Polly stared at Lord Yardley, her mind screaming that she could not have heard those words from his lips.

“Wh– what do you mean?” she whispered, leaning heavily against the trellis as Lord Yardley picked up his mask from the grass and absently brushed a few blades of grass from it. “I thought you cared for me.”

Lord Yardley rolled his eyes, his demeanor changing entirely. “You were quite easy to fool, my dear.”

“Fool?” she gasped, her legs beginning to tremble. “You promised me that–”

“Yes, yes, I promised you a great deal, did I not?” he replied, with a sardonic smile. “More the fool you to believe me, especially given my reputation. You were a challenge, a bet made amongst my friends. How glad I am to be gaining the coffers! Ho, there, Lord Jacobs! Luckily, I had a witness awaiting us to prove myself.”

Polly felt her jaw drop open, and the humiliation engulfed her as she saw the man step out from across the path and give them a slight nod with a smirk on his face, before he laughed and returned to the house party.

She did not know at all what to say. For weeks Lord Yardley had bestowed his attentions upon her, making her think that he cared, that he was going to court her, and eventually take her for his wife. However he had not been at all what he had said, but rather, what everyone else told her about him was true. He had simply put on a disguise in order to make her believe he felt something for her and she, the naive fool that she was, had believed him. She just couldn’t understand it — he would go to all that trouble, for weeks on end, simply to win a bet amongst his friends?

Lord Taylor stepped forward, his face a mask of anger and, without warning, punched Lord Yardley hard across the face. It was clearly not the first time Lord Taylor had been in a fistfight, and Lord Yardley staggered back, letting out a howl of pain and clutching his face. Even in the gloom, Polly could see the blood spurting from his nose and dripping between his fingers. She said nothing, but inwardly felt justification at Yardley’s pain.

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone, it shall be all the worse for you,” Lord Taylor said, his voice low and threatening. “There will be no crowing over this, no collecting of funds. I witnessed it all, remember. Tell your friend to forget what he saw. The Duke of Ware shall know of this, if you dare bring Lady Polly’s name into disrepute. You shall know his wrath, as well as that of his sons, who are equally protective of their little sister.”

Lord Yardley fell on his knees, his fingers pressing at his nose as he whimpered.

“Come, Lady Polly,” Lord Taylor said, quietly. “Just this way.”

Polly tried to move but found that her legs simply would not do as they were told. Lord Taylor, picking up her mask, offered her his arm and, leaning on him, Polly began to make her way from the gardens.

It was as though she were walking in a dream. Everything was moving so slowly, and she was not quite sure where she was going. Before reaching the house, Lord Taylor stopped her and slipped her mask back into place, tying it behind her head. She did not so much as move or thank him, feeling entirely numb.

Lord Taylor led her back toward the door, entering the ballroom as surreptitiously as he could. Most of the floor was taken up with twirling dancers and, as they made their way to the staircase that led to the refreshments and the balcony overlooking the dancers, Polly felt overwhelmed, and she stumbled just as they were reaching the bottom of the steps.

“Just up these stairs and then you will be out of sight,” Lord Taylor murmured, wrapping one arm around her waist. “It is just as well you have a mask, for otherwise you would be much more obvious.”

How Polly made it to the top of the stairs, she could not quite say. Lord Taylor’s strong arm held her tightly, guiding her along the balcony to an alcove in the corridor, where he eased her down into a straight-backed chair next to a small side table.

“I will just be a moment,” Lord Taylor murmured, bending down to look into her face. “Are you going to be all right?”

Polly nodded, her heart beginning to burn in her chest.

Lord Taylor touched her hand, making her jump.

“Just a moment, I swear it,” he repeated, before straightening and striding away.

Pulling the mask from her face, Polly watched him go with dead eyes, as all emotions left her body, but for the shame that swept over her. Shame that she had been so easily led, so easily taken in. Shame that Lord Yardley had tried to take advantage of her and that, initially, she had let him kiss her. When he had dropped his lips to her neck, it had felt rather lovely, until they moved to her décolletage and his hands began to yank down her bodice.

She had tried to stop him and that had been when he had caught her wrists. She had thought him playful, wondering if he was overcome with passion, but she had grown a little frightened when he had not stopped as she’d asked. And still, when Lord Taylor had appeared, determined to put a stop to what Lord Yardley was doing, she had tried her best to defend the Earl, still believing that he cared for her.

How wrong she had been.

Lord Yardley had proven his true reputation to her in the cruelest of ways. What would he have done should she have allowed him more liberties? Or, if she had continued to refuse, would he have pressed himself on her regardless? A cold shiver ran down her spine, making her shudder violently. How easily she had believed him, how much she had defended him to both her mother and Lord Taylor!

Her heart — and her trust — was broken into such small pieces that Polly was quite sure she would never find all the fragments again. It would never be whole. She was convinced it would remain shattered, piercing her, for the rest of her days. Never again would she allow herself to fall in love, or to even consider a gentleman, she vowed. It was much too dangerous, much too risky, to do such a thing, for clearly one could never know the true heart of a man. Lord Yardley had proved that to her.

The sound of hurrying footsteps caught her ears, but she did not turn her head. She already knew who it would be.

“Here.”

A glass was pressed into her hands and she took a sip, startled when she tasted the burn of brandy. It was what she needed, though, to bring her body out of the shock that was still causing it to shake.

“He is nothing but a fool and a coward,” Lord Taylor said firmly as he bent over her. “He would have had his way with you and then left you behind, believing that you would not speak to your father about what he had done out of shame and mortification.”

