Everington’s steps slowed when he noticed Dash. Genuine surprise flickered across his face. “Ravenwood,” he said. “I did not expect to find you here.”
Dash kept his tone neutral. “I could say the same.”
Everington laughed lightly, but there was caution beneath it. He slid his gaze to Lavinia. “I do not believe we have been introduced.”
“My lord,” Lavinia replied with a curtsy. “We have not. I am Lady Lavinia Ellsworth”
Everington offered her a charming smile—the sort that usually melted ladies into charmed nonsense. “Lord Everington,” he offered her his name. “It’s a pleasure.”
Lavinia only looked at him thoughtfully, as if she were cataloguing his expression rather than admiring it. Dash’s unease sharpened into something colder. Lavinia turned her head slightly, and then asked, as though the question were casual. “My lord, have you ever traveled to the Continent?”
Everington’s smile froze—only for an instant, but Dash saw it. He wondered why she had asked him that, and Dash could not blame him. What was she up to now? “I have traveled,” he said smoothly. “London can grow… tedious.”
“How fortunate,” Lavinia replied, her voice gentle. “To have that luxury. I’ve always wished to travel.”
Dash felt his blood turn to ice. Everington’s eyes narrowed a fraction, his gaze darting to Dash with sharp, silent inquiry. Dash Kept his expression composed by sheer force.
Lavinia continued, as if she were speaking of art collections. “Did you enjoy France? I have heard Paris is quite fashionable.”
“I am afraid I have not visited in a while.” Everington’s smile returned, but it no longer reached his eyes. “France is tedious at the moment…too much violence for my taste.”
Lavinia’s eyes widened in mock innocence. “I suppose that is true. Did you know Lord Ravenwood just returned from living through that viciousness?”
Everington’s gaze flicked briefly toward Dash and then back to Lavinia. “I did...”
Dash stepped subtly closer to Lavinia and then said in a low tone, “That is enough. I do not wish to speak of the war.”
Lavinia looked up at him with a defiant look in her eyes. “Why? Are you hiding something?”
Everington cleared his throat, his tone smoothing again into polite charm. “If you will excuse me. I promised Lady Cresswell a walk.”
“Of course,” Lavinia said, pleasantly. “Enjoy your day, my lord.”
Everington bowed and moved away—smiling for anyone who watched but walking away at a quicker pace than he normally would have. Dash waited until Everington was out of earshot. Then he turned to Lavinia fully, his voice dropping dangerously quiet.
“What,” he demanded, “do you hope to gain by these questions?”
Lavinia blinked, as if surprised he had noticed anything at all. “To learn about you of course.”
“Why,” Dash said, control fraying at the edges. “do you care?”
Her eyes flared. “I would like to understand your motivations. It is as simple as that.”
“You are not simply doing anything,” Dash replied.
Silence snapped between them, taut and bright. Then Lavinia lifted her chin, that stubborn courage returning. “Perhaps,” she said softly, “you should just tell me the truth.”
Dash’s chest tightened. Dash stared at her for a long beat. Then, with controlled urgency, he said, “Come with me.”
“Where?” she demanded.
“Somewhere private,” Dash replied. “And you are going to tell me exactly what you are doing—before your curiosity gets you hurt.” She did not fool him. This was not just about knowing him. She was digging for information, and he was only part of the answers she sought. As he guided her toward the shadow of the hedges, one thought hammered through his mind with relentless clarity.
Lavinia Ellsworth knew something and if the wrong person learned that…they might ensure she never spoke again.
Six
Vivy left the garden party at Lord Ravenwood’s side with a peculiar sensation in her chest—part triumph, part trepidation, and part indignation that he had managed, once again, to maneuver her so expertly. The sun still shone and laughter still drifted throughout the Lionston London estate. But it felt as though she had stepped out of the bright world into something darker. So dark it left a trail of goosebumps along her arm. “Must you always look as though you expect danger behind every rosebush?” she muttered as they passed beneath an arch of lilac.
