I Publicly Humiliated The Most Powerful Duke In The City — His Reaction Shocked Everyone
Part 1
The grand ballroom gleamed under the light of a hundred crystal chandeliers.
I stood near a marble column, observing the proceedings with a knot of absolute disgust twisting in my stomach.
At twenty-two, most of high society considered me dangerously close to being an unmarriageable spinster.
That fate concerned me not in the slightest.
My cousin approached with two glasses of champagne and a sympathetic sigh.
These affairs grow more tedious each season as the exact same people parade their daughters before eligible bachelors like prize cattle.
Not all of us have the luxury of your independence, Brenda.
My cousin’s voice carried a hint of desperate, heavy exhaustion.
Some of us must secure a suitable match before the year ends or face total financial ruin.
My lips curved into a bitter, completely humorless smile.
My father’s moderate fortune prevents me from starving, but it hardly grants me true freedom.
Were I truly independent, I would be at university instead of remaining trapped in these gilded cages they call ballrooms.
Our conversation shattered as a sudden, heavy hush fell over the room.
The glittering crowd parted like the Red Sea.
Greg Blackwood, the Duke of Somerset, possessed a reputation that preceded him wherever he went.
At thirty-five, he was one of the most powerful, intimidating men in the entire country.
He was also widely considered the most arrogant, unfeeling tyrant in our social circle.
Midnight-dark hair fell across his brow.
Those icy eyes mirrored the exact color of a frozen winter sky.
A strong jaw and high cheekbones framed a harsh mouth that looked completely incapable of smiling.
I let out a harsh, unladylike snort.
I pity the unfortunate creature who willingly ties herself to such a terrifying monster.
The Blackwood estates are among the finest in the country, and his fortune is entirely limitless.
My voice rose slightly, drawing nervous, horrified glances from nearby guests.
What good is a limitless fortune when it comes with a master who demands absolute obedience?
As if sensing my direct criticism, his pale gaze swept the massive room and locked directly onto mine.
For a terrifying moment, my lungs completely forgot how to pull in air.
Those icy eyes seemed to strip away all my carefully constructed social defenses.
He examined me the way a scientist might study a particularly curious, defiant specimen.
Then, entirely unexpectedly, one corner of his mouth lifted in dark amusement.
I forced myself to look away first, deeply unsettled by the strange encounter.
Disaster struck an hour later when I retreated to a quiet corner to escape an overzealous mother.
I overheard a hushed conversation that made the blood absolutely boil in my veins.
The girl has no choice in the matter.
The deep, authoritative voice belonged unmistakably to Greg Blackwood.
Her father already agreed to the match, and the financial papers are signed.
Whether she weeps or rejoices is entirely immaterial.
I peered around a large potted palm, keeping my position carefully concealed.
He stood with an elderly, highly conservative peer.
The older man shook his head in absolute disapproval.
My own granddaughter speaks of love as if it were a requirement for marriage.
Greg’s laugh was short, sharp, and completely devoid of warmth.
Love is a foolish poet’s fancy, not the foundation of a successful union.
Compatibility of rank, fortune, and bloodline are the only things that truly matter.
The Fisher girl will learn that harsh lesson soon enough.
I recognized the name with a sickening jolt to my heart.
Megan Fisher was barely eighteen, incredibly sweet-natured, and painfully shy.
And if she continues to resist the arrangement?
Greg’s response sent a violent chill down my spine.
Women must be guided firmly, exactly like spirited horses.
They may resist the bit initially, but eventually they always yield to a strong hand.
Something violent and unstoppable snapped inside my chest.
Before I could consider the catastrophic consequences, I stepped out from behind the palm.
I faced both men directly, stepping into their private circle.
What a truly fascinating perspective.
My voice rang out with barely suppressed, raw fury.
I was entirely unaware that women and horses were interchangeable in your estimation.
He turned slowly, his expression betraying a split second of surprise.
His features quickly settled into a mask of cool, calculating assessment.
The older man sputtered in absolute shock at my unprecedented interruption.
Greg raised one dark, imperious eyebrow.
Brenda Sullivan.
I executed a curtsy that was just shallow enough to be a deliberate, biting insult.
I find your views on marriage not merely antiquated, but entirely reprehensible.
The ballroom around us grew dead silent as nearby guests sensed the brewing confrontation.
The older peer murmured a frantic excuse and retreated hastily.
I was left standing completely alone against the most dangerous man in the room.
You appear to possess strong opinions on matters that do not concern you.
His voice dropped to a deceptively soft, lethal whisper.
When one man speaks of another human being as property to be managed, it concerns all of us.
My heart pounded wildly against my ribs, but I absolutely refused to back down.
Megan Fisher deserves far better than to be bartered away like livestock.
He stepped closer.
I caught the distinct scent of sandalwood and something uniquely, overwhelmingly masculine.
My pulse quickened in a way that made me furious with myself.
You presume much about arrangements you know absolutely nothing about.
I strongly suggest you mind your tongue before you cause irreparable damage.
I raised my chin in direct, open defiance.
Men like you believe your vast wealth grants you ownership over the lives of others.
By now, a massive circle of guests had formed around us.
People pretended to converse while desperately straining to hear every single word.
You will cease this unacceptable display immediately.
His command carried the absolute certainty that I would instantly obey.
I will not.
I met his icy gaze without flinching or stepping back.
Unlike Megan Fisher, I am not yours to command.
I truly pity any woman who ever finds herself subject to your terrifying authority.
The entire ballroom fell into a stunned, breathless silence.
His face remained impassive, but something incredibly dangerous flashed in those pale eyes.
Then, he did something that shocked me to my very core.
He smiled.
It was not a tight social smile, but something dark, genuine, and infinitely disturbing.
How utterly fascinating.
His gaze pinned me completely in place.
A fierce lioness surrounded by mindless, bleating lambs.
The sheer intensity of his stare made my cheeks burn hot with a confusing mixture of anger.
My legs felt suddenly unsteady beneath my heavy gown.
Before I could formulate a response, he inclined his head in a mocking bow.
He turned and walked away, effectively dismissing me in front of everyone.
I fled the ballroom minutes later with my reputation in absolute tatters.
The following afternoon, I sat in my father’s study nursing a massive headache.
The scandal of my confrontation had spread through the city like a massive wildfire.
My father paced before the fireplace, his face purple with absolute rage.
You might as well have walked up and slapped the Queen herself!
Before I could defend myself further, our butler appeared trembling in the doorway.
He announced that the Duke of Somerset had just arrived and demanded an immediate audience.
The blood drained completely from my face as heavy footsteps echoed in the hall.
