Melanie didn’t have to look to the door to know that he was here, as the shift in the atmosphere was immediate.
The Duke of Malum commanded attention without uttering a word, an intangible force that turned heads, the conversation faltering as each person instinctively noted his arrival.
While the other gentlemen were dressed in formal eveningwear, Malum wore a perfectly tailored black coat paired with a charcoal waistcoat, black trousers, and his signature ink-dark cravat. His hair was slicked back, but with water rather than pomade, and the hint of shadows under his eyes somehow made him look even more attractive.
Overall, the simplicity of his ensemble, far from diminishing him, sharpened his presence.
Melanie’s gaze flicked to his inky hair and that one lock by his temple that always managed to slip loose. How could a man look so completely at ease and yet so utterly imposing?
And though his expression remained neutral, Melanie saw the awareness in his silver gaze as it swept over the table—holding hers for a meaningful moment before landing squarely on Northwoods.
“Your Grace.” Goldie’s voice broke the tension, her tone bright and welcoming. “We weren’t sure if you would make it! Harris,” she addressed one of the footmen. “Will you kindly reset the duke’s place?”
Melanie exhaled.
The candlelight seemed to burn brighter, the food appeared more appetizing, and the wine tasted sweeter. It was as though his presence altered everything around her. She was relieved by his sudden arrival, of course she was, but she was also flustered by her response to it.
As the servant moved to adjust the setting beside Melanie, Malum inclined his head toward Goldie.
Around the table, however, conversation had yet to resume following Melanie’s not-so-subtle interrogation. Northwoods’ disparaging comments still lingered.
But then Reed rose from his seat, his face breaking into an ironic sort of smile. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to join us.”
“Apologies,” Malum replied easily, clasping Reed’s extended hand in a firm shake. “To both you and your countess.”
“None needed,” Goldie chimed from her seat, smiling from her end of the table. “We’re delighted you could make it.”
“Malum.” Helton leaned back in his chair, his grin dancing with amusement. “I trust whatever detained you was worth it. I imagine if you’d truly wanted to avoid this evening, you wouldn’t have accepted the invitation at all.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Malum replied, and Melanie noticed he offered no excuse.
The Baron Westcott rose with an easy smile and extended a hand. “It’s been far too long. I must admit, you’re the last person I’d have expected to turn up betrothed.” His tone was light, teasing, but his gaze flickered—briefly—between Malum and Melanie.
Malum clasped Westcott’s hand in a firm shake, his expression even. “I imagine there’s a long list of things you’d never expect of me, West.”
The baron laughed. “True enough. Congratulations, by the way.” He tipped his head slightly toward Melanie, the teasing quality in his voice tempered with genuine warmth. “You’ve left all of us thoroughly astonished.”
“Happy to provide the evening’s entertainment,” Malum said.
Most likely, Westcott would be less surprised when the betrothal was ended. That should have been a comfort. Instead, it made Melanie wince inside.
Before she could dwell on the unexpected weight of that thought, Reed clapped Malum on the shoulder, gesturing for him to take his place at the table.
“I trust your journey to London was uneventful?” Malum asked the baron.
Melanie watched his silver gaze, as cool as ever as he pulled out the chair beside her. Somehow, she got the sense that Westcott’s appearance tonight hadn’t surprised him in the least. Sometimes he seemed a little too knowing. It was unnerving. And, if she were honest, it was also a little thrilling.
“My baroness ensures that it’s never uneventful.” Westcott sent his wife a playful wink, but she only shook her head, smiling.
“Good thing, then, seeing as you’d otherwise bore her to tears.”
“We’ll see how you feel when the shoe’s on the other foot…” Westcott answered, in a good-natured sounding grumble…
Melanie observed the exchange that followed, a strange sense of surprise bubbling within her. There was a camaraderie here she hadn’t anticipated. She’d expected her brother and Helton to welcome Malum—they were family now, after all—but Helton’s easy rapport with him, and even Westcott’s teasing, hinted at more of a friendship than she’d imagined. For a man so detached from Society’s expectations, Malum appeared entirely at ease in this circle.
Northwoods, on the other hand, seemed less comfortable, his shoulders stiff and his hands fidgeting with the stem of his glass. His gaze, Melanie noticed, avoided hers and also Malum’s.
From across the table, Josie sent her an exasperated look, her flushed cheeks underscoring her irritation. Melanie met her stare briefly, catching a flicker of curiosity before quickly lowering her eyes to her plate.
