“But I don’t want?—”
“It wasn’t a request,” Lassit said in that mellow baritone of his that was so confusing. He’d said such awful things to Arden in that lovely voice, always with a lovely smile on his handsome face. “It was an order.”
“But I don’t want to see anyone. I barely know?—”
“Mhm. What you want doesn’t matter, brat. Not when there are plenty of people downstairs who are eager to see you.” His smile wasn’t lovely now. Arden didn’t know what it was, exactly.
Just that he didn’t like it.
“I’ve…I’ve already seen everyone, though.”
One long arm went over Arden’s head to brace against the high back of the seat beside his temple. Lassit bent down, bringing himself a scant two inches away. Arden looked up in astonishment and stared straight into Lassit’s blue eyes.
He glanced away, then stiffened when Lassit gripped his chin and forced his attention back.
Lassit’s lips were curled in a sharp smile. “You haven’t seen everyone,” he said. “You will come down. You will smile for my guests.” He squeezed Arden’s chin. “You will do as I say.”
It hurt. Arden tried to twitch away. Lassit didn’t let go. He squeezed harder, sending Arden into a sudden flailing, slapping panic.
Lassit laughed, slid his hands beneath Arden’s armpits, and plucked him clean out of the chair. Arden yelped, shocked at how easily he could be moved against his will. Lassit turned him and shoved him over the arm of the chair, face in the cushions. He held Arden there with a hard hand at the back of his neck.
Arden kicked out. Lassit laughed again.
He soundeddelighted.
Arden finally stilled.
Lassit gave a satisfied grunt and he held Arden there until he’d wrung a soft, confused whine from Arden’s throat.
“Ready yourself for dinner,” he said, releasing him one finger at a time. “I expect you to present yourself downstairs in no less than half an hour. Do it, Arden. Or I’ll have the footmen drag you down.”
Arden didn’t move.
A hand skated the length of Arden’s spine to rest briefly, heavily, at the very small of his back. “Don’t make such a fuss. It’s just a dinner. Just one night. Jack will be here.”
The promise of seeing Jack was the only thing that got Arden out of the door in the end.
He changed from the comfortable old clothes he wore in his private apartments into a clean, crisp shirt, breeches, and a fine, dark plum frock coat. It clashed with his fox-coloured hair, in Arden’s opinion, but his mother had insisted it suited him.
On his reluctant way down the long corridor on the second floor that ran the length of the Hall, he paused at one of the large windows to gaze out at the drive below.
It was filled with carriages, dancing torchlight, and loud voices. Laughter. As he watched, one carriage moved off and another drove up to the steps to take its place. The footmen in their finest livery darted forwards to open the doors and hand down the occupants.
Arden frowned. It was good, he supposed, that there were so many here for the dinner to celebrate Papa’s life, but…there weresomany.
His gut rolled queasily with nerves. Steadying his breathing as best he could, he made his way downstairs before Lassit sent the servants to come and collect him. It was always better to pretend that he had a choice.
As soon as he stepped into the large drawing room, he wished he’d chosen to hide in the attic as he used to when he was a child.
It was packed, even more crammed than it had been this morning after the interment.
Arden paused on the threshold and thought about backing quietly away before anyone noticed him. There was still time to run and hide like a coward, and?—
Lassit was watching him from across the room.
Their eyes met. Lassit gave a single, warning shake of his head.
Pasting on a smile, Arden strolled into the room as if he hadn’t a care in the world, recalled that this was Papa’s memorial dinner, for godssakestop smiling, and hunted around for a familiar face.
