“The music. Your shoulders no longer sit at your ears.”
“They were never at my ears.”
“They were very nearly there,” he insisted.
She stole a glance at him. His expression, for once, had softened without him seeming to notice it. That made something inside her ache in a way she did not have words for.
She missed a note.
“You are distracted,” he observed.
“Your rudeness is distracting,” she retorted.
“Then my rudeness has done some good.” He let the music fade into a gentle tune that settled between them like a sigh. “Tell me why you are white as chalk tonight.”
She withdrew her hands from the keys and let them rest in her lap. “I am always pale, as I told you.”
“You are evading the question,” he said. “Again.”
She traced the edge of one key with a gloved fingertip, watching the way the light caught the ivory. “I will be leaving sooner than expected.”
“How soon?”
She swallowed. “Soon.”
“That is not an answer,” he said. “It is a curtain.”
“Would you prefer I lie?” she asked, without looking at him.
“I would prefer you trust me,” he replied calmly. “But I have learned not to ask for luxuries at the outset. I will take truth in half measures if that is all you will offer.”
She closed her eyes for one brief second, gathering the frayed bits of her composure. “My stepfather has decided that the Season is a waste for me… due to the rumors. He intends to send me away.”
He stilled. “Where?”
“A place where I shall not trouble anyone,” she said lightly. That lightness cost her. “I have not yet admired its charms, and I do not intend to.”
His gaze sharpened. “You’re avoiding the point.”
“I am very good at that.” She shrugged. “As are you.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “You are. But not with me.”
The silence that fell felt different from the one that had filled the garden.
Victor had always been a man of control. Tonight, Gwen could feel the edges of his control, see the faint cracks where concern pressed against habit.
“You agreed to seven nights,” he continued. “You speak now as if there may not be seven.”
She managed a small, brittle smile. “I dislike failing to keep account. I will try to arrange my life to satisfy your mathematics, Your Grace.”
“Gwendoline,” he said.
Just that. Her name. No jest, no title, no shield of courtesy. It hit her like both a plea and an accusation.
She looked down at the keys again, because they did not look back. “Let’s play another piece,” she suggested softly.
Victor did not move for a long moment. She could feel his gaze on her profile, hot and searching, as if he wished to untie every knot she had pulled tight around herself.
