“I— Why? Are you purchasing something else?”
“No, I thought to move.”
“To Hasket House?”
“No… No. I think I have, perhaps, overstayed my welcome in London. Gabriel gifted me a small estate in Scotland. But since it was your home too, I know it holds many memories for you.” My thoughts swirled in too many directions. In the years after Gabriel’s death, Xander had become one of my dearest friends. There was a sudden, sharp stab of hatred for the cruelty of the world toward him. “Celine?”
“I beg your pardon, I’m feeling unwell. If you don’t mind, I will step off for a moment.”
“Cee…”
“I need a moment, Xand. It’s not you, I promise. It’s them,” I whispered, catching the beady gaze of Mr. Parker across the room. Beside him, still fawning at Xander’s mother, was Lady Grayson, now joined by the Duchess of Sutton and her son. They debased themselves before Her Grace, and not one of them would hesitate for a single second to see her son hanged.
“May I escort you?”
“Best if you don’t. Find Davina? Surely she’s eloped by now, it’s been nearly seven minutes.”
“I wish you were jesting.”
“I never jest about Dav.” I squeezed his arm reassuringly before escaping in the direction of the ladies’ retiring room with artful composure.
Freed from the crush of the ballroom, I fought to maintain the air of indifference, making my way sedately down the hall. I slipped into the drawing room reserved for such a purpose and pressed the door shut firmly behind me. Scanning the room, I found it to be blissfully empty.
No sooner had I sighed in relief, than the door opened and another person entered. My jaw clenched in instinctive irritation. I made no move to turn around, unequal to the requisite platitudes.
As such, when she spoke, my spine stiffened with native disquiet.
“Celine, I’ve been waiting to meet you for a long time.”
There was no earthly reason I should know that voice. I’d heard it but once, across a ballroom at that. But I knew it.
I spun slowly, very much wishing I had brought my knife instead of relying on the intrinsic safety of a ballroom.
Victoria.
She was still lovely. The years had brought no particular signs of aging. Her hair still shone a flaxen gold. Her complexion was still fashionably paler than my own. Her form and height, too, remained very much reminiscent of mine. It should have been upsetting, seeing her. I was distantly aware of that fact. But instead of the jolt of hurt and jealousy that had accompanied her last appearance, there was… nothing.
Victoria. Gabriel’s mistress. His mistress of nearly twice the length of our marriage was here before me, and I felt nothingbut dim irritation at the interruption. And more than a little curiosity.
“Victoria. You needn’t have waited. I’ve been here the entire time.”
“I see you’ve abandoned the feigned accent.” Her voice was high with a contradictory raspy quality. Childlike in tone with an exhaustion that only came from use and age. She took a step closer, quartering the distance between us.
“You too.”
“Just for you.” Another graceful step.
“Are you here to kill me?” There was no tremor in my voice. I was proud of that.
I gave no quarter. Offering her nothing to indicate that, despite the eerie calm that overwhelmed me, I knew on an intellectual level I was in grave danger. And I was. She halved the remaining distance between us in a single step. My feet were frozen to the carpet with both stubborn determination and a vague notion of holding my ground.
“So you know what’s going on.”
“Something of it. Are you?”
She took the final step, now close enough for her breath to brush my face. She cupped my cheek in a cool, patronizing hand.
“That’s precious. If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you in 1807.” She flashed a sinister, fangy smile. “What would be the point now?”
