They pulled apart, but her skin tingled with the ghost of his touch. And her heart… refused to settle.
The following evening, London felt heavier.
Edward noticed it the moment he stepped into the street, the way his coat felt too tight across his shoulders, the way every sound seemed amplified and grating.
He had spent the day pretending to work. Papers lay neatly aligned on his desk, inkpot freshly replenished, correspondence opened and answered with precision. Anyone observing him would have assumed he was perfectly composed.
Beatrice’s words from the ballroom echoed again and again.
“Keep searching. Until you are certain.”
The memory of her voice—steady despite her trepidation—refused to leave him. Nor did the feel of her hand in his, the faint, almost imperceptible tremors she had tried to hide.
By late afternoon, he could no longer sit still. So he had sent for Sebastian.
Sebastian arrived just before dusk. He took one look at Edward’s face and sighed. “Oh dear,” he said, shedding his gloves. “That look means you’ve decided something unpleasant and moral.”
Edward didn’t look up. “Get your coat.”
Sebastian paused. “That bad, then.”
Now the two of them walked down a narrow street just off Covent Garden, the sound of rowdy laughter spilling from the buildings ahead. Somewhere, glass shattered, followed by applause.
The air smelled of smoke, gin, and damp cobblestones—a far cry from the glittering ballroom of the night before.
Sebastian wrinkled his nose. “I had hoped marriage might at least keep you from dragging me to places that smell like spilled gin and regret.”
“You were required to come as support,” Edward said.
Sebastian snorted. “Please. You could have done it all by yourself.”
Edward did not reply.
Sebastian adjusted his collar against the cold, grimacing as his boot stuck briefly to the cobblestones. “You’re certain he’s here?”
“He’s always here,” Edward muttered.
“Ah, yes. Simon Pembroke, loyal to nothing but vice.”
He didn’t smile. “Tonight, he answers to me.”
“And you’re certain this won’t end with someone bleeding?”
Edward’s mouth tightened. “If it does, it won’t be me.”
Sebastian shot him a look. “You’re in a mood.”
“I am focused.”
“That’s worse.”
They stopped before a battered wooden door, its surface scarred by years of fists and boots. Music thudded from within, heavy and relentless.
Sebastian gave him a sidelong glance. “So this is it. You’re truly set on confronting him?”
Edward inhaled slowly. “Yes. If I delay, I’ll find reasons not to.”
Sebastian studied him for a moment, then clapped him on the shoulder. “Then let’s make sure you don’t. Let’s get on with it.”
