BLOODY WANKER!

The curse slipped from her lips, though it sounded far louder inside her head than it did in reality, where it was barely more than a whisper. Shocked at herself, she clapped a hand over her mouth as if to push the word back inside.

Her eyes darted about, scanning the corridor for hidden witnesses, but to her relief, she appeared to be quite alone.

Still, humiliation churned in her chest, mingled with the sting of anger. She grit her teeth, straightened her back, and marched her way towards The Ballroom with a forced grace that betrayed her fury.

Rage could be an untamed beast, but tonight she promised herself it would serve her well—fuel for the revenge she had already begun to imagine.

The Ball had been arranged by the Earl of Eithanburg, Lord Giordano Bennett, in celebration of his daughter, Miss Lindsay Bennett’s eighteenth birthday, and his niece, Miss Elizabeth Ackford, who had turned nineteen earlier that year.

Beth had spent hours choosing her gown, savouring the excitement of the evening. Her anticipation had almost consumed her when she learnt that Lord Leoandro Hughes had accepted the Earl’s invitation.

The sight of a familiar carriage on the gravelled patio had only set her heart racing further, and she had flown down the staircase like a child chasing after its master, abandoning her maid’s frantic calls for dignity.

What greeted her, however, was only his cold indifference.

Collecting the bruises to her pride, Beth did what she must and swept into the resplendent Ballroom. Its medieval arches glowed with the warmth of candles suspended in the great tiered chandelier above.

Polished stone and gilt reflected in every corner, making the air itself seem gilded. Yet even the magnificence of the room could not soothe the ache beginning to coil inside her.

There he stood. By her cousin Lindsay’s side, sharing effortless laughter with Lord Bennett as though they were old companions.

Beth’s eyes narrowed; her stomach twisted with a sour bite of something unnameable—anger, jealousy, longing, all folded into one.

The Ballroom teemed with nobility; a sea of silk, satin, and whispering jewels. Elizabeth secured her place at the Earl’s right hand as he delivered a welcome speech, his gratitude pouring forth as eloquently as the champagne that was so liberally served.

At his gesture, his wife joined him for the opening waltz, and as the host couple swept across the Ballroom’s gleaming floors, others soon followed.

The very first to advance was Leo.

Beth’s jaw tightened as Lindsay smiled sweetly and allowed him to lead her into the dance. They swirled and turned with enviable rhythm, the picture of young nobility, captivating all who watched. Yet between the steps, Beth saw it—the flicker in his gaze, stolen glances directed only at her, sharp as darts of lightning across the room.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Leoandro Hughes had felt it at once too—the discord between duty and heart. He had come to the Ball for Lindsay. His father’s passing left behind debts and ruin, and marriage into the Bennett household promised salvation for his family’s fortune.

A man who could not shoulder the weight of responsibility did not deserve the name Hughes.

And so he pressed down his longing for Beth, battering it into silence with every beat of the waltz, every calculated word, every carefully measured step.

Coldness was armour.

Indifference, a blade.

And yet, her very presence undid him.

Elizabeth Ackford, draped in rose-pink silk that gleamed against her pale complexion, looked ethereal beneath the candlelight. Pearls embraced her throat, her auburn hair was drawn into a bun with rebellious curls spilling down to graze her cheeks, daring any to tame her wild elegance.

She was loveliness and defiance entwined, and he hated himself for wanting both.

The Duke of Huntley led her next. Watching their figures glide together sent a sharp stiffness through Leo’s shoulders, his polite smile frozen against the chatter of the woman at his own side. He hardly heard a word she said.

When the final round began, fortune—or cruel fate—placed him across from Beth.

They bowed, as courtesy demanded, and the moment their hands met, sparks shot up through his veins. His pulse hammered mercilessly as the music led them forward; each step harmonised unconsciously.

Beth shivered when his hand found her waist—a tremulous betrayal of composure that made him ache with both guilt and desire. She tried to look away, to hide the truth beneath downcast lashes, but at last her courage drew her gaze upward to meet his.

Emerald eyes, searing, accusing, unbearably alive.

"My Lord," her voice wavered only slightly, but the force behind it was undeniable, "may I trouble you for an answer?"

"Yes," he replied at once, though every part of him already braced for what was to follow. "Please."

Her lips trembled, but not from fear. She was steel wrapped in velvet. "I left Eithanburg at ten years of age. I am nineteen now. In those nine years, I wrote to you three hundred and twenty letters. Not once did I receive a reply. Pray, tell me, Leo, why have I been treated with such cruelty?"

She held her poise, but her eyes betrayed her. Red-rimmed, glistening, near breaking.

"My dear Miss Ackford…" His voice was silken, yet carried a weight sufficient to crush.

"You address the wrong person. If you seek the truth, I must advise you to sit with Lady Ackford. Your mother, I dare say, would make a far better companion over tea for your questions." He spun her in time with the swelling music, his lips twisting into a smirk that carried no joy.

His eyes were cold, merciless, though inside, his fury turned inward most of all.

As the dance tightened, he drew her closer, dangerously close, his breath brushing warm across her neck. The whisper of his words hissed with pain.

"I confided in a friend once. My darkest secret laid bare. She swore she would sit with me in the shadows until I found my light, yet when the darkness consumed me, I was left alone. She broke her promise, Beth."

Her body quivered in his arms.

Gentleman though he remained, his grip released at the song’s end, thrusting them apart before scandal could bloom. Without another word, without another glance, Leo left her standing abandoned amidst the grand company.

Elizabeth Ackford could only stand there, trembling, struck mute. His words rang in her mind, drowning the music, the laughter, the endless chatter around her.

What truth could her mother be hiding?

🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚

AUTHOR CORNER

Is there something Lady Ackford is hiding??

Why Leo did not answered her letters??

Did Leo still felt same for Beth??

What will Beth do next??

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