Thank you to Mel and Pamela!

VII

EDWARD

2 July 1897

London, England

Guests have been pouring into Devonshire House all evening, each one dressed impeccably as the glittering crowd of aristocracy gathers in my mother's recently redecorated ballroom. My parents are dressed stylishly, my mother pinned and tucked into a dress too young for a woman her age. No one will point it out, of course, because the Duchess of Devonshire is exactly like the extravagant jewels that drip from her costume: brilliant, gleaming, and viciously cold and hard. No one ever dares to cross her.

Across the room, my sister stands beside a group of her school friends, fans craftily held to invite flirtations from men who knew how to read such cues.

I roll my eyes at them and turn before any of them can catch sight of me. I do not want to be pestered by them. I certainly have enough to worry about.

At the thought, my eyes shift toward the doors. So far, there's no word of either my betrothed or Miss Swan. I don't know what moved me to invite her, when she very clearly is not an option for me. Perhaps I have one last need for rebellion in me after all.

My mind drifts to my impulsive visit this afternoon. Miss Swan was gracious to see me even though I barged in on her in the most impestious fashion. Still, despite my bad manners, she seemed pleased to see me. My heart beat stutters in my chest when I think of how close I came to kissing her.

Rebellion indeed.

"What is the word?" Liam's voice meets my ears, and I tear my gaze from the doors to glance at him.

"Nothing yet," I tell him, feeling my chest tighten with the admission.

He nods, sipping a glass of champagne. "She'll show."

I glance at the doors before turning back to him. "My betrothed or Miss Swan?"

Liam grins. "If I'm a lucky man, both."

I want to reach out and hit him, but I know better than to make a scene here in front of my parents.

"You're an arse," I hiss.

He claps a hand on my shoulder. "Now, now, young lord. You must be kinder to those who would help you with subterfuge," he says, shaking his head.

"What are you going on about?" I demand.

"I've a plan to help you with your problem," he says, tapping his nose.

I stare at him. Liam has a brilliant mind, but his plans has a way of … backfiring. Once, at Eton, we nearly ended up cargo on a ship to South Africa after trying to get out of tea with my father.

It's been a bloody mad week.

"Trust me, old boy," he says before tipping his glass and finishing it off. "Your betrothed will be dealt with, and you'll have your father's blessing by the end of the night."

I gape at him. Even for Liam, it is a lot to promise.

Before I can argue though, his elbow is connecting with my ribs, his hand pointing toward the entrance. I turn and feel the breath rush out of my body.

Miss Swan stands at the doors, the brilliant red of her gown bright and glowing against the duller fabrics around us. The bodice has a shocking cut, her curves impossible to hide. Her hair is curled into a mass that is carefully tucked up on her head, and the pearls and jewels on the gown glitter under the candlelight. She looks like a vision, and were she dressed in white, I might think myself dead and gone to Eden.

Liam chuckles beside me, carefully nudging me again. My feet propel me forward, cutting through the crowd as I'm drawn to Miss Swan.

She looks up when I approach, her stunning face breaking into an almost heartbreakingly beautiful smile.

"Lord Cullen," she says, dipping into one of her truly atrocious curtsies.

I fight off a smile at her bad form. "Miss Swan, you are a radiant vision this evening," I say, hoping my voice isn't shaking too much as I gently take her hand.

Miss Swan blushes a little, and I fight off a groan when I see that pink move over her pale skin.

"Yes, well…" she says, waving a hand around herself. "I had help finding the right gown."

My eyes move over her dress, eyeing the bountiful swells of her breasts before I force myself to keep sweeping my gaze over her. "It only adds shine to an already flawless canvas," I tell her.

Her small hand still in mine, I feel her fingers gently squeeze mine.

"May I be so bold as to ask you for a dance before you've even properly entered?" I ask.

She grins. "You are impetuous today," she teases.

I let out a soft laugh. "I suppose you bring it out in me."

Bella's smile truly is breathtaking. "I would love to dance."

I take her into my arms, too eager to hold her. She fits against me precisely, and though she is wearing a massive gown, I can feel the rough shape of her body against mine, and I remember the feel of her pressed on top of me as she saved my life.

It takes every shred of training, decency, and willpower I have not to pull her even closer.

"I must say," I state as we dance. I am supposed to be holding her farther from me, but I can't quite convince my arms to move her. "I thought blue would be more of your color," I tell her honestly. "But the red…"

"Is it okay?" she asks, glancing down at the gown.

