Leander fell in step behind the viscount. After he had this little chat with him, he intended to leave. Even if the temptation wrapped in silk, his Sabella, was still in the ballroom. He couldn’t afford that distraction again. He had an agency to build.
Slothington paused at the library door and flicked the latch with a casual flick of his wrist, gesturing for Leander to enter first. “Do come in, Lionston,” he said with mock civility. “I do hope this proposition is worth the inconvenience.”
Leander stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. The warm glow of lamplight spilled across the room, and the hushed quiet was a welcome relief from the orchestral clamor of the ballroom. Here, they could speak freely, away from the prying eyes and ears of the social season.
“I am aware of you may have reservations,” Leander began, keeping his tone level, cautious. “But this is not a matter of persuasion. It is an opportunity, and one you will not wish to miss.”
Slothington crossed his arms, leaning casually against the edge of a mahogany desk. “You’ve piqued my interest.” He flicked his hand. “Do continue.”
Leander inclined his head, carefully outlining the plan—its stakes, its rewards, and the precise manner in which Slothington could benefit. He watched the viscount’s eyes narrow, then brighten, the spark of curiosity and ambition igniting as the details sank in.
“Yes,” Slothington said finally, voice low and smooth. “I see what you mean. And you are confident this will work?”
“Entirely,” Leander replied, meeting his gaze with steady assurance. “But it requires trust and discretion. Your cooperation alone ensures its success.”
Slothington’s lips quirked in a smile that was both approving and dangerous. “Very well. Consider me committed—for now.” He clasped Leander’s forearm briefly in a gesture that conveyed both respect and challenge. “Do not disappoint me.”
Leander inclined his head once, carefully neutral in expression. “I would not dream of it, Slothy.”
The viscount’s smile lingered as he opened the door back toward the ballroom. “Then let us return. The festivities will continue, and I must at least appear entertained.” He rolled his eyes. “It is dreadful, and I cannot wait for my sister to pick one of these sops and put me out of my misery.”
Leander chuckled softly as followed him out of the library. He maintained his composure as the light and music of the ballroom enveloped them once more. He could feel the pull of Sabella’s presence across the room, but he turned his focus inward, knowing the conversation in the library had set the stage.
Tonight, the seeds had been planted. Every step he took through the glittering room, every polite nod and measured smile, was a step closer to the agency he was determined to build. Even if temptation lingered like a shadow, it would not sway him. Not tonight. Tonight, his purpose was clear—and his resolve absolute. His need for Sabella would have to wait…
Five
Sabrina Fairfax made her way to the Duke of Avonridge’s town house in the company of her older brother, Viscount Whitley. The carriage rolled to a gentle stop in front of the grand entrance, where uniformed footmen in polished boots and gleaming brass buttons awaited to assist the guests. A low hum of conversation drifted through the air, mingled with the subtle scent of horse and evening air, heralding the arrival of the evening’s distinguished assembly.
Sabrina adjusted the folds of her gown—a delicate shade of periwinkle that complemented the cool blue of her eyes—before stepping from the carriage. The silk brushed lightly against the carriage step, a whispering prelude to the evening’s festivities. She inhaled, steadying herself. London dinners were always a performance, a careful balance of poise, grace, and just enough wit to leave an impression without scandal. Tonight promised to be no different, though she could not deny a flicker of curiosity about the other guests.
Once they were announced her brother left her on her own. Probably to find a friend of his to converse with. Sabrina didn’t know, but she did care. Not because she didn’t want him to be with someone he trusted, but because she didn’t trust him. Not after that letter. She had to uncover what her brother had become embroiled in. She was still no closer to that information than she had been a week earlier. At least she knew where he was and who he was with at this dinner party.
She scanned the gathering faces in the room and recognized Lady Lavinia and Lady Elizabeth Ellsworth, the duke’s own daughters, already engaged in animated conversation. Their laughter chimed lightly over the polished marble floors. Her brother strolled up beside them and then bowed with impeccable courtesy his expression betraying only the slightest hint of amusement. What had one of them said to put that expression on Basil’s face? Perhaps she would ask him later.
Nearby, Viscount Slothington and his sister, Miss Persephone Sedgewick, lingered with the air of careful observation, while the Earl of Ravenwood was quietly surveying the room, a figure of composed authority amidst the gentle chaos of arrival. And, of course, the Duchess of Avonridge presided over the gathering with an easy elegance, her smile bright, her manner both commanding and inviting. None of them held her attention though. It wasn’t until the last guest was announced that she stiffened with unease. The Duke of Lionston… Drat. She had hoped to avoid Leander, but apparently the Fates had other plans for her. She prayed he would not attempt to have another disastrous conversation with her. Sabrina turned away from him and hoped he would not notice her. She would do her best to avoid him. Somehow, she doubted she would be so fortunate.
Sabrina felt a familiar flutter of anticipation, mingled with the usual awareness that every word, every gesture, would be noted and weighed. She lifted her chin, swept a polite nod toward the Duke of Avonridge, and allowed herself a brief moment to take in the grandeur of the room. Tonight would be an evening of appearances, of careful conversations, and, undoubtedly, of subtle intrigue. She merely hoped she could navigate it without incident—and perhaps, with a touch of enjoyment, too. Mostly she hoped to avoid creating a scandal that somehow involved Leander…
“Hello Sabella,” Leander said, his tone a little husky. “Did you think I wouldn’t know it was you if I couldn’t see your face?”
Damn the man… Slowly she turned to face him and carefully her face blank of any emotion. She cocked an eyebrow. “I could not possibly know what you are implying, Your Grace.”
“Don’t be cheeky, darling,” he said. “It doesn’t suit you.”
Sabrina stared at him. She didn’t say a word for several heartbeats. Partially because an acceptable response had not crossed her mind. Everything, absolutely everything, was inappropriate. Then she smiled slowly and licked her lips. “Trust me, Lee,” she said in a syrupy sweet tone. “You don’t want to see the other side of me tonight. It wouldn’t be pleasant for either of us.”
“And if I do?” he asked, his tone challenging.
“Then I hope you are prepared for the consequences.”
Luckily for her he did not have time to respond. The butler came into the room to announce that dinner was about to be served. They had to retire to the dining room. The duke had opted for a slightly informal dinner party which meant that any gentleman could escort any lady into dinner. There was no hierarchy to be followed. So, she wasn’t surprised when Leander looped his arm through hers and walked with her to the table. He pulled her chair out for her and helped her to her seat, then he sat beside her. Wonderful. That would mean she would be forced to converse with him through dinner.
“Why are you being difficult,” he asked.
“I am never difficult,” she replied. “I am honest. Do you wish me to be someone I am not?”
“I would never want that,” he told her. “I adore the woman you are.”
