With a questioning look, I jerk my head toward the scarlet seat, and he nods in confirmation.
That’s my chair. I’ll be sitting at the head of the main table, right beside him. By placing me there, he’s making a statement. Other women can continue to vie for his attention if they wish, but he has made his choice, and it’s me.
Despite the ache in my ankle, I give him my brightest smile, and I’m rewarded with an answering grin of such joy that my stomach flips. He follows up the grin by tracing his tongue over his lips in a darkly lascivious way, still holding my gaze.
“Sybil.” Anne whispers. “If you’re done eye-fucking our host, we should take our seats.”
I shoot her a shocked, reproachful look. “Hush, you.”
“What? It’s obvious.”
I stick out my tongue at her, and she makes a face at me in return before leading the way to the chair Beresford indicated. A servant helps me get settled, then directs my mother and sister to seats on my right. A stool is brought forward so I can prop up my ankle, and the servant who seated us reassures me that she will remain close by throughout the evening and bring me anything I want.
Sitting in such an obvious place of honor is awkward, but Mama and Anne chatter to me so incessantly that I don’t have time to feel shy. I know they’re doing it on purpose, keeping me occupied, prompting me to laugh, and preventing any awkward silences in which I might suffer under the gazes of the other guests. I love them for it. And I love that Beresford works his way toward me with inexorable purpose, despite all the people demanding his attention. He greets each of them, but he keeps the conversations brief, excusing himself as soon as possible and moving closer, closer, until he’s finallyhere, taking the chair on my left.
He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t so much as take my hand. But he looks at me with ferocity that sets me on fire. His gaze is deeply affectionate and wantonly lustful at the same time, so intense that a hot blush floods my face and I have to swallow a nervous, girlish giggle.
The sudden influx of emotion is terrifying, because what if a demon appears? One could crash right into the middle of the table or pop out of the huge roasted boar that two servants are setting down. Something could appear amid the chandeliers, catch its wings on fire, and burn the place down.
“Sybil.” Beresford’s deep voice pulls my focus back to him. His warm hand descends on top of mine. “Is it happening right now?”
“What?” I say faintly.
“Whatever you look so worried about. Is it happening right now?”
“No.”
“Then don’t think about it.”
“But I have to, or—”
“Or what? Will thinking and fretting prevent your fears from coming true?”
“No,” I admit. “But knowing that I can’t prevent something doesn’t stop me from worrying about it.”
“I understand. Trust me, I have countless anxieties of my own. But if I let myself dwell on them, I will go mad. So I have taught myself to ask one question when I begin to lose my sanity in the darkness of fear:Is it happening right now?”
“And that helps?”
“Yes. It doesn’t banish the worries entirely, and it doesn’t work every time, but yes, it helps.”
I inhale deeply and release the breath. Am I summoning a demon right now? No. Which means I am still all right. I can be at peace and enjoy this moment.
The place settings for this meal are more casual than those at the last dinner party. There are mugs instead of glasses, and the food is simpler. It’s all very proper in a charmingly rustic sort of way, and the guests seem to be enjoying themselves even more than they did when we dined in the greenhouse.
I can’t help thinking about the last time I was here, just a few days ago. I recognize some of the youthful faces from the orgy among the dinner guests. I saw some of them naked, and some of them probably heard my moans as I came on Beresford’s cock. It’s an odd juxtaposition, having those imagesin my mind while I watch people enjoying their food and drink with perfect civility.
When the meal is over, footmen move the tables back against the walls, opening the center of the floor for dancing. The chair Beresford assigned to me has wheels that can be locked or released, so I am rolled to one side as well, and a servant brings my footstool along so I can prop my ankle again. Musicians take their places in a corner of the room, and merry music begins.
The guests are slower to pair off and dance this time, since they are full of delicious food. Beresford leans on the back of my chair for a while, but eventually he pushes himself upright, drawling, “I must stir the crowd to action. Sybil, since you cannot join me, perhaps I could ask your sister to help me motivate the guests?”
“Of course,” I reply.
“Shall we?” He holds out his hand to her, a courteous warmth in his expression. Anne gives me a quick look, and when I nod, she accompanies him onto the dance floor.
I watch them closely, pleased by the respectful way he touches her waist and hand, the distance he maintains, and the brotherly care with which he guides her through the steps. It’s a dance she’s not familiar with, and when she makes mistakes, he covers for them quickly, making it look as if they were intentional variations.
“He says and does all the right things, doesn’t he?” Mama comments from beside me.
