Bella was miserable, and there was a great deal she wasn’t telling him. He needed to know what schemes were spinning in her clever head.
She wouldn’t look him in the eye. Even in the dim light of the hall lamps, he could see some mystery flickering in her gaze. She stared at his jaw, then her gaze trailed down. He’d already untied his cravat and the fabric hung loosely around his neck. His breathing hitched. Bella gazed at the bare skin at the base of his throat as if it fascinated her, and he was shocked to find that being the object of her intense scrutiny was intoxicating.
“I should return to the party,” she said in the least convincing tone he’d ever heard. “Mama will send Louisa to drag me back if I don’t return to the drawing room.”
When he said nothing, she turned.
He reached for her arm. He couldn’t let her walk away. “Bella, wait.”
She glanced down at where he held her.
“Why are you doing this?” He knew he’d broken trust with her years before and might never get it back, but he needed to try.
“The party is in my honor—”
“That’s not what I mean. Tell me why you’re playing along with your mother’s machinations.” He still held her. He knew letting go was the proper choice. The wisest course. Yet he kept holding her. She was soft and warm, and being connected to her felt right and achingly familiar. “I know you’ve always been a dutiful daughter, but this is something more. You’ve refused many men and yet—”
“A few men. Not many.” She tensed her jaw.
The names they called her, the things they’d said about her, he’d known it wasn’t true. But he hated that they’d hurt her.
“I trust you know your own mind and had a good reason every time. And yet now you can’t see your way clear to simply telling your mother that this house party is a farce.”
“Mama planned this for months.”
Duty. She’d always bowed to it so much more easily than he had. He’d loved her moments of rebelliousness, the flashes of fire and boldness. But she had the same skill he had. The ability to pretend, to put on a facade of agreeableness or even joviality for the benefit of others.
“I appreciate that your mother put effort into the event, but these men are wasting their time, are they not?”
Bella blinked and her eyes widened in shock. Something snagged in the center of his chest, a flare of fear that she might actually be considering one of the men her mother chose to woo her.
“Your concern is for these men rather than me?”
“No.” Rhys let out a breath that turned into a chuckle. “You know that’s not true. But you’re a young lady who speaks her mind. At least you used to with me. You said you promised your mother you’d try. I simply wish to know why.”
She swallowed hard, started to speak, and then shook her head.
“Miss Prescott, I’ve come to claim our dance.” Lord Hammersley’s voice echoed loudly as he approached from the opposite end of the hallway.
Rhys cast the man a glare that seemed to have no effect whatsoever.
“Claremont.” Hammersley acknowledged him with a nod, then turned to Bella. “May I escort you back to the party, Miss Prescott?” He lifted his arm and wore a grin of smug certainty that she would agree.
“I am returning in a moment, my lord. Would you be so good as to go and tell my mother? She’ll want to prepare her sheet music for the next dance.”
The jolt of pleasure that rippled through Rhys wasn’t just pettiness at seeing Hammersley’s face fall. It was pride in Bella’s self-assurance.
Hammersley blustered for a moment, as if on the verge of protesting. Bella stared him down, a cool smile on her face and her hands crossed in front of her.
The two conducted their standoff for what seemed long minutes and just when Rhys sensed Hammersley would relent and return to the drawing room ahead of Bella, the man turned and reached for her hand. Bella pulled back but not quickly enough. The viscount clutched her wrist.
Rhys’s vision dimmed to a pinpoint focus on Hammersley’s hand latched on to Bella so firmly she winced. He stepped forward and wrapped his own hand around the man’s arm and squeezed. The viscount let out a yelp and released his hold on Bella.
“Don’t touch her again. Ever.” Rhys could barely get the words out past clenched teeth.
Hammersley yanked his arm free from Rhys’s grip and glared at him. “You take an eager interest in Miss Prescott.” He spared a scowl for Bella. “I don’t know whether she welcomes such attention, but your reputation will ruin her before you ever have a chance to do so yourself.” Hammersley looked at each of them in turn. “Unless you already have.”
“How dare you.” Bella’s cheeks flamed and she clenched her hands into fists.
“Goodness, girl.” Hammersley barked out an offended chortle. “I interrupt your tryst with a notorious blackguard and I am the one to give offense.” All pretense fell away and Hammersley sneered at Bella. “They say you’re clever, Miss Prescott, but I can find no evidence of it in your choice of suitors.”
“Get out.” The voice boomed to the high ceiling as Bella’s father shuffled out of his study. “Leave my home as soon as you’re able, Lord Hammersley. I won’t have my child insulted.”
“Never in my life—” the viscount started in an affronted tone.
“Go, man,” Rhys told him. “Save your pride. Whatever’s left of it.”
The viscount pursed his mouth and puffed out his chest but said nothing more. He turned on his heel and shuffled toward the staircase. Midway down the hall, he turned back.
“Everyone in London will hear of this.”
Without thought or plan, Rhys strode past Bella toward the viscount. The older man reeled back, but Rhys caught him by the lapel and pushed him against the wall.
“No, they won’t,” he told Hammersley quietly. “The party ended early. Make up whatever story you like, but if you try to harm her, spread rumors, I will ruin you.”
“Won’t be necessary. Will it, Hammersley?” Bella’s father’s voice emerged raspy and hoarse, as if he’d been shouting, though his voice now was as calm as Bella’s outward demeanor.
“Go, my lord.” Bella approached until she stood side by side with Rhys. “You will find a suitable bride. I’m sure of it, but you probably knew we wouldn’t suit from the day we met.”
For a moment Hammersley gazed at her with an expression that was less than irate. Then he nodded.
Rhys released him and retreated a few steps to allow him to pass. The viscount made his way up the stairs without looking back again.
As they watched him, Bella’s father stepped closer.
“Seems a long while since you two managed to get yourselves into this much trouble.”
“Mother will be disappointed,” Bella said worriedly.
“She will,” her father admitted. “But mostly that a man she invited to our home dared insult our daughter.”
“I made it worse.” Rhys feared his threat would appear in some scandal rag in a few days’ time.
“You convinced him to leave. That’s what matters most.” Bella stared at him a moment but said nothing more.