I huff out a laugh. "I feel as Eve might have, being tempted by the ultimate red ripe fruit," I whisper.

She lets out a surprised laugh, and I pull her closer to me until we are practically indecent.

I hear whispers picking up around us, and I know that I am not acting wisely, but I can't pull myself away from her.

"You look rather…" Bella pauses, her dark eyes flickering over my face before traveling down over my chest. My heart squeezes beneath my ribs. "Beautiful," she says finally.

I smirk. "Miss Swan, you wound me. Have you not noticed the very manly and ruggedly good looks I was graced with?" I tease.

Bella's smile steals the very air from the room.

Before she can respond, there is a hand landing on the center of my back, halting our movements. I turn, unable to hide the sour expression on my face as I gaze at Rosalie.

"Edward," she hisses, her eyes wide, verging on terrified as her attention flickers past me toward the direction of our parents. "This really…"

Whatever she was going to say is cut off when Stephan, my father's valet, appears at my side. "Sir," Stephan says, giving me a shallow bow. Bella tries to pull out of my palms, but I flex my fingers, keeping her in front of me. "Your father wishes to speak with you."

I swallow hard, and beside me, Rosalie stiffens.

"Thank you, Stephan," I say, clearing my throat before looking at Miss Swan. "But you can tell my father—" I let out a painful yelp as Rosalie's heel smashes down on my foot.

"Don't be a fool," she hisses in my ear.

I turn to glare at her, but in my confusion, she twists around my back and yanks Bella out of my arms. I turn back to see Rosalie hauling Bella off the dance floor, and I start after her when Stephan steps back into my path. "Sir," he repeats. "It's rather urgent."

I glare at him. Bella will be fine, probably, with Rosalie for a few minutes. I know from experience that keeping my father waiting any longer will only dig me deeper.

Letting out a frustrated breath, I turn and stalk across the room toward my waiting parents.

My mother is holding court with her friends, her desperation to look young driving her to wear a dress far too young for a woman her age. She looks beautiful, but I do wonder sometimes what she might be like if she allowed herself to continue to age with my father.

Mother stops me as I pass her friends, tugging me gently into their circle to show me off. "Isn't my boy so handsome?" Mother cries, fawning over me.

Some of her friends give me hungry looks, the same looks they have been giving me since I returned from university. It is a disturbing thought that I try not to dwell on.

"Mother, please forgive me but I must go see Father."

Mother pinches at my cheeks, kissing them both. She smells of champagne and rosewater.

"Go, my beautiful boy. But save your muma a dance," she begs.

I flash her a smile before slipping away from the group.

Father is stationed strategically at the north end of the ball room. He has a good view of the entrance from here, as well as distance from the dancefloor that I know he prefers.

I approach him warily. It is always impossible to know what to expect from Father.

Someone is telling father a joke as I arrive, so I wait, silent and patient for him to acknowledge me. I takes several minutes before Father finally glances my way.

"You wished to see me?" I ask, my tone carefully neutral.

Father nods. "I have heard word that the grand duchess has arrived," he tells me, and internally I sag in relief. So long as he is not trying to berate me for dancing so inappropriately with Miss Swan.

"I shall keep an eye out for her." I tell him, even though it is the furthest thought from my mind.

Father steps away from his friends, and I step back, wary. "You will seek her out, now," he says, his voice firm. "The queen is arriving soon. We need her input on your marriage." He sneers the words, and I know that it kills him to need the queen for anything.

I let out a breath. "I will find the grand duchess," I repeat.

"Edward," Father grabs my arm, shaking me enough to look him squarely in the eyes. "You can think with your cock later," he says, shocking me. "It will not matter who you dally with after you are married."

So he did see Miss Swan, and he knows exactly how much I cannot keep my eyes or hands off of her. I open my mouth, perhaps to protest, perhaps to admit my guilt, when Father shoves me back toward the dance floor. "Go," he snaps. "Do not fail me."

I turn from him, my head spinning. He is a master puppeteer and I am meant to be his faithful puppet.

I can see Miss Swan easily through the crowd, the bright red of her gown calling to me like a beacon. My eyes scan the dance floor, trying to guess where the grand duchess might be. No matter who she is, in my heart I know she cannot compare to Miss Swan.

Call it infatuation, impestuousness, or even foolishness, but I know exactly where I need to be.

I hear a herald announcing the queen's arrival and I take off across the room, cutting off the strings from my master and taking the first steps into my own destiny.