Who in God's name had invented fans?

When Blake Cavendish had entered the ballroom, his eyes had twitched uncontrollably—as if it were reminding him about the numerous times the noblewomen had poked them with their fans whilst trying to charm him and dance with him.

If Blake Cavendish could rid the world of one thing, just one thing, it would be those--dances. Dances and everything that trailed along with it: giggling, virginal women, fans and the clucking mother hens that hoped to marry their daughters off to him, the future Marquess of Alton.

"Oh, look at Viscount Herrick. How dashing he looks in that suit."

Blake whipped around to spot the two women who had made that comment. Realizing he had overhead, both of their faces turned a daring red. They giggled and bounced on their toes, causing their curls to flop around their face. The nerve in Blake's jaw ticked.

Like any other man, Blake wasn't one who enjoyed being pulled from a brothel, where he was surrounded by warm female bodies who didn't giggle at every damn thing. Every second that passed, Blake could feel the sourest of moods clamber up to his mind and curdle any sense of happiness he previously held.

However, just because was here at the dratted ball complying to his father's wishes, it did not mean he had to be an active participant of the festivities like his father had wished for him to do. That included dancing.

It would have made sense if he hated dancing simply because he was terrible at it. Rather, he was one of the best, as demonstrated in the various lessons he had taken with other future marquess's, earls and dukes.

One, two, three. One, two, three.

His dance master's squeaky voice echoed in his mind, and he shuddered. Dancing lessons were an utter nightmare for him and when they had ended, it was as if he had been reborn...until he realized he had to put it into practice every time a ball came around.

As if they had read his mind, one of the women who had previously commented on him, approached him and curtsied. She was trailed by an older dame who joined her as she got closer. Blake assumed her to be her mother.

"My lord." She batted her brown eyes up at him as she chewed on her bottom lip.

Blake bowed, hiding his grimace and kissed her outstretched hand, then her mother's. "My lady."

The older woman blew up with pride. She straightened her stick-thin shoulders, tucked her nonexistent stray grey curl behind her ear and preened, "My Lord Herrick. It has been a good many years since I have met your mother. She and I were friends, back in our youth. Might I have the pleasure of meeting her?"

"My mother is touring the countryside at the present moment. Always a wish of her to do so. But I shall pass on your good wishes, Lady...?"

"Lady Rouse, wife of the Marquess of Rouse, if it pleases my lord. And this is my daughter, Lady Emeline Fitzgerald."

Ah, Lady Rouse. His mother had spoken of her—but not kindly. He had met her a long time ago if he recalled correctly. His mother had been in a sour mood for the rest of the evening.

Blake gave her a small bow. "A pleasure, Lady Emeline."

Emeline's eyes grew wider and she let out a low squeal under her breath. Blake could spy her mother pinching her elbow to be quiet, and he hid his smile.

An awkward silence ensued—both women clearly waiting for him to request her for a dance. But he would not. Emeline seemed to recognize that before her eagerly grinning mother and her face fell.

Seconds later, tears glistened in her eyes. "Is it my face, my lord? Are you not pleased with my appearance—so much so you wouldn't dare to dance with me?"

"Emeline!" Lady Rouse hit her daughter with her fan and gave an embarrassed smile to Blake. He had to tamper down his urge to bellow out laughing.

"My daughter did not mean that." Lady Rouse let out an awkward chortle, her voice high-pitched and nasally. "But if it would please my lord..."

Dance with her! She seemed to scream.

"Much to my regrets, I cannot dance with you, my lady. I assure you, it has nothing to do with your appearance, but simply my own other troubles. My mind is wearied tonight and I hurt my leg," Blake directed towards Emeline, adding a grimace and a slight limp to his right leg for good measure. "I wouldn't want to hurt it further."

It truly wasn't that she wasn't comely. She was plain yet had a soft and vulnerable look to her and had handsome features. He simply did not want to dance.

"If you would excuse me." Blake bowed slightly and departed, almost turning his stride into a run the farther he got away from them. He then stumbled into the edges of a large crowd, so he could not be seen. It was then he let out the chuckle he had been holding.

It was quite amusing, really, to see how women would rather trip over their own heels and make a mockery of themselves, just for a slice of his attention; which they would hope to gain by batting their eyelashes, fluttering their fans and flashing him their rosy cheeks. They then hoped to turn his momentary attention to a permanent one—with marriage.

The attention was certainly flattering. Yet, he was to meet a woman he yearned to truly dance for and who would not eventually cause him to lose his temper, his patience or both as he had for others.

