“Nope.” Briony covers Tilly’s long bunny ears and speaks in a furious whisper. “No talk of getting high or going to orgies. You will drink, gamble, and talk shit like sensible gentlemen. Got that?”
“On my honor,” I say, giving Briony a somber bow. She rolls her eyes.
Thorne kisses Tilly on the head and Briony on the lips before his fiancée leads the ladies out of the flower shop. I watch Daphne until she’s out of sight. Then I heave a sigh.
“Interesting reaction there, Monty boy.” Thorne’s voice draws my attention to him. His gaze is locked on the hand I have pressed to my chest. The place where Daphne poked.
I force my hands to my sides. “What’s so interesting about it?”
Thorne shrugs. “It’s just interesting, that’s all.”
“I haven’t a clue what you fucking mean,” I mutter, stalking out of the shop before he can catch the heat in my cheeks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
DAPHNE
The Cyllene Ballroom is even more beautiful in person than any of the pictures I’ve seen. It’s a circular room with a domed ceiling painted in the most exquisite hues from the darkest blue to vibrant pink, purple, aqua, and gold. I haven’t seen anything more breathtaking. It’s a meteor shower brought to life with paint and paint alone. No enchantment like the ceiling in the main part of the hotel. No tricks of light.
“Your reaction isn’t much unlike my own when I first saw this,” Briony says.
I realize I’m gawking, but at least I’m not the only one. Angela and Tilly look equally as impressed. I draw my gaze to the rest of the room. Tables and chairs have been set up around the perimeter behind the row of intricately carved columns that separate the dining area from the dance floor. The room is half set up for an event—for Briony’s wedding, I assume—with ribbons tied around the columns and half the tables set with silk cloth and empty vases, the rest bare.
“May I practice my dances, Mama?” Tilly asks, grinning wide to reveal adorable buck teeth.
Briony strokes her daughter’s hair. “Of course, love.”
Angela leans down slightly and speaks in a gentle tone. “May I dance with you?”
Tilly’s cheeks turn pink, but she gives a bashful nod. The two scurry to the center of the dance floor.
“The porter will bring your art supplies as soon as your luggage arrives from the station,” Briony says. “I’ll wait with you until then.”
“You don’t have to,” I rush to say. “None of us brought much, so it won’t be long.”
“Well, I can hardly interrupt their fun now, can I?” Briony nods toward Tilly and Angela, who’ve begun dancing a reel. “How about we take a turn about the room?”
My pulse quickens. I haven’t been asked totake a turn about the roomsince my debutante days. It was always an opportunity to sneak in gossip or make some clever quip that was meant to be overheard by the room at large. Never for me, of course. I never understood the veiled humor or the subtext beneath my companions’ beautiful words. When I spoke, I spoke plainly, and I expected the same in return. We were taught to be polite and demure, after all. Polite and demure ended up being nothing more than a mask for some of the girls. And I was their easy target. I was the prey that used to be the hunter.
“We can simply walk and talk,” Briony says as if reading the tension in my posture. She clasps her hands behind her back, not making any move to touch me or pull me close to whisper salacious gossip in my ear.
My stomach uncoils. Right. Briony isn’t like the debutantes who teased me to my face. And I’m not the same girl I was then. I’m now familiar with the scent of dishonest assholes. Briony isn’t one of them.
We take a leisurely stroll around the perimeter of the dance floor while Angela and Tilly continue to practice the reel. Angela appears to be a skilled dancer, but I’m surprised that Tilly is as well. From what little about Briony I managed to learn from Monty, I know she loves to dance and teaches lessons to the girls at the convent school where she was raised. Turns out the former princess thing really is a long story. Something about a sleeping spell and family curses.
“I hope Monty doesn’t get Thorne into too much trouble tonight,” Briony grumbles.
“There isn’t a boxing arena here, is there?”
“No, I don’t believe so. But there is ample liquor. Thorne will probably end up spending his whole evening sobering up Monty like usual.” She says the last part with a chuckle.
I frown. “Monty doesn’t drink, though.”
Her face whips toward mine. “He doesn’t? Since when?”
“He hasn’t since I’ve known him. I believe he quit shortly before we set off on the tour we managed. So a couple years, perhaps.”
She tilts her head to the side. “I had no idea. How unexpectedly responsible of him.”
