On One Condition
Yet when she opened the box, her breath hitched.
Sapphires and diamonds alternated all around the necklace, centered on an enormous sapphire teardrop pendant. “Oh, Damon. You’ve gone too far. This is way too expensive.”
“Nothing is too expensive for you.” He coaxed the box out of her hand to remove the necklace from the satin case.
Once she saw how gorgeous she looked wearing it, she would not question his motives. The necklace had been made for her.
He draped the jewelry around her neck, and she lifted her hair to accommodate him. He clasped the necklace securely.
Unable to resist, he dropped a kiss on her cheek before stepping away. “There. Perfect.”
Smiling, she fingered the pendant, studying it in the mirror. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” Clearing his throat, he tore his gaze from her face. “Ready to go?”
“No. I’m scared,” she admitted. “This isn’t among Americans. These are your peers. They’ll see I’m a fraud.”
“Johanna,” he groaned, running his hands through his hair. “You’ll do great, I promise.”
Sighing, she grabbed her purse and brushed past him.
“Fine. But I’d rather stay here.”
“Me too,” he said. “Me too.”
…
Johanna stared out the car window as traffic flew by. Her stomach cramped as she pictured herself screwing up every single introduction made. Or maybe she’d use the wrong fork—even though she’d been studying the proper order for a week now. Or what if she addressed a Duke as an Earl, or some other such nonsense? Her palms practically slipped off of each other, they were so sweaty. She cringed and wiped them on her jacket.
She looked at Damon. “I can’t do this. I’m going to screw this up. I know I am.”
He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “No, you’re not. This is you we’re talking about, not some bumbling amateur. You’ve been poring over every little detail of the British hierarchy for weeks. You’ll do great.”
“But what if—”
“Who cares if you mess up? Not I.” He reached for her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what these people think. All I care about is you.”
She melted against the seat, closing her eyes. Why did he have to say something so sweet when she was trying to wiggle out of this? “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The car stopped and Damon got out first, lending her a hand. She tried to ignore her shaking legs. Damon escorted her across the gleaming floor, and her dress swept the hardwood with a soft rustle. Was it her imagination, or did the rustling speed up to match her accelerating heartbeat? The dining hall had been set up elegantly, gold and red tablecloths alternating table by table.
Waiters flitted all around the room while the elite of London society chatted and gossiped. Somewhere in the mix was the Prime Minister. Tonight was all about diplomatic relations with the US, after all, and of course the nobility wouldn’t want to miss the party.
Damon squeezed her hand. “You’ll be fine. Relax. We’re at a party, not an execution.”
“I fail to see the difference.”
“Ah! Lord and Lady Haymes. How nice of you to come,”
an elderly gentleman exclaimed, capturing Johanna’s hand and bowing over her fingers.
“Good evening, Sir Emerson,” Damon said, inclining his head.
Sir. So no curtseying necessary.
She mimicked Damon’s nod. “How wonderful to make your acquaintance.”
“Ah, you are very lovely, indeed. I’ve heard all about you.”
Johanna blushed. “Thank you, Sir. You are too kind.”
“Well, I’ll let you go. Wouldn’t want to monopolize the new bride’s time. I’m certain everyone wishes to meet her.”
The man shuffled away, leaving Damon and Johanna alone. Damon beamed at her. “See? You did excellent.”
She eyed the room, wincing. “Yeah. Only ninety more introductions to go.”
The rest of the hour passed in a blur of introductions, curtsies, bows, and hand kissing. By the time they were seated at their assigned table, Johanna had a raging headache.
All in all, she’d not messed up anyone’s title, and everyone seemed extremely nice. Perhaps unfairly, she’d painted a picture in her head of the gentry that made them out to be snobbish and rude.
A woman sat beside them. Damon tensed. With the woman’s every movement, the scent of alcohol assaulted Johanna like some sort of foul perfume. Damon cursed under his breath, and Johanna darted him a surprised glance. The woman caught her eye, watching her with such hatred that Johanna recoiled.
“Oh, Damon, how lovely to see you again. It’s been months,” the woman simpered.
“Yes, it has,” Damon snapped. He gave the woman his shoulder. “So, Johanna, what would you like to have for dinner? Steak, or fish?”
“I was thinking steak,” she murmured. Johanna stole another glance at the lady. Yep, the woman despised her.
Johanna leaned closer to Damon and whispered, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” He ran a hand over his jaw. His voice was rough. “Are you ready to go? I have a headache.”
Johanna blinked. “But—”
“Oh, Damon. Let’s not be so childish,” the woman said.
“Hi, Johanna. I’m Lady Cecile. Damon’s ex-fiancée.”
Johanna gasped, digging her fingernails into her palms.
Ex-what? Her heart ached so badly she thought Damon might have ripped it out right here, for all to see. Was this the woman he left to see every Sunday? Did all his anger stem from the fact that Cecile had confronted him in public and embarrassed him? “Damon?”
Damon clenched his teeth, flushing bright red. “She’s not my ex-fiancée. Our courtship never went so far. I thought she might be something along those lines until I caught her in bed under her brother’s driver.”
Cecile laughed, flashing bright white teeth. Perfect in every way—minus a personality and morals. She defined elegance and grace, but her eyes told a whole other story.
“Oh, who counts servants as infidelity, Damon? Surely you know what I mean, right, Johanna?” Cecile tapped her chin with a scathing look. “Oh, wait. You are a servant. How silly of me to forget.”
“Knock it off,” Damon snarled.
Johanna placed a hand on his shoulder, shooting Cecile a dirty look. Now this was what she’d expected tonight.