Rebecca couldn’t remain her friend.
Nor could she change the announcement or her father’s will.
Liliah blew out a sobering breath, collecting her emotions and forcing them into submission. As she walked into the throng of people, she wished Luc would attend. It was a pointless hope, their agreement had been satisfied, yet hope had never been rational, had it?
While she didn’t see Luc, she did spot Meyer, his father ever vigilant behind him, and Lady Rebecca watching from a distance. Thankfully the first waltz wasn’t expected for a while, yet that didn’t stop the dread from pooling in her belly. It wasn’t as if it changed anything, the announcement in theTimeshad already sealed the deal, but it was more the idea that every dance she danced with Meyer was one that Rebecca wouldn’t have, and so Liliah had the sense that she was slowly stealing her friend’s most prized possession: Meyer’s time and attention.
Even if he was loath to give it to her.
Liliah took a flute of champagne and walked about the room, studying the décor and doing her best to ignore the chatter about her. And in far too little time, the strains of the first waltz rose, and Liliah sighed and looked up. Sure enough, Meyer was approaching her, his expression ever grim. How long had it been since she’d seen her friend smile? Far too long. It was as if his strained expression were frozen, unable to alter or change. Liliah breathed deep and extended her hand wordlessly as he offered his arm. As he led them into the swirling dance, Liliah met his gaze. “What is becoming of us?”
Meyer’s expression pinched and he glanced away. “I’ve heard that life is what you make of it, yet, Liliah, I find I have not the strength of character to find the hope in our circumstance. As such, I fear I’m an abominable friend. For that I apologize.” Meyer met her gaze once more, sincerity echoing in his eyes.
“I don’t want to lose you, or Rebecca, and I feel as if I’m fighting a battle that’s been ordained for me to lose,” Liliah whispered, twirling and stepping back into the frame of Meyer’s arms.
“I feel utterly the same, my friend. But let us converse on a brighter topic, shall we? Enough of the self-pity, let us delight in conversation as we once did.” Meyer put on a brave smile, and Liliah felt her lips twitch in response.
“Very well, what did you have in mind?”
Meyer glanced to the dancers, then back. “Your admirer isn’t present. Is there a reason for that?”
Liliah’s face burned at the thought of Luc, and all the wicked sensations her body felt as echoes of yesterday’s events. “I did not expect him tonight.”
“Ah, so you know of whom I speak?” Meyer asked with a hint of smugness in his tone.
“Of course.” Liliah resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “But I wouldn’t call him an admirer, rather . . .” Liliah searched for the correct and proper word. Because all she could think of was a more scandalous description. She settled for, “An acquaintance.”
Meyer arched a brow in an expression of disbelief. “My dear, Heightfield isn’t known for his acquaintances with women . . . rather his penchant for knowing them”—Meyer cleared his throat—“well.”
Liliah bit her lip and glanced away, yet even as he said it a white-hot jealousy seared her veins. She didn’t want to think of Luc sharing himself with any other—not that she had any claim. It was utterly irrational, yet present nonetheless.
“Your face bears an odd expression,” Meyer commented.
“It’s an odd comment to a lady,” Liliah retorted, but softened her words with a smile.
“Interesting,” was all the response Meyer gave.
Liliah studied him. “What are you thinking, for your expression is quite smug.”
Meyer shrugged slightly as the song ended, not answering.
“Utterly irritating,” Liliah huffed as he led her from the dance floor. Meyer chuckled in response, and bowed to take his leave.
Liliah watched him retreat, narrowing her eyes. The music began again, and rather than allow another partner to seek her out for the dance, she strode to a more quiet location in the ballroom. The potted plants in the corner kept several wallflower ladies company, and Liliah took a vacant seat. Several of the young ladies watched her with open interest—Liliah had never been amongst their ranks. Rather, as the daughter of a duke, she had far too many suitors—till recently. But she refused to think on it—instead she found rest in solitude. There would be another waltz, and no doubt there would be more conversations with her father, but for now, this stolen moment of peace was enough.
It had to be.
Chapter Twenty
Lucas studied the gentry as they walked into the main entrance of the club. The rout at the Winharts’ was certainly winding down and the need to fulfill their more wicked natures was surfacing as the elite members of Temptation came to feed their desires. Lucas glanced at his pocket watch; it was nearly four in the morning, but the party would easily continue past daylight. As he moved from the balcony of the estate, he took the back stairs to the main level. He scanned the ballroom, where he noted that every courtesan was in place, along with the tables perfectly set for the many games that would feed or starve men’s fortunes.
He tugged on his collar, then cleared his throat. Passing the ballroom, he ran into Ramsey.
“Bankroll is set, and I must say that so far the gentlemen are placing quite substantial bets on one event in particular.” Ramsey arched a brow. His penchant for numbers made him the logical choice for overseeing the bank and betting aspects of the club.
“Oh? And what event is that? Pistols at dawn for some poor idiot?” Lucas snapped, his lack of patience bleeding through. Though he knew it had nothing to do with Ramsey.
Rather, it had everything to do with that bloody chit who haunted him day and night.