Then he saw her, floating down the staircase like an angel that had been sent down from the heavens to bless everyone with her grace. Seen those blue eyes that sparkled with an unusual perceptiveness and intelligence, seen those dark locks twisted up in a coiffeur, the stray curls cupping her soft face. Her white gown that seemed to be created from angel grace billowed around her

His heart missed a beat or two.

How had he not noticed her as soon as he walked into the room?

Possibly because you were hiding in the very back of the throng and didn't even bother to introduce yourself out of petty spite.

All he wanted to do was look at her, especially her smile. The mere presence of this debutante intoxicated him with greater strength than any bottle of liquor ever had.

Blake was not sure if this was a good thing or a bad one, but it had certainly never happened before. He was a trifle scared as well, for the emotions that surged through him had his gooseflesh erupt over his skin and for his hair to stand on its edge. His heart pounded furiously, so much so that it threatened to burst out of the cage it was bound in. As the blood drained away from his face, he felt light-headed.

He could see every other man in the room gawking at her as she floated down the staircase. Seconds later, he was being shoved out of the way—all of them making their way to her to ask her for a dance.

Blake stepped backward until he hit a wall. What was she doing to him? Something in his chest squeezed painfully, as he thought of her again.

A flash of white had him moving forward without solicitation. He knew he shouldn't, yet he did. As he pushed himself through the crowd and made it nearly to the front, he met her gaze.

It was only for one second, but that was enough for him to be struck speechless for what he was sure was the rest of his life. He could look at her, and never stop.

Rest of his life.

Blake had never imagined himself to think those words, especially about a woman. He thought of the present always. Women came and left his life in a string of lovers, and then ex-lovers when he got bored with them. He was what London called a catch to his face, but a disgraceful yet handsome rake behind his back. Regardless, he was still prey for them to play predator with.

It was true that he was slowly getting bored with the lifestyle of his, though he would never admit that to his father. But the alternative of settling down, that permanent commitment, caused his heart to seize up.

However, with Sophia Brighton, the possibility did not seem so...horrid. Was it that he had fallen in love at first sight?

Love? Ha. Blake Cavendish did not do love, although he had supposed he had come close to it in his younger days. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of thinking of this notion. Where had it even come from? It was apparent he was drunk, for only drunk men and fools would believe in love. His head was sloshing with too much liquor. That was all. For Real men laughed in the face of love.

Somehow, the chuckles just would not come.

Life seemed to take a peculiar stance of mocking Sophia Brighton tonight.

Sophia had learned most of the formal dances of society in dance lessons before her mother had passed. After that, she had stopped because of the funding issues.

Yet, she had practiced and practiced to perfect them, even resorting to Jenkins, the family butler, as a dance partner, so everyone would be amazed by her performance.

For such efforts, life should have offered the courtesy of a magical or at the least, a halfway decent first dance in society, at the subject of the people of London's scrutiny.

Her throbbing toes and spasming lower back disagreed and put that hope to its death bed. Her first partner had stepped on her toes continuously, even managing to do it when they were feet apart. It was a miracle, the way he always positioned himself so this occurred. Then, he had bent her over like a spoon and snapped her back to him, like a stuffed doll, when all that was required was a small elegant dip.

"My ... my lord!" Sophia cried, or rather squeaked when her head brushed the floor again, digging her nails into his arms in protest. "I...I...uhhhhhhh."

His response was to twirl her even faster. Sophia wanted to throw the contents of her stomach out, but she did not think she had the energy to do it in a dignified manner. In just one dance, the man had managed to rip every sense of liveliness she had possessed.

When Sophia had imagined her debutante ball years ago, her formal entrance into society, she had imagined something out of a fairytale. An adventure of sorts. Unfortunately, if she had to pick one singular descriptor for this night, it would not be that.

The next man to capture her in a dance, for it was indeed a capture of her wits...well, Sophia knew she would never see salt and pepper with a straight face and without recalling this very conversation.

"My lady. Do you know that I am in the salt and pepper trade? Yes, salt! I mostly export salt, but pepper too sometimes. We are exporting spices from India, but salt is the major business now! Salt, I say! Man cannot live without salt. You know salt was first discovered..."

Sophia was going to hurl salt into the man's eyes, but that behavior might scare every other suitor away and she could not have that.

The next man to 'woo' her, had breath that reeked of rotten onions and whenever he opened his mouth to speak, Sophia had to stop herself from gagging.

When would a man that knew how to engage with a lady in a proper manner and knew how to dance, whisk her away?

Husband hunting was supposed to be daunting, which Sophia had felt at the beginning of the night. It was a gamble, a game to see if a woman could snag a man. Now? It took every ounce of her willpower to not claw her eyes out. Or claw someone else's eyes out. Or perhaps do both at the same time.

A familiar pair of grey eyes suddenly appeared in front of her. Where had she seen him before?

