Court of Flowers (Sutherland Book 1)

XVIII | Humbrick Attack

West was on his way to a group of acquaintances when he heard the announcement. He heard Sasha's name, but what caused him to pause and freeze was when he heard it followed by Belcourt.

Everyone around him turned, craning their necks, their faces filled with interest, their eyes ready and eager to judge.

His jaw tightened and his lips pressed together.

He heard the whispers and he heard her name repeated in hushed whispers. West's nostrils flared, a shaky breath escaping. And then he moved, away from her, ignoring the glances that were no longer on him. The stares went past him and unto the people that just entered—unto her.

"Lord Eaton," a man from the House of Lords he barely shared anything with greeted him, inviting him into their group. "We were just talking about the flocks of Belles this season." The man motioned his head to his companions, all lords, all members of the peerage. "What were you saying just now, Harlowe?"

The muscles of his cheeks pulled for a tight smile, the best he could muster at the moment, as he listened to Harlowe talk about his wife sharing stories of Belles walking around Coulway as though they owned the streets. "Disgusted, that she is," said Harlowe. "I could not agree more, as a matter-of-fact. What say you, Eaton? Would you not agree that the stupid fools who pay their way into Belcourt to get these ladies are naught but well... just fools? Look at Emsworth. I can only imagine his late father's revulsion. He thinks he can bring along two Belles because he is in Humbrick and none of us would dare recount what we witness here."

West slightly twisted his back to look over his shoulder. A wrong move. He saw Emsworth. He saw Ruby. And he saw Sasha. She seemed isolated, detached from the rest, even from her companions. Yet she was there, forcing a smile on her lips, nodding at those who greeted them, listening intently. And that bloody gown ought to be burned. It was not screaming for attention, yet he hated it. In fact, it was paled in comparison to the blood-red gown Ruby was wearing. It must be the color and the way it stealthily catches attention. It must be the way it was cut, revealing her neck and collarbones.

"I am certain, Harlowe," he finally said, voice grave, signaling a warning, "that Emsworth must not care at all of your opinions. As you said so yourself, we are in Humbrick. What happens here stays here." His forbidding gaze glided from one man to the other. "If I were you, I would be very careful." His lips cracked to allow a knowing smile. "You have little idea of the number of gentlemen who enjoy Belcourt's privileges."

Harlowe sent his companions darting glances. He licked his lips and with a shaky smile, asked, "Are you saying, Your Grace, that you are amongst the gentlemen of Belcourt?"

If one could hear the actual sound of breaths being held around him, West could have formed an orchestra. He took a glass of brandy from the server that walked past them, all the while aware of the anticipation of the men before him. He stole Sasha another glance, confident that his companions could wait a little while for his answer.

But then, they could live on for a few more days in mystery.

"Now, wouldn't you want to know, Harlowe?" he asked in a flat tone, the sly smile on his lips taunting Harlowe's patience. "We are at Humbrick, my lords. Anything is possible here, but nothing can come out." he asked, warning in his voice. The four men shared a look of frustration. "If you would excuse me, gentlemen, I believe I can find better entertainment elsewhere."

While making his way through the crowd of guests, away from Harlowe and his companions, Lady Renee started her speech, voice booming over everyone else, demanding to be respected.

Humbrick Ball would never be complete without the marchioness's infamous opening speech. He glanced at the elevated platform where the large woman stood in front of the orchestra. Her gown a flurry of the most expensive linens that made her look like an unlucky peacock. Her blond hair was just as unnecessarily extravagant, perhaps agitated a little too much. But she was Lady Renee and she was known to be excessive. The apparent splurge for the week-long ball spoke of the hostess and her pride. That pride came from the fact that her yearly ball had always been successful, one aspired by many. One that was spoken of too much outside, but one that remained to be clouded in mystery because there was only one clear rule to follow at Humbrick: keep one's secret and they shall keep yours. No other clubs in Sutherland had managed such feat, yet it took one woman throwing one of the largest balls in the kingdom to do what many of these men-owned businesses could not.