Chapter 120

It was a shocking lie to tell, but fortunately she was wearing gloves. Babs Langley may have sat down slowly, slowly, but it was not how she shot to her feet. Her mouth glittered with a diamond's hardness.
"Perhaps he did. The thing is, Marietta left him high and dry. She never loved him. Not once in all the years they were together. Heavens, as for that bastard she palmed off as his? Well, that's his best-kept secret. Next to being forced to marry her to save the family fortune after his father ran off with some scullery maid. So you will pardon me for questioning, knowing as I do about all Marietta's indiscretions with footmen, with coachmen, with lady's maids, that he actually entered what he calls that dreaded state again."
Splendor's mind emptied as thoroughly as if it was a bucket of soapy water someone had kicked over. She shot to her feet. The scarlet lips opposite parted around the sweetest smile.
"Yes. You will also pardon me for knowing he has no desire to see Phoebe disgraced. He still makes time for her, you know? She is so unhappy with her mother, and who can blame her? While Kendall, God bless his soul, is never as black-hearted as he would have the world believe. Can you imagine how it would be for poor, dear Phoebe, when she comes out in a few years' time, if the real truth were known? That her father is probably some stableboy? Can you imagine what it would do to him?"
"Phoebe?"
"Oh, don't pretend you don't know who she is. If there is one thing you may, or may not, have noticed about Kendall, he cannot bear to look a fool. A fool who was never a father to that child in the first place, while her mother cuckolded him with every man and woman going and he learned every trick in the book to keep her happy. If that all came out now, right at this moment, for example, could you imagine his fury? Not just despite that soft heart of his. Because of it. Now, you will let him know what I've said, won't you?"
Splendor fought to stop her jaw from dropping. The woman hadn't just made her move with the skill of a grand master, she had wiped the board of all pieces except her own. She even had the sense to gather her skirt. As for her saying something along the lines of looking into Splendor's background? Why bother? Nothing could trump this. All Splendor could do was stare at her retreating scarlet-sheathed back, horror fisting her lungs tighter than a gauntlet. Fisting them so that her legs trembled, her head spun.
"What did she want?" Stillmore said.
In one word? Him.
What was she going to do about it when his voice was like a cold hand on her heart.
She straightened her shoulders. She would do absolutely nothing. What was it to her, after all, if Phoebe's coming out was ruined? She had her own child to consider. Gracious, if she went about pitying someone else's bastard, where would that leave her? She set her chin, swallowed what had lodged in her throat, then set her lips. When mercies were thin as wet newspaper, she was grateful that he stood behind her, unable to see her face.
"Nothing, Your Grace."
She flicked her skirts straight and turned around to face him. So much time had been lost. Valuable time. Time better spent sorting this out.
"Tell me."
"I have told you ... "
The cocked brow, the brooding stare were directed over her shoulder, at Babs Langley's rustling red dress. As if he knew. He couldn't know.
"Dance with me."
Her throat dried. "Now, Your Grace?"
"Well, it seems as good a time as any. Lady Kertouche probably expects it. We are in this together, after all."
She didn't think so, but the world had retreated to a distant place she couldn't reach. "I don't know ... You don't da-"
"If you don't mind that is?"
He reached for her hand, the sharp contours in his cheek tightening. Her heart thudded. It always happened when he touched her. He was very accomplished.
But not so accomplished that he'd kept his wife. My God, she'd believed he'd left her. But this...this went beyond anything she'd believed.
"Well?" He cocked his brow.
While this was about his infatuation for Babs Langley, and Splendor needed his help, she also needed to step onto that floor.
"Of ... of course."
"Well, then, let's join that set there. They're a couple short."
Her feet almost sank into the ground as they walked through the salon doors onto the dance floor. Lit by a thousand candles, it was going to be her undoing. The thought spun upward as she endeavored to fix to her face the smile that had held the bones of it together for so long, like a tortured mesh she'd somehow clung to.
Of all the things he'd done to her, this was the worst, because she saw so clearly-clearer than these candles there-that he'd done nothing at all.
Simply put, as she now swept opposite him? The business with Phoebe was hardly a surprise when he'd come after her that night, had totally ignored that business with the bracelet and Gabe.
He lifted his arm, and she pressed her hand into his. In the candlelight, their lips were going to meet. The idea sucked her veins dry, left her powerless to resist. Finally. All this time believing-because she'd had to, what a bastard he was-all these stupid longings and imaginings were over. Here she was. Here he was. And all she wanted now as she spun and twisted around, her lips inches from his, was him. Two steps to the right. Two steps back. Another turn.
If the world ebbed from her in this second, leaving only one person, was it so bad that person was him?
Actually it was.
It was worse than anything she had ever known, or might know again.
She had never felt this way for Gabe. She had never felt this way for Stillmore until now. Or perhaps she just had not let herself?
That night in the barn had been perfect until she opened her mouth. What had she said that was so bad? Quite a lot actually. Everything, in fact, when he'd been burned to ashes like that. And she couldn't, she just couldn't make him choose about any of it. She couldn't lay this baby on him either. How could she think she could? He was actually too decent for that.
One step forward. His lips inches from hers. His hand clasping hers. Three steps back.
Another step forward. A dangerous step to the side when his fingertips now pressed her waist. Warm, strong. Their bodies brushed against each other.
Her favorite story being Cinderella, she knew one thing. Before the clock chimed twelve, she must escape. From him. From here. From all of this.