The Debutante (Season Series #2)

Chapter 34: The Winter Garden

"I knew you'd come find me," Dorian said, a dangerously dashing grin on his face as he wrapped my hand into his elbow and pulled me to the edge of the dance floor. Under the cover of my skirts, I reached out a foot and sank the heel of my slipper onto his toes, in no mood to play games. His face remained impassive, but he jerked his chin up, his jaw muscle spasming.

"I'll thank you to release me," I said, grinding my foot even harder. Unfortunately for me, the music for the next dance was about to begin and Dorian seemed to have feet of stone. He tore his shoe out from underneath mine, effectively throwing me off balance and using the move to sweep me into his arms.

"I see you had quite the conversation with her Majesty," Dorian said, his hands like iron around my fingers. I struggled as best I could, craning my neck around in a search for a friend or acquaintance to assist me, but Dorian had backed me towards a corner of the dance floor that held nothing but unfamiliar faces.

"It's no concern of yours," I snarled, "Unhand me, you great brute."

"No, I don't think I will," he said, his eyes taking on that dangerous glint once again. I swallowed, glaring up at him. The music started and he dragged me into a waltz, while I did everything I could to ensure I stomped on his feet at every opportunity.

"I fear for you, Libby," he said as we danced, "Every time I see you, you seem to be in a fouler mood. The pressures of becoming a future queen are daunting, aren't they?"

I didn't dignify his statement with an answer, instead stomping on his foot once again. But my stone-footed dance partner pressed on.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful if it all stopped?" Dorian asked.

"No," I snapped, only for some traitorous, honest corner of my mind to scream yes. My thoughts were in a turmoil, all the dark doubts I'd been trying so hard to ignore swirling around in a tempest of despair, fatigue, frustration, and worry. I hated that I did think it would be wonderful if I could get a proper night's rest without worrying what impossible task the queen would set for me the next day, or what cruel rumour Ashley would spread at breakfast. Thankfully, I was acutely aware that the words stirring up my mind were coming from Dorian Fletcher and that, tempting as they were, they surely veiled some more sinister motive.

"If only you weren't so terribly easy to read," Dorian chuckled, "My offer still stands, you know. I am still very much in need of a wife."

"I pity whatever poor soul ends up shackled to you for the rest of her days," I all but spat at him, the leer on his face enough to banish all consideration of his offer to end the queen's tyranny.

"Just as I'll pity you if you end up shackled to that throne, with her breathing down your neck until her dying day," Dorian drawled, "I must say that a tiara would make quite the beautiful manacle, but the palace walls would no doubt serve as a constant reminder of the wide world you gave up on so easily."

"Stop talking as if you know me," I said through gritted teeth, his words pushing my stomach to teeter on the edge of an infinite precipice.

This man I hardly knew had somehow just given voice to the very fear I'd buried down as deeply as I could. I'd hoped that particular fear would eventually shrivel and die in that dark corner of my mind, suffocated by my love for Andrew. But now that every evil thought I'd banished there along with it had resurfaced, I was keenly aware that it had only become more powerful as I attempted to ignore it, fed by the queen's bullying, in the dark recesses of my thoughts.

The future Dorian laid out for his bride, a future of travel and exploration, of adventure and excitement, was exactly the future I'd always envisioned for myself - a rootless existence fed by new experiences and memories rather than repetition and rote. The only problem was that the life I wanted was tied to a man I hated, while marrying the man I loved meant incarcerating myself in a gilded prison.