“And he would have been right,” Polly said vehemently, her throat aching as she spoke, and she dropped her head into her hands. “I am already too humiliated for words.”

“You must tell your father,” Lord Taylor urged, moving a chair next to hers and sitting down. He was so close to her that their legs touched, his knee pressing against hers. Polly did not start or try to move away, finding his presence to be something of a comfort, even though she was still mortified at how he had found her with Lord Yardley.

“No, I cannot,” Polly replied, shaking her head and turning it away from him. “He cannot know of how foolish I have been.”

“You were not foolish,” he assured her, reaching for her cold hand and pressing it between his own as though attempting to warm her. “You were taken in by a man who is well known for being a rogue and a rake.”

“His mother is my own mother’s particular friend,” Polly said, miserably. “It will bring shame to the lady and ruin that friendship if my father were to do anything.”

“Your brother, then?”

“Daniel? Oh no,” she said, briskly shaking her head. “Daniel is liable to kill the man.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised at hearing her speak of her brother in such a way. She wasn’t a fool, however. Daniel was somewhat ruthless, particularly when it meant protecting his family.

She heard Lord Taylor sigh, evidently frustrated at her lack of willingness to speak out against Lord Yardley. Yet, she knew she could not bring herself to say anything to her father, such was the weight of guilt on her heart and mind. She would be shamed all over again in telling her father what she had allowed Yardley to do and, while he might then be furious with the man, he would likely reprimand her as well, for not listening to the warnings of her mother, for going into the gardens alone and unchaperoned with a young man. She knew that he would not hold back in his rebuke and, as she thought about it, Polly had to admit that she would deserve every word of it.

“Then what shall you do?” Lord Taylor asked, his voice breaking into her thoughts. “Are you going to return to the ball as though nothing has ever happened? Attend the remainder of the Season’s events and continue to seek out a more suitable partner for yourself?”

The thought made Polly almost sick with horror. “No, I do not think I can,” she said, hoarsely. “I do not want to so much as even dance with another gentleman!”

“Then what will you say to your mother?” he asked, quietly. “She will not understand if you simply cry off all the balls and soirees that are sure to follow. The truth will come out in the end, Lady Polly.”

“I know what you are trying to do,” Polly muttered dejectedly. “I know you are trying to make me see that I must share the truth with my parents, but I cannot bring myself to do it. They will be so ashamed of me.” She dropped her head, tears pooling in her eyes and splashing onto her folded hands. Her mother had been right about Yardley. Lord Taylor had been right about Yardley. She had been the one who was so wrong.

“Your mother will understand, I am sure of it,” Lord Taylor said, reassuringly as he raised a hand and wiped a tear from her cheek. “She was not as unaffected by Yardley’s apparently kind and amiable disposition as you might think. I know she listened to what I had to say and spoke to you about it, but there was still something about Yardley that had her believing that he was, in fact, a changed man.”

Polly shook her head, tears flowing freely now, in anger, frustration, and regret. “I refused to listen to either of you, Lord Taylor. I am truly sorry for ignoring your advice. It was foolish of me to do so.”

He squeezed her hand lightly. “Do not fret, Polly, I am not offended nor upset. It is only for you that I am worried now. I hate to see you in such a state.”

As Polly glanced up at him, she saw the anger flare in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw. Clearly, the man was furious with Lord Yardley, and Polly could not help but feel a little appreciative of the fact.

“Lord Yardley will not say or do anything more to harm you, Lady Polly,” he continued. “I have made sure of that, and if I hear even the slightest whisper, I will call the man out at once.”

A slow warmth began to creep into Polly’s soul, wrapping around her heart and beginning to soothe the icy pain that clung there. She looked at him quizzically. “Why are you being so kind to me, Lord Taylor?”

“I could not exactly let you deal with this alone now, could I?” he asked, with a slight smile. “I am also very fond of your sister. What kind of gentleman would I be if I were to step away when you clearly need someone with you? Although I still think that—”

“I ought to tell my mother, yes,” she interrupted, taking his offered handkerchief and wiping her eyes. “Lord Taylor, I think I must return home now. I have to think about what to do.” Her mind was whirling with all kinds of thoughts, flinging her from anger and frustration to despair and heart-shattering pain with every moment that passed. “Might I ask you to go find my mother? I do not wish to go in search of her now, not when I am in the state that I am, looking such a fright, with everyone watching and… ” She trailed off, gesturing to the guests below.

Lord Taylor understood. “Not when Yardley might be there,” he said, with a tight smile. “Although I doubt it, with his bloody nose.” He patted her hand and then released it, getting to his feet. “I’ll find your mother at once. Again, I’m sorry this has happened to you, Lady Polly. Gentlemen like Yardley do not deserve a woman like you. Whatever you do though — do not let him break your spirit.”

Polly watched him go, feeling bereft over all that had occurred this evening. Lord Taylor was trying to be so kind to her and she simply could not feel anything but humiliation. He must think her an absolute fool. Her desperation to leave grew with every passing moment, until she was pacing up and down the corridor. She was filled with relief when she saw her mother come hurrying toward her.

“Polly! Lord Taylor said you were ill!” She grasped Polly’s chin gently, looking at her carefully. “You are very pale, your eyes are bloodshot, and your nose is rather red. What’s wrong, darling?”

“I – I think I need to retire, Mama. I believe something has bothered me and I feel quite unwell,” Polly said quietly to her mother, who began to look somewhat panicked, as Polly was not wont to give in to illness. “Can we go home?”

“Of course we can, at once,” her mother replied, soothingly, running her hand over her hair as if she were a child. “Never fear, my sweet girl. We shall have you better before the week is out!”