mean about rescuing Sir Timothy?” she hissed at him, eyes still aflame.
“Nothing much, my pet. Merely that I think you were about to promise to marry our dear baronet under false pretences. Sir Timothy is quite the catch, you know. Handsome, well bread, wealthy . Very convenient when you, my dear, don’t have a ha’penny to your name.”
Araminta’s blood ran cold at his words, and her stomach plummeted. Years of dancing instruction kept her moving automatically, and even so she nearly missed a step, as she stared up at him, eyes wide and startled. Chestleton was clearly enjoying the moment.
“I say, Miss Barrington, you look quite peaked. Are you unwell?” he asked loudly enough for the other dancers to hear. She did not reply.
“You don’t know that! You can’t know that.” she managed at last.
“Ah, but I do. That’s quite a situation you find yourself in, my rose,” Chestleton drawled in his cultured voice, though his handsome face did not show much in the way of sympathy. His eyes glittered at her darkly.
“It’s very fortunate that word of your regrettable circumstance has not yet spread among the ton ,” he continued. Araminta looked at him with a dawning, and unpleasant, sense of understanding. “Take your Sir Timothy, for example. How do you think he’d feel, knowing that he was about to marry himself to a woman of no fortune at all? A woman who had knowingly withheld this fact from him?”
“You wouldn’t,” Araminta gasped in outrage, forgetting to keep her voice down in her ire, and drawing a few startled looks from the other dancers. “You wouldn’t.” she repeated in a lower voice.
“Ah, but I would, my dear lady. You must know that I would.”
“What do you want from me?” she demanded without thinking, and then blushed at her unfortunate phrasing as his burning gaze swept over her slender form appreciatively. He looked as if he were savouring a fine chocolate. Araminta shivered despite herself at his unhurried scrutiny, and felt a strange tingling begin in her stomach.
“That is a good question, my dear. But one I am not inclined to answer just at the present moment. Not to worry, though. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
The music finished, and Araminta found her mouth dry at his words. Chestleton unceremoniously led her off the dance floor.
“Perhaps you had better have a seat, Miss Barrington. You’re looking somewhat pale.”
With that, he gave her a brisk bow, and left her. Araminta found that he was beginning to make a habit of doing that, and it was not a habit she appreciated. Her head was spinning at his sudden revelation, and she tried furiously to think. Though her aunt and uncle joined her soon, she found she had little attention to give their conversation. Araminta felt a mixture of disbelief and panic. A part of her still insisted that Chestleton must be bluffing, that he could not possibly know or have any proof of her situation. Of course, proof was never a prerequisite for gossip, she knew. She did not like the feeling of her future and those of the rest of her family hanging on the mercy of a man who could by all accounts be as ruthless as he was shameless. She knew that his whim was a fickle thing. She felt angry at him for placing her in such a situation, and angry at herself for allowing him to throw her into such turmoil.
She also struggled to fight back the fear of what exactly he would want of her. Chestleton was known as a man of hedonism, to whom morals and propriety meant nothing. She could only imagine the sort of wicked request he might make of her. She felt a stab of fury. She would not be any man’s plaything. She would not be another Violet Grey. And yet, she did not know what she would do, if forced to choose between her own virtue and reputation, and her family’s future. Her panic grew, and she found she was struggling to breathe.
“Araminta, my dear?” Her uncle’s concerned voice broke through her haze of panic just
“Nothing much, my pet. Merely that I think you were about to promise to marry our dear baronet under false pretences. Sir Timothy is quite the catch, you know. Handsome, well bread, wealthy . Very convenient when you, my dear, don’t have a ha’penny to your name.”
Araminta’s blood ran cold at his words, and her stomach plummeted. Years of dancing instruction kept her moving automatically, and even so she nearly missed a step, as she stared up at him, eyes wide and startled. Chestleton was clearly enjoying the moment.
“I say, Miss Barrington, you look quite peaked. Are you unwell?” he asked loudly enough for the other dancers to hear. She did not reply.
“You don’t know that! You can’t know that.” she managed at last.
“Ah, but I do. That’s quite a situation you find yourself in, my rose,” Chestleton drawled in his cultured voice, though his handsome face did not show much in the way of sympathy. His eyes glittered at her darkly.
“It’s very fortunate that word of your regrettable circumstance has not yet spread among the ton ,” he continued. Araminta looked at him with a dawning, and unpleasant, sense of understanding. “Take your Sir Timothy, for example. How do you think he’d feel, knowing that he was about to marry himself to a woman of no fortune at all? A woman who had knowingly withheld this fact from him?”
“You wouldn’t,” Araminta gasped in outrage, forgetting to keep her voice down in her ire, and drawing a few startled looks from the other dancers. “You wouldn’t.” she repeated in a lower voice.
“Ah, but I would, my dear lady. You must know that I would.”
“What do you want from me?” she demanded without thinking, and then blushed at her unfortunate phrasing as his burning gaze swept over her slender form appreciatively. He looked as if he were savouring a fine chocolate. Araminta shivered despite herself at his unhurried scrutiny, and felt a strange tingling begin in her stomach.
“That is a good question, my dear. But one I am not inclined to answer just at the present moment. Not to worry, though. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
The music finished, and Araminta found her mouth dry at his words. Chestleton unceremoniously led her off the dance floor.
“Perhaps you had better have a seat, Miss Barrington. You’re looking somewhat pale.”
With that, he gave her a brisk bow, and left her. Araminta found that he was beginning to make a habit of doing that, and it was not a habit she appreciated. Her head was spinning at his sudden revelation, and she tried furiously to think. Though her aunt and uncle joined her soon, she found she had little attention to give their conversation. Araminta felt a mixture of disbelief and panic. A part of her still insisted that Chestleton must be bluffing, that he could not possibly know or have any proof of her situation. Of course, proof was never a prerequisite for gossip, she knew. She did not like the feeling of her future and those of the rest of her family hanging on the mercy of a man who could by all accounts be as ruthless as he was shameless. She knew that his whim was a fickle thing. She felt angry at him for placing her in such a situation, and angry at herself for allowing him to throw her into such turmoil.
She also struggled to fight back the fear of what exactly he would want of her. Chestleton was known as a man of hedonism, to whom morals and propriety meant nothing. She could only imagine the sort of wicked request he might make of her. She felt a stab of fury. She would not be any man’s plaything. She would not be another Violet Grey. And yet, she did not know what she would do, if forced to choose between her own virtue and reputation, and her family’s future. Her panic grew, and she found she was struggling to breathe.
“Araminta, my dear?” Her uncle’s concerned voice broke through her haze of panic just
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