The applause lingered, and for a moment Russell and Mary looked as though they had been partners for many years. After their final bow, they left the dance floor with grace, returning the stage to the still awestruck guests.
Charlotte returned the violin to the still-stunned man and descended the stage, her face expressionless until she glanced at Russell.
"That was boring," she murmured. Russell shrugged, answering with a helpless smile.
Just as he was searching for a quiet spot to rest, a suppressed, angry voice rose behind him.
"You really put on a show, Mr. Watson."
Russell paused and turned. Timmy Roy stood just behind him, his usual smile gone. The arrogance in his eyes was replaced by a burning fury, glued on Russell.
"It was just a dance—hardly something to boast about." Russell casually picked up a cookie and took a bite. "As host, shouldn't Roy be tonight's main act?"
"Of course." Timmy Roy forced a smile in irritation. He took a step closer, lowering his voice so only the two of them could hear. "A country bumpkin without an invitation desperately trying to stand out at my party. Should I admire your nerve, or call it courting death?"
[Timmy Roy is enraged by your looks and attention-seeking: Malice Level +50]
Russell calmly finished his cookie, brushed the crumbs from his hands, and grinned innocently.
"Think about that. I'm a student at Imperial College London, right? This is a freshman icebreaker. Everyone else can come, but not me?"
He countered smoothly. Timmy's face darkened further. Just two days ago, this man had totally submitted to his taunts—now he acted like another person entirely.
"Just because you danced with Mary Morstan, you think she's your protector? That I can do nothing to you? Do you seriously think Duke Morstan, her father, would care about a nobody like you?"
"But I did dance with Mary Morstan," Russell said, picking up a glass of lemonade and drinking.
"So what? It was nothing—just pity, just mercy for you."
"I held her hand. It was soft and a little cool."
"I told you! She pitied you, that's all! A charity case for a nobody!"
"Oh, and I held her waist, too. You know, it's really very slim."
"All you can do is gossip and show off. Is that the extent of your achievements?"
"She was waiting for me."
"You—!"
[Timmy Roy becomes frantic, malice +70]
Timmy Roy lost all restraint, lunging forward to grab Russell by the collar. In an instant, all eyes turned to them, but Timmy didn't care. He gripped Russell's collar, glaring as if to devour him alive.
"Hey, Mr. Roy, isn't violence in public just a little inappropriate?" Russell's smile didn't waver. "Can't we talk things out? Maybe consult your mother?"
[Timmy Roy is about to punch you, malice +20]
Barely had he finished before Timmy swung a fist straight at Russell's face. Russell merely tilted his head slightly and dodged with ease. To him, this wasn't even a fight.
As Timmy's punch missed, Russell caught his outstretched arm, shifted behind him, and—seizing his head—plunged it forcefully into a glass of red wine.
Splash!
Crimson wine drenched Timmy's hair, staining his tailored suit, making his head look as though smeared with blood. Onlookers gasped wide-eyed. From one corner, Charlotte's eyes finally lit up with genuine curiosity.
"Russell Watson!"
Timmy howled, launching himself at Russell like a wild beast. Russell did not even glance his way; he kept sidestepping, using Timmy's charge as cover to edge toward several people in the crowd. Then, he nonchalantly waved a handful of love letters he'd stashed in his pocket, smoothly planting them as he went. The whole process was seamless, leaving no trace.
He'd had affairs with all these girls before, after all. This trip wasn't wasted at all! When the last letter was delivered, Russell made his way to the center of the hall, waving to Timmy like a matador.
Timmy's eyes were bloodshot. Long past the point of reason, he howled like a maddened bull and charged Russell again. The crowd, breath held, backed away even further, leaving a real arena in the center.
[Timmy Roy's rage peaks: malice +80]
Russell watched with his usual relaxed smile. The moment before Timmy's massive fist landed, Russell moved, catching Timmy's arm in an iron grip. He didn't strike back—no matter how Timmy struggled, Russell restrained him completely.
Then—
"Timmy? What's the meaning of this letter? What about Isabella?"
A woman's voice, angry and confused, rang out.
From the crowd, Anne Brown clutched a letter she'd picked up from the floor, face ashen. Her words were a signal. Immediately, more voices followed: Anne Brown, Isabella White, Joey Carter… all holding letters, the handwriting passionate, as though every word was wept onto the page.
Any girl who received one would have been moved to tears—if only the letter had her name on it, not another's.
Anne Brown tore her letter into shreds and stormed forward past Timmy's stunned gaze, raising her hand high.
Slam!
The echoing slap rang out like a drum, signaling the next act of this play.
…