After her dance with Nigel, a new song began. She was about to check her dance card to see who was next when she looked up and saw Isabelle’s face bright with happiness as she danced with Cain across the room. Westie’s heart came to a sudden halt, and so did her feet. Other dancers bumped into her, glaring until they noticed it was the debutante.
Her legs began to move again. She headed toward the couple, ripe with anger but no plan, and was jerked to a stop when someone grabbed her flesh arm. She spun around to find Nigel. He looked at Westie, then back at Isabelle and Cain. She tried to pull away from him, but his grip was tight.
“Do not make a scene,” he warned her. “Tell Isabelle that Cain Fairfield has a reputation for whoring, nothing more.”
He was close to her ear, breath blistering against her skin, and when he spoke his s’s were too crisp. That was all she heard.
When she finally wriggled free of him, Westie smoothed her skirts and gathered her wits before she stepped up to the smiling couple. Cain was like a monument beside Isabelle. He was broad through the shoulders like his father, with the sharp, predatory features of his mother. He wasn’t ugly really, but he was no James. There was no hint of family resemblance between the Fairfields and Lovett. Still, youth made everyone appealing to some. Money made everyone appealing to most, which Westie gathered was the reason behind Isabelle’s sudden interest in Cain. His evening attire reeked of money. He wore tall boots with brass buckles, and a matching tailcoat with gold-and-diamond buttons on the cuffs.
His hair was oiled and slicked like James’s, and it was the same dark color too instead of his usual gold. It made Westie wonder what the true color of James’s hair was. Though Cain wore his hair in a similar style as James, it made him look more like a rodent than ever before. If there was one thing that could distract Isabelle from a person’s looks, it was money.
“Well, aren’t you two a lovely couple,” Westie said. Her sugary-sweet words burned on her tongue.
Isabelle looked at Westie and beamed.
Cain bowed to her. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Miss Butler.” He didn’t carry the same bruises as James from their fight, but he held his left arm like he was favoring it. “I look forward to our dance.”
Like Westie, he still had the slightest twang of poor folk when he spoke, just as she remembered from their brief time spent in the cabin.
“As do I. I believe our dance is up next, isn’t it?” She checked her card to make sure.
That made Isabelle pout.
“Could I borrow my friend a moment?” Westie said. “Girl talk, you know.”
Isabelle giggled annoyingly. Her brain turned to pig slop whenever she was interested in a boy.
Cain bowed again. Westie had Isabelle towed to the opposite end of the room before Cain had straightened.
“You’re hurting me,” Isabelle complained, trying to shake Westie off.
Westie held tight with her flesh hand. She wanted to grab the girl with her machine and shake her, but Isabelle was already nervous around her copper as it was.
Westie said, “I don’t want you spending any more time with Cain Fairfield,” more bluntly than she’d meant to.
Isabelle looked thunderstruck. “Just because it’s your coming-out party doesn’t mean you can tell me who to spend my time with.” She took a deep breath to compose herself. When she spoke again, her tone was less hysterical than it was vicious. “Besides, why should you care? You’re caught up with James Lovett now because we all know you’re in love with Alistair, but he won’t have you.” Her eyes were at a crouch, a look as mean as her words. “Leave Cain for me.”
Westie’s hand went to her chest, her heart constricting. Isabelle’s words had struck their target, and the pain they caused could be felt all over.
She wanted to say something hurtful in retaliation but calmed herself.
“You’re my friend,” Westie said. “I’m not trying to hurt you, or take Cain away. I’m just trying to protect you. I hear he’s got a reputation with the ladies and a terrible habit of stealing a girl’s flower. By the time he’s done using her, no other man will have her. He spends most of his time in brothels. Costin just told me he’s a frequent customer.”
Tears sprang to Isabelle’s eyes. “You lie. You’re just jealous that he wants me and not you. You want every eligible man at the ball for yourself.”
Isabelle pulled away when Westie reached for her, and ran from the room in a gathering of skirts and tears.
It was suddenly too hot, and Westie felt like the room was spinning. At least her words had shadowed Cain in doubt. She only hoped it would be enough to keep Isabelle away from him. She watched Isabelle slip through the door, nearly knocking over Bena as she walked into the room.
Bena wore a simple white dress and beaded necklace, her hair tied back into a knot. She held a box wrapped in pretty white paper with a blue bow, drawing stares and whispers from the tables around her. Seeing Bena again was the only saving grace in an otherwise dreadful night.
“For the debutante,” Bena said, bowing and handing the gift to her. “Are you ready for this?”
Westie was still shaken from her fight with Isabelle, but she was ready. “Ready as I can be. Wish me luck.”