The idea of setting up a scandal was hardly original. Lavinia had seen it done countless times before by women who were too clever, too calculating, using their wits to ensure their futures were set with the right match. And while she hated the thought of stooping so low, her options were few. It was the only way she could see to force Lord Brandon into a position where he would be compelled to marry her.
The details of the plan started to form with unsettling clarity. She would make sure her brother, David, would catch her in Lord Brandon's room. The timing would be crucial, as would the positioning. She couldn't afford to get caught in an awkward moment, but with her brother finding her there, the implicationwould be clear. A woman in a man's private quarters in the middle of the night was the perfect catalyst for scandal.
She hated herself for even considering it, for having to resort to such tactics. But the longer she thought, the clearer it became. There was no other way to secure a future in her father's eyes. She could no longer afford to be the shy, overlooked girl who waited for someone to come to her.
With a final, shaky breath, Lavinia steadied herself and turned around to make her way into the estate. The hum of conversation and distant strains of a pianoforte filled the air as she stepped into the corridor. Guests roamed about, their laughter echoing in the room, and servants moved briskly, attending to the needs of the party. The house party was in full swing, with its usual chaos of introductions and whispers.
Lavinia moved past groups of guests clustered near the staircase. She had to hurry before she changed her mind. As she passed through the grand hallway of the estate, Lavinia's mind raced with doubt, but she pushed it aside.
Reaching the wing where the guest rooms were assigned, she paused and glanced down the corridor. A footman passed by with a nod, and she waited for him to disappear before venturing further. This part of the estate was quieter, the murmur of the gathering fading into the background.
With trembling fingers, she touched the edge of her skirt, fidgeting. She thought of turning back, returning to the garden,and pretending none of this had crossed her mind. But she couldn't.
The room where she would stage this disaster, Lord Brandon's quarters, had to be somewhere around here. He was a guest, after all. She could already picture the scene in her mind. Her father had put David in charge of watching her. If a short while went by, and he didn't see her, then he would surely come looking for her.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Once she got to what seemed to be the room she’d heard he was assigned to, her hand hovered over the doorknob. She felt a cold wave of fear wash over her, threatening to paralyze her, but she forced herself to take the next step. Without taking too much time to think, she twisted the knob. The door creaked open, and she slipped inside.
As she studied the room, calculating the best possible place she could sit, she heard footsteps approaching. Lavinia's breath hitched, and she quickly moved to place herself in a position where she could be seen as though she had been waiting there by accident, caught in ‘the act'.
It was happening. It felt surreal, and she couldn't believe she was actually going through with such an impulsive decision.
Lavinia's heart hammered in her chest as the door creaked open. But it wasn't David who stepped inside. Her eyes widened in shock as the figure who entered was neither her brother norLord Brandon. The man stood tall, and for a moment, Lavinia could only stare, her mind racing to make sense of what was happening.
She had expected to be caught by one person, but this was something entirely different. A twist she hadn't foreseen, and one that told her how big a mistake she had made.
"What are you doing in my room?"
Lavinia's entire body went rigid. If she were to explain the course of events that had led her up to that particular moment, she would have nothing to say. His sharp, calculating gaze swept from her head to her toe, lingering on her in a way that made her stomach twist. For a moment, she was too stunned to speak, her impulsive and quite stupid plan crumbling before her eyes.
"Your room?" was all she could stutter.
He didn't respond. Instead, he took several slow, deliberate steps forward, his eyes still locked on hers. The intensity of his gaze was unnerving, piercing through the thin veil of composure she was struggling to maintain. Lavinia's throat tightened as her instincts screamed at her to look away, but her body betrayed her—she stood rooted to the spot, frozen in a mixture of panic and disbelief. She had never been good at holding anyone's gaze for long, least of all someone like him, whose presence seemed to fill the entire room. Her eyes darted toward the door, the floor, anywhere but his face, but she couldn't escape his prying eyes.
"You do realize how this looks, right, my lady?" he questioned and crossed his arms.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows revealing veiny hands that seemed quite strong. The fabric of his shirt was slightly rumpled, and the top buttons undone like he dressed in a hurry. Lavinia could see his collarbone and the muscular lines of his chest. The casual disarray made him look impossibly rugged, dangerously untamed, and completely unlike the polished gentlemen she had been hoping to meet. Lavinia's cheeks flushed as she fought to keep her eyes fixed anywhere but on him, but they betrayed her.
The sight, unintentional as it was, sent a rush of heat to Lavinia's cheeks. She tore her gaze away, mortified by her own reaction. She hadn't meant to be here, hadn't meant for him to walk in. This wasn't part of the plan.
She had never seen a man like this before. Everything about him radiated a kind of power, from the sharp angles of his face to the piercing blue of his eyes, which seemed to see right through her. His dark hair, thick and unruly, fell in a way that seemed effortlessly perfect, and his tall, broad-shouldered frame only added to the commanding presence he exuded.
It was then she realized that she knew his name. She had heard it, whispered among the ladies of theton. Andrew Haskett, the Duke of Hargrave.
There was no way she could be caught in a scandal with someone like him. A man like Andrew wasn't going to save her. He wasn't going to marry her.
He was a rake, through and through. Lavinia had heard all the rumors about him.
The very thought of being linked to him in even the smallest scandal made her stomach churn. She hadn't intended this. This was a mistake, a colossal, unforgivable mistake. And now, with him standing there, silent and scrutinizing, she wasn't sure how she could explain her way out of it.
"Did your mama put you up to this?" he questioned. "Because if she did, it was a very poor and frankly, stupid idea. This could practically destroy your reputation."
"No, you don't understand," Lavinia tried to explain. "I wasn't...I didn't. This was a complete mistake."
"Clearly," he said, beginning to pace the room with slow, deliberate steps, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. "Let me try and see if I can piece this together."
Lavinia's throat tightened as she watched him move. She couldn't tell if he was furious or if he was contemplating something else. Her palms grew clammy, and she clasped them tightly in front of her, praying he couldn't see how rattled she was.
