Alicedidn’tbetrayevenby the flicker of an eyelash that she had noticed the instant Nathaniel entered the ballroom. Even before the pompous butler had announced him, she had known he had arrived. That sixth sense that connected them had not faded in the last five years. It flared to life as soon as her husband was near. And oddly, despite their falling out, she had felt reassured by his presence.
Contrary to what she had said in Dalton’s office, she did trust Nathaniel. At least in this arena. They slipped into their roles effortlessly, performing like a well-trained team. Each of them knew precisely what to do. Each was aware and always attentive to the other’s needs. Their synchrony was like a comfortable pair of shoes…but no. That wasn’t quite right. Because it was also exhilarating. He energized her. Instead of dulling the excitement, their familiarity made everything more thrilling,and she felt more alive than she had felt since the last mission they undertook together, over six years ago now.
Despite everything between them, she was enjoying working again with Nathaniel. That is until he started flirting with that Russian harlot.
Alice’s gaze narrowed as she watched Nathaniel charm Madame Petrova with shameless ease. His smile—that devastating smile—curved just so, making the woman all but melt against him. And now…now he was leading her onto the dance floor like this was some bloody house party lark instead of a critical mission.
What the hell was he doing? Her outrage burned low and steady beneath her ribs. It had to be outrage. That was the only reasonable explanation for the tightness in her chest. She could not be jealous. Absolutely not.
She had no claim to him, she reminded herself. Not anymore. Not in the past five years. How many women had there been in that time? Dozens, probably. With his sexual appetite, his devastating good looks, and his charm, he could have seduced half the eligible women in England—and likely had.
Not surprisingly, the thought did nothing to improve her mood.
What did it matter to her?
Nothing. Not a single damn thing.
Still…did he have to flaunt it? Right here? In front of her? During a mission? It was disrespectful. Irresponsible. Infuriating.
Her fingers tightened around the tray she carried. She couldn’t confront him now. Not without jeopardizing everything. Pouring a glass of red wine down Madame Petrova’s decolletage would, unfortunately, attract too much attention.
But there were subtler ways to make a point.
As the dance ended and the pair drifted toward the refreshment tables, Alice moved through the crowd with calculated ease, her head bowed, posture humble, just another anonymous servant.
A small, delicate train of silk and lace dragged behind Madame Petrova’s gown.
Alice didn’t hesitate. With a deliberate step, she caught the ruffled edge beneath the sole of her boot. Too soft for Madame Petrova to notice…until she took her next step.
There was a faint rip. Just enough to undo the stitching of the flounce.
“Champagne, my lord? Milady?” Alice murmured, approaching with her tray extended, her voice pitched low and deferential.
Nathaniel turned, a knowing smirk curling his lips as he took two glasses. “I believe I shall,” he said lazily, handing one to Madame Petrova. “Yelena?”
Oh, Yelena, was it?
Alice clenched her teeth so tightly she worried her fake molars might crack.
Maintaining her bland, vacant servant’s expression took almost more willpower than her training had prepared her for. She leaned in toward the Russian woman, adopting the unrefined tones of a lower-class maid.
“Beggin’ your pardon, milady…but there’s a tear in one o’ your flounces. Might want to see to it before that lovely lace goes completely.”
As expected, Madame Petrova gasped and twisted with alarm to inspect the damage.
“If you’ll excuse me, Nathaniel,” she said with a flustered laugh, placing a hand on Nathaniel’s arm. “Seems I’ve suffered a little mishap with my dress. No doubt the fault of all that vigorous…dancing.” Her tone dripped with innuendo.
Alice’s nostrils flared.
Madame Petrova flounced off—limping slightly when her heel caught the torn hem—and Alice glided past Nathaniel, not pausing, not looking at him.
But as she passed, she tilted her head just enough, letting her breath ghost near his ear.
“Back corridor. Ten minutes.”
Without another word, she vanished into the crowd.
She seethed all the way to the meeting point. Of course, she couldn’t go there directly. She had to circulate among the guests. Offer the champagne. Stay until the tray was empty and she had an excuse to disappear into the kitchens..
