Across the table, Lord Brimwood shifted in his seat. His jaw was tight, and his wine untouched. He had not once addressed his son-in-law. Not even when Ashworth directly referred to him.
Robert noticed.Everyonenoticed.
Brimwood’s deliberate distance from the man he had once been forced to accept as a son-in-law was… pointed. Understandable, of course. If Robert had been in his position, ifhisdaughter had been stolen away in the dark by a smirking narcissist who wrapped betrayal in roses, he’d likely have done the same… or worse.
But Robert said nothing.
Instead, he let the Viscount talk. Ashworth liked the sound of his own voice too much to stop. Bragging came as naturally to him as breathing.
“I suppose not all men are meant to rise on merit,” the Viscount said, grinning over the rim of his goblet. “Some of us are born for better things.”
Robert’s lips curved, almost imperceptibly. He took a long, quiet sip of his drink, but he didn’t get to finish it as the dining hall doors opened without warning. Everyone’s gazes shifted in that direction, only to find Evelyn standing framed in the doorway. The soft light from the corridor behind her cast a faint glow, making her appear almost ethereal.
She looked startled to find herself the center of so much male attention but only for a moment. Her chin tilted upward, the faintest flush dusting her cheeks, and when her eyes found Robert’s, something unspoken passed between them.
She smiled with a silent breath of relief.
It wasn’t the practiced smile of a duchess hosting her wedding dinner. It was smaller and slightly tremulous but meant for him alone. She walked forward with measured steps. Robert stood up before he even realized he had moved. That was when a trembling hand came to rest on his elbow.
“My Lords,” she said gently, “I’ve just come from the parlor. The ladies were wondering…” She paused, glancing around at theassembled men, then met Robert’s eyes again. “They would be delighted if the dancing were to begin early.”
Robert opened his mouth to respond, but Mason, quick as ever, pushed his chair back and rose with a theatrical groan. “Heavens, yes. I’ve been sitting far too long. If I stay any longer, I might turn to stone.”
A few of the other men chuckled. But Robert caught the edge in Mason’s voice. He knew, just as Robert did, that Evelyn had not come merely to extend a social courtesy. No lady would interrupt the gentlemen’s dinner without cause.
Something was wrong.
Robert’s hand found hers, curling around her fingers, and though her composure held, he felt how she trembled, ever so slightly. He glanced toward Ashworth, who remained seated, watching Evelyn with veiled amusement and a faint smirk. Robert tamped down the urge to break his wineglass across the man’s face.
Instead, he remained calm and composed. Even the corners of his lips curled a bit.
“Well,” he announced, “you’ve all heard the lady of the house.” He looked around the table, his hand still firmly holding Evelyn’s. “And as is the case in every house, we must obey.”
A ripple of laughter followed, but Robert was already guiding Evelyn away, her hand tucked tightly into the crook of his arm. She didn’t speak, and neither did he, but as they entered the corridor that would lead to the ballroom, he slowed his pace just enough so that they walked side by side, no rush and no pressure. Her fingers tightened around his.
He said nothing about the way her lips pressed into a tight line. She said nothing about the warmth in his palm. But in that silence, a thousand things passed between them.
Several minutes later, the music began, and soft strings started rising from the corner of the ballroom. Robert took Evelyn in his arms, steadying his gloved hand on her waist as they moved into the waltz. She felt light in his hold but tense. Her frame was controlled, elegant, and poised as always, but he could feel it in the way her shoulders held too straight, the way her fingers twitched against his. He looked down at her and found her gaze fixed somewhere past his shoulder.
“You’re not all right,” he said quietly.
Her eyes snapped to his, but he continued before she could protest.
“I mean…” He exhaled slowly, adjusting their turn to avoid another couple. “I know you can’t possibly be all right while the Viscount is still under this roof, but I had to ask.”
That startled look in her eyes softened. Her lips parted then curved faintly. It was an expression somewhere between gratitude and resignation.
“You’re right,” she said. “It is exactly that man I wish to speak to you about.”
Robert’s jaw flexed, the rhythm of his steps slowing for just a fraction of a beat.
Of course, it was.
He didn’t trust himself to speak for a moment. His mind leapt to the worst possibilities. Had the bastard done something? Said something? Had she come to him not merely to escape discomfort but danger?
He forced himself to breathe, to guide her into the next turn with practiced ease.
“Would you like to speak privately?” he asked at last, his voice lower now, gentler beneath the swell of the music.
