She groaned and he chuckled. “Flatterer.”
“Obsessed man,” he corrected. “If we’re not going to leave, we should reconsider dancing,” he murmured.
“We can dance later.”
Pleased, Bishop nodded. “I shall hold you to that.” Dancing with Alyssia. He had a new goal for the night.
“Would it be your first dance?” she asked.
“It would,” he admitted.
“That’s rather tragic.” She glanced at him. “Did you sleep in the servants’ quarters as well?”
He shook his head. No, for some reason, Crane had set him up in one of the rooms of the east wing. His own wing, so to speak, since there was never anyone else there but them and the few servants he kept, keeping the estate afloat. “Fortunately not.”
“So he treated you well then?”
“Like a brother,” he said, smiling faintly at the thought. And a man of affairs, butler, errand boy. “Though he made me earn my keep. Imucked more stalls than I could count those first years.”
Alyssia’s eyes widened a touch. “You, mucking stalls? I can hardly picture it.”
“Then picture me doing it with a great deal of charm.”
“Right,” she said drily. “You are irresistible to all creatures, great and small.”
“Correct. Just ask the stable cat.”
She nudged his arm with her shoulder, grinning up at him. “Poor cat.”
Her tone was teasing, but the warmth behind it did things to him. Hardening things. Torturous things. The chatter of the ballroom faded. “Shall we take a detour to the balcony?”
Her lips curved wider. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she paused, then added, “husband.”
“Poor me.”
And then, just beyond her, movement caught his eye.
Bishop froze.
At the far end of the room, beyond the sweep of masks, stood a man in dark green and smug posture.
His uncle.
Even with a mask, there was no mistaking the man. The blow to his gut was also no less than what he’d felt the first time he’d saw the man. Only this time, he didn’t have to confront the man. His fingers itched. Oh, but how he wanted to rip that mask from his face and expose him to the world right here and now.
Not the place, Bishop. Not the way.
“What?” Alyssia asked. “What is it?” She seemed to have followed his gaze because she stiffened as well. “Your uncle is here.”
“Yes,” he said quietly, his tone shifting, cold sliding beneath the warmth. “He is here.”
“We expected as much.”
True, but there was a world of difference between knowing a thingand beholding it in the flesh. One may be imagined away; the other demands a certain reckoning, even if it was with yourself.
The hair on his neck pricked on end.
“Shall we go greet him, then?”