He gave her a large grin, showcasing his protruding, yellowing teeth. He bowed and kissed her outstretched hand. "How do you do?"

"I'm well, thank you. And you?"

"Well. May I have this dance set, my lady?"

"Why, of course, my lord. You are next on my dance card." The two of them made their way onto the dance floor and as soon as the music trilled through the air, both of them started the steps of the dance.

As they dance, Sophia scrunched up her nose slightly, trying to place his face. She was sure she had met him before—but where?

As if he was reading her thoughts, he said, "I am Lord Darius Shaw, Viscount of Adelaide and the son of the Duke of Cambury. Do you not recall our meeting a couple of years ago, my lady?" He sucked in his cheeks, as he was trying to clamp down his irritation.

Flying oranges and peaches, silver daggers, and loaves of bread suddenly flashed through her mind. Of course, Lord Shaw.

"Of course, my lord. It did not strike me immediately. I am rather wearied by this evening, but it is such a delight to see you again. I can never repay you for your kindness that day."

He just mumbled something incoherent, gazing brazenly at her exposed neckline. He then raked his gaze over her entire body. "You look even more radiant, tonight, my lady. An evening such as this suits you—the people, the clothes, the energy."

"Thank you, my lord."
"I knew that the wait would be worth it."

"I am sorry, my lord?" His words caused that uncomfortable feeling at the pit of her stomach to rise once more, snaking around her heart. She had not the faintest idea what he meant by his words, but they still didn't sound very comforting.

His smile greeted her once more. "Nothing at all. All I meant was, it is indeed a pleasure to see you again, to get once again acquainted with you. It is necessary for what is in store for us."

She raised her eyebrows at him, but he did not delve further. He just winked at her as they circled around the room, which made his face look like a bludgeon had taken to it.

When the dance finished, he took her aside, offering her a flute of champagne. "A glass of wine for you, miss?"

"No thank you, my lord." She grabbed the cup and put it down, as propriety dictated. And her mind—she didn't want anything from this man.

"Would you perhaps like to take a walk, my lady?" He gave her what he had probably hoped was an inviting, seductive look, but it made Sophia want to laugh.

Before she could respond, a sudden movement caught her eye. Her eavesdropping aunt was waving her hands about frantically, gesturing her to accept the invitation Darius had given her. The son of a duke was an excellent catch, but Sophia held no love nor inclination for this man and never wanted to.

"You offer is greatly appreciated. I am flattered, but I am sorry to say that I must refuse, my lord. I am not feeling up for a walk now. I do not wish to exert myself, and I am not sure what purpose this walk serves. If it did have a purpose, I would beckon my chaperone to accompany us, but alas, I do not wish to, nor is there a pressing matter. Good day, my lord."

Sophia knew she was blathering, saying the same things over and over. She did not care. Anything to get away from him and the wine she had priory drunk was also helping inhibit her senses a bit. It also caused her tongue to become looser.

Out of the corner of the eye, she could spot her aunt's livid face chastising her for her declination of Darius' request as she made her way to her. Sophia did not want to hear another chiding.

As if God was granting her wish, another eager man suddenly appeared in front of her, requesting a dance and she took his outstretched palm gratefully.

A sudden, sharp tug came from her other side as she tried to leave, and she saw a livid Darius staring at her, the nerve in his jaw ticking and vein in his head throbbing. "You will know the purpose of my demand soon, for it is very fruitful. You will have been in the wrong to deny me."

Sophia's heart started to accelerate. "What?"

"You will see." He promptly let her ago, and where his fingers had encircled her wrist, it started to hurt. The exchange would have barely taken a few seconds, barely monumental. However, that slight aggression made Sophia want to flee far away.

"My lord." A final goodbye to Darius. Her voice slightly trembled, but she steeled herself. She was made of sterner stuff, she reminded herself.

"My lady."

It seemed she had traded one hell for another because the man who has exacted out of an unpleasant situation, was dozing on his feet as they danced and kept missing the steps. Sophia let her mind take her far away from the violins and chandeliers.

The green-eyed man she had spied earlier, seemed like a good dancer. He seemed to have the air of a great dancer about him, and she would not mind being whisked away into his arms. How she had made that assumption with a simple glance was beyond her.

When their gazes had met, it felt like fireworks were shooting through her being. Alas, he was nowhere to be seen, and it seemed all she could do was hope for him.

Hope was the first mistake of the night, that led to a series of very wicked things to come.

Hoping and wanting. 

A/N: Ooh, things are slowly heating up! And someone we have seen before has once again made an appearance. What do you all think of the story so far?

Readers! Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter! Be sure to vote, comment and share it with others! Every single thing means the world to me! I love you all!