As they moved away, Victor’s gaze followed—his smile smooth, his eyes dark.
“Are you quite well?” Lucas asked as they stepped through the French doors onto the terrace. His voice was low, meant for her alone.
Elowen released a faint breath. “Perfectly well. Though I suspect another round of whist might have undone me.”
“It was not the game that threatened to undo you,” he said, allowing the faintest smile.
Her eyes flew to his, startled, but he did not look away. He merely adjusted his stride to match hers, guiding her toward the gravel paths winding between Lady Penelope’s rose beds.
“Do you often speak so plainly, Lucas?” she asked after a moment.
“Only when needed,” he said. A slight quirk touched his mouth. “Or when I cannot help myself. Though I’m sure you must understand since you are very much the same.”
She made a sound—half laugh, half huff. “You imagine a great deal.”
“I imagine very little,” Lucas returned smoothly. “I observe. Observation requires no imagination at all.”
“And what did your observation conclude?”
“That Lord Cherrington has yet to learn the virtue of restraint,” he said dryly.
A quiet, genuine laugh escaped her; she covered it at once, though the sound had already slipped free.
Lucas lifted a brow in mock solemnity. “You see? Even you cannot help admitting the truth.”
Her cheeks warmed. “You are insufferable.”
“Only when I am right,” he said with deliberate lightness.
They had reached a curve in the path. There, the roses opened in a wide array, crimson, blush, pale cream, their fragrance perfuming the air. Elowen slowed, touching one of the blossoms lightly with her gloved fingers. Lucas let the silence linger a moment before speaking again.
“Tell me,” he asked quietly, “did you enjoy the orchestra last evening?”
Her face brightened at the change of subject. “I did. The strings in the second act—oh, they were exquisite. I wished it might have continued longer.”
“A pity we were not seated together,” Lucas said with a faint smile. “I should have profited by your commentary throughout.”
Her head turned, eyes widening. “I—yes, that would have—” She broke off, colour rising swiftly.
Lucas’s smile deepened, delight flickering in his eyes. “Did you just agree with me?”
She looked away, flustered. “I merely acknowledged that it might have been agreeable.”
“And now you blush,” he teased, very softly.
“I do not,” she said quickly, pressing her hand to her cheek as if that was enough to cool the heat there.
“Oh, you do,” he murmured, his tone gentler now. “And it is most… endearing.”
Her breath caught. “You ought not to say such things.”
“Why not? They are true.”
Elowen turned her face away, pretending to study the roses. Her blush deepened, much to her frustration. “You are provoking me, Lucas.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded under his breath. “But your honesty is refreshing. So much of society is lived behind masks. I am grateful when your truth slips through.”
Her gaze returned to his, soft despite herself. “I fear you will make me regret speaking openly.”
