Thornhill’s smile turned triumphant. “Oh, I do adore you, Lady Lavinia.”
“Why are you still here?” He was tired of Thornhill’s witty remarks.
Lavinia curved her lips upward defiantly. “Fine,” she said at last, placing her hand in Dash’s. “I will dance. But only because I refuse to grant you the satisfaction of thinking you have won.”
Dash bowed. “How generous of you, my lady.”
Thornhill lifted his lips upward, his impish charm in full view. “Enjoy yourselves. Try not to stab one another until the last note.” As if Lavinia had a knife… He did, but she did not need to know that.
Dash guided Lavinia onto the floor and settled his hand at her waist. The waltz began and he swept her through the steps with ease. Tension filled her even as she moved with grace. She held herself like someone determined to show no weakness, though he suspected she was carrying more fear than she would ever admit.
“Are you always this difficult?” Lavinia asked.
“Only when necessary.” He wanted to be honest with her as much as possible. “I can be reasonable.”
“Who decides what is necessary?” Her voice held challenge.
“I do,” Dash replied. It was how he had always done things, and he doubted he would change for her. He might consider it, but some things were far too difficult to do.
Lavinia huffed softly. “How convenient for you.”
He turned them, letting the music carry them closer to the far side of the room, away from most of the couples on the floor. “Why were you talking with Thornhill?”
“Do I need a reason to speak with him?” she asked.
She would make an excellent spy with the way she dodged that question. He admired her wit and tenacity. “I suppose not,” Dash said, but he could not leave it at that. “But we both know that is not the truth. Tell me what you were hoping to discover from him.”
She met his gaze and held it. “Perhaps I just liked him. Can’t that be enough?”
She was playing games with him. This had nothing to do with the jealousy he had experienced for the first time. He did not know her well, but he did understand her a little bit. Thornhill was a charming man and along with him, recently returned to England. There were only a handful of them that had been on the continent together and were now home. Thornhill was one of them. It was awfully convenient that she had sought him out.
Dash kept his face smooth. “Stop pretending you do not know what I am asking.”
“You have no room to accuse me of that,” she murmured, “Considering you do the same. You avoid answering questions more than I do.”
He did not answer. Any answer would be dangerous. They moved through the steps, their bodies aligned by the dance, their minds at odds. How could he see him so clearly? No one else had ever been able to do that with such accuracy. Even the Duke of Lionston didn’t always see all of him.
“You are not going to tell me, are you?” He sighed. “Why?”
“Not tonight. Perhaps not ever.” Then Lavinia said softly, “Are you glad to be home?” She kept her gaze steady as she stared up at him. “Are you glad you are no longer part of the war,” she added, as if it were merely a polite continuation. But her voice held a careful edge to it.
Dash felt the questions land like a stone, heavy and unexpected. What an odd change of subject… He did not like this line of questioning and his instincts screamed at him that something was not right. What did she know? She had to have discovered something. First, she had started speaking to Thornhill and now this…
He forced the mask he showed to the world to remain in place. “Home is a relative term.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is enough of one,” he murmured.
She tightened her fingers slightly on his shoulder. “Do you miss it?”
He rotated them, letting the movement hide the brief tension in his jaw. “I miss nothing of violence.” It was a partial truth. He did not miss seeing all the death. But he did miss the excitement and the challenge being a spy offered him.
Lavinia studied him as though she were assembling a puzzle. “You speak as if you have been… shaped by it.”
Dash kept his tone mild. “Most men who live long enough are shaped by something.”
She did not look away. “Were you shaped by war, Lord Ravenwood?”
