He looked again toward the terrace, but he did not spot the lady’s mask. For some reason, he could feel her watching him.
It was not an unpleasant sensation. It was not sensible either.
“Come,” Roderick uttered. “There is a gentleman in need of a lesson in whist, and I promised him the pain of your company.”
“I am in no mood to teach whist.”
“That is why it will be so enjoyable,” Roderick replied. He touched Victor’s sleeve. “You are scowling. If you scowl, they will say that you beat your footmen.”
“They already say that.” Victor shrugged.
“Yes,” Roderick agreed, happy as a cat in a patch of sun. “And they are wrong.”
Victor pressed his lips together to mask a smile. “Lead the way.”
They turned into the heat and light.
Victor let the crowd swallow him. For the first time in a long while, he felt that something had shifted within him, like a perfectly hung picture slipping half an inch.
He squared his shoulders. He corrected the line. He would not let it slip again.
CHAPTER 3
Morning light fell thin and pale on the Fenwicks’ drawing room. The curtains had been pulled back with an air of injured dignity, as if even the damask disapproved of the household it framed.
The Viscount stood near the fireplace with a glass of barley water in his hand, like a scepter of prudence, though the sour line of his mouth betrayed last night’s wine.
“You hid yourself,” he said, not loudly, but in the flat tone that preceded a temper flare. “At a ball hosted by people who were kind enough to invite you. Kindness is wasted on a girl who cannot be seen.”
Gwen kept her voice even. “I stepped out for fresh air.”
“You stepped out to avoid your duty.” Howard set the glass down with a click. “No prospects. No interest. No conversation worth the name. You have a talent for discouraging men.”
“Perhaps it’s the men who have the talent for discouraging me,” Gwen said before she could stop herself.
Cordelia’s breath caught. “Howard, she means nothing by it. The heat was dreadful. I myself could barely stand it.”
Howard turned around, his gaze sliding over Cordelia like a blade. “Do not interrupt, My Lady.”
Gwen moved an inch closer to her mother. “You are angry, My Lord. I will accept your correction if you must deliver it. But do not scold her for wanting me to be comfortable.”
Howard looked at her face as if judging an insolent servant. Color rose in his cheekbones. “I am angry because you flirt with idleness as if it were a suitor. You have already ruined your reputation. You will do nothing now but tarnish it further.”
“I spoke to several gentlemen,” Gwen countered. “Lord Herne asked after my health. Mr. Paxton inquired whether I enjoyed Italian airs. The Viscount Evingale complimented the orchestra.”
“All of them beneath what I seek.” Howard’s lip curled. “And you hid yourself the moment I turned my head. Do not pretend otherwise.”
Cordelia took a step forward. “She did not hide. She needed to take the air—as I recommended, darling.”
Gwen saw the ripple in his shoulders before he moved. She acted without thinking, placing herself between them with her hands raised and her chin jutted. “No.”
The single word stopped him for a heartbeat. Only for a heartbeat. The room held its breath.
Howard gave a small smile that did not touch his eyes. “You have taken to heroics, my girl,” he said. “Not to worry. You will tire of it.”
“I willnevertire of it where my mother is concerned.”
The silence stretched. It snapped when the clock on the mantel chimed the hour.
