The Duke's Dangerous Wager

Chapter 7

Tristan stood at the edge of the ballroom, his eyes scanning the sea of swirling masks and gowns with growing unease. The air, thick with the scent of perfume and candle wax, seemed to get stuck in his throat. Despite the merriment around him, all he could focus on was the lingering taste of regret from that cursed kiss.

The moment their lips parted, he had decided to avoid her. He would retreat quietly and let the consequences of his reckless wager dissipate.

But avoiding her proved impossible.

Every time he closed his eyes, the image of Miss Everly's face, the feeling of her soft lips against his, flashed in his mind. There had been a moment, brief, almost imperceptible, where he'd felt something stirring in him—something unsettling, something far too real.

He shouldn't have kissed her. He shouldn't have even wagered on her. Miss Everly deserved better than to be a pawn in some foolish game of cards. He needed to leave before the weight of his guilt dragged him further under and clogged his mind.

With firm resolve, Tristan turned. He would slip out of the door unnoticed and retreat to his house, where he could torment himself with her memory in peace.

Sinclair's voice, loud, slurred, and angry, cut over the sound of the crowd.

"She's already half ruined, you know. Poor girl doesn't stand a chance. I'll have her soon enough."

Tristan's spine stiffened, his feet rooted him to the spot.

Heat flared in his chest.

Slowly, he turned back toward the sound of the voice, his eyes narrowing as he spotted Sinclair standing in a small circle of men, drink in hand. The man made a crude gesture, and the others laughed.

Tristan's stomach twisted.

"Mark my words, gentlemen," Sinclair continued, his voice oozing with smug confidence. "Miss Everly will soon find herself in desperate need of a husband, and when she does... Well, I shall be there to offer my services."

Tristan's fists clenched at his sides.

How could that man speak about a woman so crassly? How could he treat her like some cast-off piece of clothing for him to trample on?

Tristan should have ignored it, but as if of their own volition, his feet stormed toward Sinclair.

Tristan strode across the room, his boots echoing sharply against the polished marble floor. As he approached, Sinclair looked up, a sneer curling his lips as he met Tristan's gaze.

"Well, well," Sinclair drawled, his eyes gleaming. "If it isn't the honorable Duke of Ashford. Come to join in the fun?"

Tristan stepped into the circle, his jaw tight. "You'll keep her name out of your mouth, Sinclair."

Sinclair raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "And who are we talking about, my dear Duke?"

"You know exactly who," Tristan growled, his voice low and dangerous.

"Ah, the woman you took advantage of," Sinclair said with feigned understanding.

The men around them exchanged uneasy glances.

Sinclair took a slow sip from his glass. "Yes, Miss Everly," he said, his tone condescending. "Such a lovely creature. Truly unfortunate how vulnerable she is this evening. Desperate, really. Won't take much for her to be utterly ruined. You know how such women are—won't be long before she falls into the arms of the right man. Or wrong, depending upon your opinion..."

Tristan took a step closer, his chest tightening with barely contained fury. "You stay away from her."

Sinclair's smile faltered, and his eyes narrowed. "After that little stunt you pulled earlier, it seems you've done more harm than good."

Tristan's blood ran cold. Sinclair was right—it was only a matter of time before the rumors spread like wildfire.

Miss Everly's reputation, like that of any woman's, was so fragile. It would be in tatters by night's end, and it would be his fault.

Sinclair leaned in, his voice dropping to a malicious whisper. "I was going to play the game fairly, but it seems you've opened the way for me. It's only right that I should do what any decent gentleman would."

Before Tristan could respond, Sinclair's smile twisted into something darker. "That little minx acts so highbrow, as if she's better than the rest of us, as if we don't know about her financial situation. I shall have her. And when I do, I'll make sure everyone knows who she really is—a desperate, ruined girl, willing to do anything for a title, even kiss a man in a darkened corner of a ball."

Tristan's vision blurred with rage. Without thinking, his hand shot up, grabbing Sinclair by the front of his coat.

"Keep your hands off her, you bastard," he growled.

The men around them gasped, and a hush fell over the immediate area as Sinclair stumbled back, eyes wide.

Before Sinclair could retaliate, something inside Tristan shifted. He needed to act quickly. He needed to shield Miss Everly from the disaster that was looming over her.

He couldn't let Sinclair destroy her.

Turning abruptly, Tristan scanned the ballroom, heart pounding in his ears. He spotted Miss Everly near the dance floor, her delicate features illuminated by the soft glow of the chandeliers as she lifted her face toward Baron Arlingford. Tristan's stomach twisted at the sight of her, but there was no time to hesitate.

His decision was made, and on his honor, he wouldn't back down now.

Without another word, Tristan strode across the room, every nerve in his body taut. Miss Everly looked up as he approached, her eyes widening in surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say a word, Tristan dropped to one knee before her. He raised his voice until the room hushed quickly.

"Miss Everly," he began, his voice steady. "I must beg your forgiveness, but I cannot allow the moment to pass without declaring my intentions."

Miss Everly's eyes widened, her lips parting in shock as the entire room turned to watch them.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, the weight of a hundred eyes pressing on Tristan's shoulders. He wanted to squirm away, to duck into his comfortable sphere of anonymity, but he refused.

"With all those present as my witness," he said, his gaze locked on hers, "I ask you to become my wife."

Gasps echoed around them, but all Tristan could see was the stunned expression on Miss Everly's face.

There was no turning back. He had sealed his fate the moment he made that wager with Sinclair, and he would do anything to make amends for that mistake.

Sinclair would not win.

And no one else, not even Miss Everly, would ever know how this disaster had begun.