Champagne tastes of stale apples when you are twenty-five and officially a spinster. Bella Halloway toasted the ballroom doors and swore she would marry the next man through them — and the Duke of Westford walked in with coal dust under his nails, just as her reckless promise began spreading across the ballroom.

PART 4

The carriage ride to Lady Danbury’s townhouse was silent.

Bella sat on the velvet squabs with her hands folded over the dark emerald silk of her new gown. It was not a dress meant for a blushing bride-to-be. It was armor — high-necked, impeccably tailored, and entirely devoid of the lace and ribbons favored by the season’s debutantes.

She looked severe. She looked expensive.

Augustus sat opposite her, taking up far too much space in the enclosed cabin. He wore stark black, his cravat tied with brutal efficiency rather than elegance, and he stared out the window at the passing gas lamps.

He hadn’t spoken since he handed her into the carriage.

“You are crushing your fan,” he observed quietly.

Bella looked down. The ivory sticks were bowing under the pressure of her grip. She forced her fingers to loosen.

“I am preparing for battle, your grace. The ton does not like to be made fools of. And our engagement makes them look very foolish indeed.”

“They are fools.” He turned his head. The dim carriage light caught the rough angle of his broken nose. “You give them too much power, Bella. They have titles. They do not have teeth.”

The carriage jolted to a halt. The footman opened the door, letting in the damp night air.

Augustus stepped out first and offered his hand. His palm was warm and rough — a stark contrast to the smooth kid leather of her gloves.

The low hum of conversation in Lady Danbury’s drawing room died the instant the major-domo announced them.

It was not a gradual quiet. It was a sudden, violent cessation of sound, as if someone had dropped a stone down a well.

Bella kept her chin level. She placed her hand on Augustus’s forearm. It felt like holding onto a beam of solid oak.

They walked into the room.

The staring was offensive. Dowagers peered through lorgnettes. Lords in embroidered waistcoats leaned against the mantelpieces, sneering openly. The rumor had been that the Duke of Westford was punishing the desperate spinster for her crude joke.

Seeing them together confused the narrative.

Augustus did not look like a man dragging a captive. He moved with a heavy, predatory grace — and Bella walked beside him not with shame, but with cold defiance.

“Ah. The happy couple.”

Lord Henry Kavanaugh detached himself from a group of sycophants near the hearth. He wore a waistcoat of crushed purple velvet. His smile was razor thin.

He stopped directly in their path, blocking Augustus’s way to the hostess.

Bella felt her stomach drop. A cold sweat pricked her hairline.

“Westford.” Kavanaugh offered a shallow bow that bordered on mockery. “We were just discussing you. A rather sudden engagement. Some might call it reckless. Others might call it charity.”

His eyes slid to Bella. The malice in them was naked.

“Tell me, Miss Halloway. How is your brother? I understand he left London quite abruptly.”

Philip was safely on a coach to Cornwall, his debts paid, his life intact. Bella knew this.

Yet Kavanaugh’s voice still carried the echo of the threat.

Before she could reply, Augustus stepped forward.

It was a small movement — just half a pace — but it forced Kavanaugh to step back or be trampled.

“Kavanaugh.”

The gravel in his voice was gone. It was replaced by a flat, dead calm that was infinitely more terrifying.

“I hear you are a man who appreciates ledgers. Accounts. Debts.”

Kavanaugh’s smile faltered slightly. “I am a man of business. Yes.”

“Then let us do business.”

Augustus’s volume dropped so low that the surrounding room had to strain to hear it.

“My fiancée’s family is now my family. Her name is my name. If you speak to her again — if you look at her, if you breathe in her general direction, or if you ever mention her brother’s name in public or in private — I will not challenge you to a duel.”

Kavanaugh stiffened, a sneer returning to his lips. “Are you threatening me, Westford? The law —”

“I will not use pistols or swords.”

Augustus interrupted smoothly. He reached out and adjusted the lapel of Kavanaugh’s purple waistcoat. His massive hand completely engulfed the fine silk.

“I will simply find you in the street. I will take hold of your right arm, and I will tear it out of its socket. And then I will buy the magistrate who arrests me.”

He patted the lapel and let his hand drop.

“Enjoy your dinner.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He placed his hand on the small of Bella’s back and guided her past the frozen lord.

Kavanaugh stood rooted to the spot, the color completely drained from his face.

No one laughed. No one whispered. The sheer, unvarnished brutality of the threat hung in the air like smoke.

Augustus guided her to Lady Danbury, who looked as though she had swallowed a lemon. He offered a polite, mechanical bow. Bella sank into a flawless curtsy.

“My lady,” Bella said, her voice carrying clearly through the silent room. “Thank you for receiving us.”

Lady Danbury blinked, her gaze darting from the pale Kavanaugh to the immovable Duke. She snapped her fan open.

“Of course, Miss Halloway. We are delighted.”

Dinner was a masterclass in tension. The silver scraped loudly against the porcelain. Bella ate her roasted quail methodically while the women flanking her tried to engage her in thinly veiled interrogations about the wedding arrangements. She answered them with polite, utterly empty platitudes.

She was learning. Augustus’s blunt force shielded her. Her own cold composure was the blade.

Halfway through the second course, Augustus reached under the heavy damask tablecloth. His knuckles brushed against her knee.

It was not a caress. It was a grounding touch. A silent check.

Are you holding?

Bella shifted her leg, pressing the side of her knee firmly against his.

I am holding.

Augustus didn’t pull away. He left his knee pressed against hers for the rest of the meal.

It was the only warm thing in the room.