How dare he attend a ball and act as though nothing had happened? How dare he continue as though he had not??
Closing his eyes, Derek forced the bile that rose back down his throat, trying to reason with the rage that had seized him so unexpectedly. Nothing he did would make the slightest difference. He could storm over and beat the man to a pulp, and yet, it would not help. It would not change anything. Townsend was untouchable. After all, he was a peer.
A bloody peer!
Renewed anger and indignation heated his veins, sending fire through his body. And yet, he remained calm for he knew that those who acted without thought, without reason, without control would not survive.
And he had a family to think of.
He would not abandon them by doing something foolish.
“Ask her to dance.”
Blinking, Derek stopped, for a moment unable to comprehend the words echoing to his ears. Then he turned to look at his friend, who had reappeared beside him. “Who?” Derek frowned, his eyes inevitably drifting to the lady with the raven-black hair.
“Not her,” Tristan hissed as he jerked his chin to the side, indicating the golden-haired lady he had danced with only moments before. “Her.”
Only now, she was standing up with another man, and although Derek did not know him, he could tell from the predatory gleam in his eyes that he was a hunter, a rake. “Why?” he asked nonetheless, needing to buy time to force his emotions back into the box he usually kept them locked away in.
“So that Cullingwood will leave her alone,” Tristan snapped, clearly agitated.
“Then you dance with her,” Derek huffed, in no mood to humour his friend. However, the strained look on Tristan’s face told him how deeply the golden-haired lady had affected him.
“I can’t,” Tristan grumbled. “I already danced with her once, and the evening is barely half over. I cannot lay claim to her for the rest of the night or people will talk.”
“So?” Derek prompted, remembering how his friend had teased him before, determined to return the favour.
As expected, Tristan rolled his eyes. “So, I need you to intercept her before Cullingwood can lead her off the dance floor. Besides it would be a good opportunity for you to mingle. Since you have no interest in her, this should not be too difficult for you.”
Ignoring the ache in his own heart, Derek allowed the touch of a smirk to show on his face. “What makes you think I’m not interested in her?” he asked, watching his friend’s face closely out of the corner of his eye.
Once more, as expected, Tristan’s head jerked up, shock evident in his narrowed eyes as his hands involuntarily balled into fists.
Delighted to have hit his mark, Derek chuckled. “She truly made an impression on you, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she did,” Tristan snapped, impatience only too visible in his blue eyes. “Now, go.”
Derek drew in a deep breath, unable to deny his friend such a heart-felt request. “Fine,” he grumbled, equally unable to keep the annoyance he felt out of his voice as he strode forward, waiting until the dance ended before he stepped up to the lady who so obviously had stolen Tristan’s heart. He could only hope she was worth it.
As they stood up together, Derek breathed a sigh of relief when she showed no interest in conversing with him. Instead, her gaze drifted around the room, allowing him to return to his own observations. Torn between his seething rage toward Townsend and utter disappointment as well as fascination regarding Lady Madeline, Derek thought his heart would give out when the last notes of the music finally drifted away, and Townsend approached Lady Madeline, bowing to her and asking for the next dance.
Staring at them for the better part of a minute as though waiting for the hallucination to disappear, Derek finally cleared his throat, reminding himself that whatever happened next was none of his concern. And so, with a last regretful look, he turned around and walked away, wishing he could believe his own words to be true.
After all, was it not the utmost duty of a gentleman?peer or not?to protect those in peril?
Chapter One ? A Gentleman's Duty
London, July 1806
Four Months Later
Never had Derek felt at ease in a large crowd, which was especially true when that crowd consisted solely of lords and ladies of the ton. However, right then and there, at Lord Kingsley’s ball, he felt something akin to pleasure.
“It is truly wonderful to see you again,” the Duchess of Cromwell beamed as she embraced Tristan’s sister, Henrietta, warmly. Her dark red tresses swung forward, coming to rest next to Henrietta’s pale blond curls, as the two women held each other tightly. “It has been too long, Henrietta,” she added, suddenly standing back and gazing into her friend’s face. “A part of me feared, I would never lay eyes on you again when you all but ran off to Scotland.” The voice caught in her throat, and her eyes misted, prompting her husband, Edmond, to place a comforting hand on the small of her back.
A booming laugh echoed to their ears, and Henrietta turned her head to glower at her own husband. “I fail to see how this is amusing,” she reproached him with feigned displeasure in her voice. Her eyes, however, shone with mirth.